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 · 516 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.
Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud Dream, That play'st so subtly with a Kings Repose. I am a King that find thee: and I know, 'Tis not the Balm, the Sceptre, and the Ball, The Sword, the Maze, the Crown Imperiall, The enter-tissued Robe of Gold and Pearl, The farsed Title running 'fore the King, The Throne he sits on: nor the Tide of Pomp, That beats upon the high shore of this World: No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous Ceremony; Not all these, laid in Bed Majestical, Can sleep so sound, as the wretched Slave: Who with a body filled, and vacant mind, Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread, Never sees horrid Night, the Child of Hell: But like a Lackey, from the Rise to Set, Sweats in the eye of Phoebus; and all Night Sleeps in Elysium: next day after dawn, Doth rise and help Hiperio to his Horse, And follows so the ever-running year With profitable labour to his Grave: And but for Ceremony, such a Wretch, Winding up Days with toil, and Nights with sleep, Had the forehand and vantage of a King. The Slave, a Member of the Country's peace, Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots, What watch the King keeps, to maintain the peace; Whose hours, the Peasant best advantages. My Lord, your Nobles jealous of your absence, Seek through your Camp to find you. Good old Knight, collect them all together At my Tent: I'll be before thee. I shall do't, my Lord. O God of Battles, steel my Soldiers' hearts, Possess them not with fear: Take from them now The sense of reckoning of th' opposed numbers: Pluck their hearts from them. Not to day, O Lord, O not to day, think not upon the fault My Father made, in compassing the Crown. I Richard's body have interred new, And on it have bestowed more contrite tears, Then from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their withered hands hold up Toward Heaven, to pardon blood: And I have built two Chauntries, Where the sad and solemn Priests sing still For Richard's Soul. More-will I do: Though all that I can do, is nothing worth; Since that my Penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. My Liege. My Brother Gloucesters' voice? I: I know thy errand, I will go with thee: The day, my friend, and all things stay for me. The Sun doth gild our Armour up, my Lords. Monte Cheval: My Horse, Verlot Lackey: Ha. Oh brave Spirit. Viales swes & terre. Rien puis le air & f. Coin, Cousin Orleans. Now my Lord Constable? Hark how our Steeds, for present Service neigh. Mount them, and make incision in their Hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And doubt them with superfluous courage: ha'. What, will you have them weep our Horse's blood? How shall we then behold their natural tears?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Will it giue place to flexure and low bending? Canſt thou, when thou command'ſt the beggers knee, Command the health of it? No, thou prowd Dreame, That play'ſt ſo ſubtilly with a Kings Repoſe. I am a King that find thee: and I know, 'Tis not the Balme, the Scepter, and the Ball, The Sword, the Maſe, the Crowne Imperiall, The enter-tiſſued Robe of Gold and Pearle, The farſed Title running 'fore the King, The Throne he ſits on: nor the Tyde of Pompe, That beates vpon the high ſhore of this World: No, not all theſe, thrice-gorgeous Ceremonie; Not all theſe, lay'd in Bed Maieſticall, Can ſleepe ſo ſoundly, as the wretched Slaue: Who with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, Gets him to reſt, cram'd with diſtreſſefull bread, Neuer ſees horride Night, the Child of Hell: But like a Lacquey, from the Riſe to Set, Sweates in the eye of Phebus; and all Night Sleepes in Elizium: next day after dawne, Doth riſe and helpe Hiperio to his Horſe, And followes ſo the euer-running yeere With profitable labour to his Graue: And but for Ceremonie, ſuch a Wretch, Winding vp Dayes with toyle, and Nights with ſleepe, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a King. The Slaue, a Member of the Countreyes peace, Enioyes it; but in groſſe braine little wots, What watch the King keepes, to maintaine the peace; Whoſe howres, the Peſant beſt aduantages. My Lord, your Nobles iealous of your abſence, Seeke through your Campe to find you. Good old Knight, collect them all together At my Tent: Ile be before thee. I ſhall doo't, my Lord. O God of Battailes, ſteele my Souldiers hearts, Poſſeſſe them not with feare: Take from them now The ſence of reckning of th' oppoſed numbers: Pluck their hearts from them. Not to day, O Lord, O not to day, thinke not vpon the fault My Father made, in compaſſing the Crowne. I Richards body haue interred new, And on it haue beſtowed more contrite teares, Then from it iſſued forced drops of blood. Fiue hundred poore I haue in yeerely pay, Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold vp Toward Heauen, to pardon blood: And I haue built two Chauntries, Where the ſad and ſolemne Prieſts ſing ſtill For Richards Soule. More-will I doe: Though all that I can doe, is nothing worth; Since that my Penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. My Liege. My Brother Glouceſters voyce? I: I know thy errand, I will goe with thee: The day, my friend, and all things ſtay for me. The Sunne doth gild our Armour vp, my Lords. Monte Cheual: My Horſe, Ʋerlot Lacquay: Ha. Oh braue Spirit. Viales swes & terre. Rien puis le air & f. Coin, Couſin Orleance. Now my Lord Conſtable? Hearke how our Steedes, for preſent Seruice neigh. Mount them, and make inciſion in their Hides, That their hot blood may ſpin in Engliſh eyes, And doubt them with ſuperfluous courage: ha. What, wil you haue them weep our Horſes blood? How ſhall we then behold their naturall teares?