Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1599 (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 509 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
I do not desire he should answer for me, and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. I myself heard the King say he would not be ransomed. I, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after. You pay him then: that's a perilous shot out of an Elder Gun, that a poor and a private displeasure can do against a Monarch: you may as well go about to turn the Sun to ye, with fanning in his face with a Peacock's feather: You'll never trust his word after; come, 'tis a foolish saying. Your reproof is something too round, I should be angry with you, if the time were convenient. Let it be a Quarrel between us, if you live. I embrace it. How shall I know thee again? Give me any Gage of thine, and I will wear it in my Bonnet: Then if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I will make it my Quarrel. here's my Glove: Give me another of thine. There. This will I also wear in my Cap: if ever thou come to me, and say, after to morrow, This is my Glove, by this Hand I will take thee a box on the ear. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. Thou darest as well be hanged. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the King's company. Keep thy word: far thee well. Be friends you English fools, be friends, we have French Quarrels enough, if you could tell how to reckon. Indeed the French may lay twenty French Crowns to one, they will beat us, for they bear them on their shoulders: but it is no English Treason to cut French Crowns, and to morrow the King himself will be a Clipper. Upon the King, let us our Lives, our Souls, Our Debts, our careful Wives, Our Children, and our Sins, lay on the King: We must bear all. O hard Condition, Twin-born with Greatness, Subject to the breath of every fool, whose sense No more can feel, but his own wring. What infinite hearts-ease must Kings neglect, That private men enjoy? And what have Kings, that Privates have not too, Save Ceremony, save general Ceremony? And what art thou, thou Idol Ceremony? What kind of God art thou? that sufferest more Of mortal griefs, then do thy worshippers. What are thy Rents? what are thy Commings in? O Ceremony, show me but thy worth. What? is thy Soul of Odoration? Art thou ought else but Place, Degree, and Form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy, being feared, Then they in fearing. What drinkest thou oft, in stead of Homage sweet, But poisoned flattery? O, be sick, great Greatness, And bid thy Ceremony give thee cure. Thinks thou the fiery Fever will go out With Titles blown from Adulation?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I doe not deſire hee ſhould anſwer for me, and yet I determine to fight luſtily for him. I my ſelfe heard the King ſay he would not be ranſom'd. I, hee ſaid ſo, to make vs fight chearefully: but when our throats are cut, hee may be ranſom'd, and wee ne're the wiſer. If I liue to ſee it, I will neuer truſt his word after. You pay him then: that's a perillous ſhot out of an Elder Gunne, that a poore and a priuate diſpleaſure can doe againſt a Monarch: you may as well goe about to turne the Sunne to yee, with fanning in his face with a Peacocks feather: You'le neuer truſt his word after; come, 'tis a fooliſh ſaying. Your reproofe is ſomething too round, I ſhould be angry with you, if the time were conuenient. Let it bee a Quarrell betweene vs, if you liue. I embrace it. How ſhall I know thee againe? Giue me any Gage of thine, and I will weare it in my Bonnet: Then if euer thou dar'ſt acknowledge it, I will make it my Quarrell. Heere's my Gloue: Giue mee another of thine. There. This will I alſo weare in my Cap: if euer thou come to me, and ſay, after to morrow, This is my Gloue, by this Hand I will take thee a box on the eare. If euer I liue to ſee it, I will challenge it. Thou dar'ſt as well be hang'd. Well, I will doe it, though I take thee in the Kings companie. Keepe thy word: fare thee well. Be friends you Engliſh fooles, be friends, wee haue French Quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon. Indeede the French may lay twentie French Crownes to one, they will beat vs, for they beare them on their ſhoulders: but it is no Engliſh Treaſon to cut French Crownes, and to morrow the King himſelfe will be a Clipper. Vpon the King, let vs our Liues, our Soules, Our Debts, our carefull Wiues, Our Children, and our Sinnes, lay on the King: We muſt beare all. O hard Condition, Twin-borne with Greatneſſe, Subiect to the breath of euery foole, whoſe ſence No more can feele, but his owne wringing. What infinite hearts-eaſe muſt Kings neglect, That priuate men enioy? And what haue Kings, that Priuates haue not too, Saue Ceremonie, ſaue generall Ceremonie? And what art thou, thou Idoll Ceremonie? What kind of God art thou? that ſuffer'ſt more Of mortall griefes, then doe thy worſhippers. What are thy Rents? what are thy Commings in? O Ceremonie, ſhew me but thy worth. What? is thy Soule of Odoration? Art thou ought elſe but Place, Degree, and Forme, Creating awe and feare in other men? Wherein thou art leſſe happy, being fear'd, Then they in fearing. What drink'ſt thou oft, in ſtead of Homage ſweet, But poyſon'd flatterie? O, be ſick, great Greatneſſe, And bid thy Ceremonie giue thee cure. Thinks thou the fierie Feuer will goe out With Titles blowne from Adulation?