The Love of King David and Fair Bathsheba · chunk 10 of 30
Peele, George · published 1599 · first performed or written 1594 [1593-1594] (Annals) biblical play; history · Queen Elizabeth's Men (?) T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation typicality 0.75 · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
Mourn Bethsabe, bewail thy foolishness, Thy sin, thy shame, the sorrow of thy soul, Sin, shame, and sorrow swarm about thy soul, And in the gates and entrance of my heart, Sadness with wreathed arms hangs her complaint. No comfort from the ten stringed instrument, The twinkling Cymbal, or the Ivory Lute, Nor doth the sound of David's kingly Harp, Make glad the broken heart of Bethsabe. Ierusalem is filled with thy complaint, And in the streets of Zion fits thy grief: The babe in sick, sick to the death I fear, The fruit that sprung from thee to David's house, Nor may the pot of Honey and of Oil, Glad David or his handmaid's countenance. Urias, woe is me to think hereon, For who is it among the sons of men, That sayth not to my soul, the King hath sinned, David hath done amiss, and Bethsabe Laid snares of death unto Urias' life. My sweet Urias, fallen into the pit Art thou, and gone even to the gates of hell, For Bethsabe, that wouldst not shroud her shame. O what is it to serve the lust of Kings, How lion-like thy rage when we resist, But Bethsabe in humbleness attend, The grace that God will to his handmaid send. The babe is sick, and sad is David's heart, To see the guiltless bear the guiltless pain. David hang up thy Harp, hang down thy head, And dash thy ivory Lute against the stones. The dew that on the hill of Hermon falls, rains not on Zion's tops, and lofty towers, And David's thoughts are spent in pensiveness, The plains of Gath and Askaron rejoice. The babe is sick, sweet babe, that Bethsabe With woman's pain brought forth to Israel. But what saith Nathan to his lord the king? Thus Nathan saith unto his Lord the King: There were two men both dwellers in one town, The one was mighty and exceeding rich In Oxen, sheep and cattle of the field, The other poor having nor Ox, nor Calf, Nor other cattle, save one little Lamb, Which he had bought and nourished by the hand, And it grew up, and fed with him and his, And eat and drank as he and his were wont, And in his bosom slept, and was to live As was his daughter or his dearest child. There came a stranger to this wealthy man, And he refused and spared to take his own, Or of his store to dress or make him meat, But took the poor man's sheep, partly poor man's store, And dressed it for this stranger in his house: What (tell me) shall be done to him for this? Now as the lord doth live, this wicked man Is judged, and shall become the child of death, four fold to the poor man shall he restore, That without mercy took his lamb away.
seed 43: T4 · seed 44: T5 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Mourne Bethsabe, bewaile thy foolishnesse, Thy sinne, thy shame, the sorrow of thy soule, Sinne, shame, and sorrow swarme about thy soule, And in the gates and entrance of my heart, Sadnesse with wreathed armes hangs her complaint. No comfort from the ten string'd instrument, The twinckling Cymball, or the Yuorie Lute, Nor doth the sound of Dauids kingly Harpe, Make glad the broken heart of Bersabe. Ierusalem is fild with thy complaint, And in the streets of Syon fits thy greefe: The babe in sicke, sicke to the death I feare, The fruit that sprung from thee to Dauids house, Nor may the pot of Honny and of Oyle, Glad Dauid or his handmaids countenance. Vrias, woe is me to thinke hereon, For who is it among the sonnes of men, That sayth not to my soule, the King hath sind, Dauid hath done amisse, and Bersabe Laid snares of death vnto Vrias life. My sweet Vrias, falne into the pit Art thou, and gone euen to the gates of hell, For Bersabe, that wouldst not shrowd her shame. O what is it to serue the lust of Kings, How Lyonlike thy rage when we resist, But Bersabe in humblenesse attend, The grace that God will to his handmaid send. The babe is sicke, and sad is Dauids heart, To see the guiltlesse beare the guilties paine. Dauid hang vp thy Harpe, hang downe thy head, And dash thy yuorie Lute against the stones. The dew that on the hill of Hermon fals, Raines not on Syons tops, and loftie towers, And Dauids thoughts are spent in pensiuenesse, The plaines of Gath and Askaron reioice. The babe is sicke, sweet babe, that Bersabe With womans paine brought forth to Israel. But what saith Nathan to his lord the king? Thus Nathan saith vnto his Lord the King: There were two men both dwellers in one towne, The one was mighty and exceeding rich In Oxen, sheepe and cattell of the field, The other poore hauing nor Oxe, nor Calfe, Nor other cattell, saue one little Lambe, Which he had bought and nourisht by the hand, And it grew vp, and fed with him and his, And eat and dranke as he and his were wont, And in his bosome slept, and was to liue As was his daughter or his deerest child. There came a stranger to this wealthy man, And he refus'd and spar'd to take his owne, Or of his store to dresse or make him meat, But tooke the poore mans sheepe, partly poore mans store, And drest it for this strangar in his house: What (tell me) shall be done to him for this? Now as the lord doth liue, this wicked man Is iudgd, and shall become the child of death, Foure fold to the poore man shall he restore, That without mercy tooke his lambe away.