Shakespeare, William · published 1600 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1597-1598] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an typicality 0.86 · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
No, no, my lord, note this, the King is weary Of dainty and such picking grievances, For he hath found, to end one doubt by death, Revives two greater in the heirs of life: And therefore will he wipe his tables clean, And keep no tell tale to his memory, That may repeat, and history his loss, To new remembrance: for full well he knows, He cannot so precisely weed this land, As his misdoubts present occasion, His foes are so enrooted with his friends, That plucking to unfix an enemy, He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend, So that this land, like an offensive wife, That hath enraged him on to offer strokes, As he is striking, holds his infant up, And hangs resolved correction in the arm, That was upreard to execution. Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods, On late offenders, that he now doth lack The very instruments of chastisement. So that his power, like to a phanglesse lion, May offer, but not hold. 'tis very true, And therefore be assured, my good Lord Marshall, If we do now make our atonement well, Our peace will like a broken limb united, Grow stronger for the breaking. Be it so, here is returned my lord of Westmoreland. The prince is here at hand, pleaseth your Lordship To meet his grace just distance tween our armies. Your grace of York, in God's name then set forward. Before, and greet his grace (my lord) we come. You are well encountered here, my cousin Mowbray, Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop, And so to you Lord Hastings and to all. My Lord of York, it better showed with you, When that your flock assembled by the bell, Encircled you, to hear with reverence, Your exposition on the holy text, That now to see you here, an iron man talking, Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, Turning the word to sword, and life to death. That man that sits within a monarchs heart, And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, Would he abuse the countenance of the King: Alack what mischiefs might he set abroach, In shadow of such greatness? with you Lord bishop It is even so, who hath not heard it spoken, How deep you were within the books of God, To us the speaker in his parliament, To us th'imagine voice of God himself, The very opener and intelligencer, Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, And our dull workings? O who shall believe, But you misuse the reverence of your place, Imply the countenance and grace of heaven, As a false favourite doth his prince's name: In deeds dishonourable you have ta'en up, Under the counterfeited zeal of God, The subjects of his substitute my father, And both against the peace of heaven and him, Have here upswarmd them.
seed 43: T57 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
No, no, my lord, note this, the King is weary Of daintie and such picking greeuances, For he hath found, to end one doubt by death, Reuiues two greater in the heires of life: And therefore will he wipe his tables cleane, And keepe no tel tale to his memorie, That may repeate, and history his losse, To new remembrance: for full wel he knowes, He cannot so precisely weed this land, As his misdoubts present occasion, His foes are so enrooted with his friends, That plucking to vnfix an enemy, He doth vnfasten so, and shake a friend, So that this land, like an offensiue wife, That hath enragde him on to offer strokes, As he is striking, holdes his infant vp, And hangs resolu'd correction in the arme, That was vpreard to execution. Besides, the King hath wasted al his rods, On late offendors, that he now doth lacke The very instruments of chasticement. So that his power, like to a phanglesse lion, May offer, but not hold. Tis very true, And therefore be assurde, my good Lord Marshall, If we do now make our attonement well, Our peace wil like a broken limbe vnited, Grow stronger for the breaking. Be it so, here is returnd my lord of Westmerland. The prince is here at hand, pleaseth your Lordship To meet his grace iust distance tweene our armies. Your grace of York, in Gods name then set forward. Before, and greete his grace (my lord) we come. You are well incountred here, my cousen Mowbray, Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop, And so to you Lord Hastings and to all. My Lord of Yorke, it better shewed with you, When that your flocke assembled by the bell, Encircled you, to heare with reuerence, Your exposition on the holy text, That now to see you here, an yron man talking, Cheering a rowt of rebells with your drumme, Turning the word to sword, and life to death. That man that sits within a monarches heart, And ripens in the sun-shine of his fauor, Would he abuse the countenance of the King: Alacke what mischeefes might he set abroach, In shadow of such greatnesse? with you Lord bishop It is euen so, who hath not heard it spoken, How deepe you were within the bookes of God, To vs the speaker in his parliament, To vs th'imagine voice of God himselfe, The very opener and intelligener, Betweene the grace, the sanctities of heauen, And our dull workings? O who shal beleeue, But you misuse the reuerence of your place, Imply the countenance and grace of heau'n, As a false fauorite doth his princes name: In deedes dishonorable you haue tane vp, Vnder the counterfeited zeale of God, The subiects of his substitute my father, And both against the peace of heauen and him, Haue here vpswarmd them.