Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
My Lord, the Genowaies had wont to say Name not the Genowaies: that very word un-kings me quite, makes me vile passion's slave. O, you that made open the glibery Ice Of vulgar favour, view Andrugio. Was never Prince with more applause confirmed, With louder shouts of triumph launched out Into the surgy main of government: Was never Prince with more despite cast out, Left shipwrecked, banished, on more guiltless ground. O rotten props of the crazed multitude, How you still double, falter, under the lightest chance That strains your veins. Alas, one battle lost, Your whorish love, your drunken healths, your hoots and shouts, Your smooth God save's, and all your devils last That tempts our quiet, to your hell of throngs. Spit on me Lucio, for I am turned slave: Observe how passion domineers o'er me. No wonder, noble Lord, having lost a son, A country, crown, and I Lucio, having lost a son, a son, A country, house, crown, son. O lares, misereri lares. Which shall I first deplore? My son, my son, My dear sweet boy, my dear Antonio. Antonio? ay, echo, I; I mean Antonio. Antonio, who means Antonio? Where art? what art? know'st thou Antonio? Yes. Lives he? No. Where lies he dead? Here. Where? Here. Art thou Antonio? I think I am. Dost thou but think? What, dost not know thyself? He is a fool that thinks he knows himself. Upon thy faith to heaven, give thy name. I were not worthy of Andrugio's blood, If I denied my name's Antonio. I were not worthy to be called thy father, If I denied my name Andrugio. And dost thou live? O, let me kiss thy cheek, And dew thy brow with trickling drops of joy. Now heavens will be done: for I have lived To see my joy, my son Antonio. Give my thy hand; now fortune do thy worst, His blood, that leapt thy spirit in the womb, Thus (in his love) will make his arms thy tomb. Bless not the body with your twining arms, Which is accursed of heaven. O, what black sin Hath been committed by our ancient house, Whose scalding vengeance lights upon our heads, That thus the world, and fortune casts us out, As loathed objects, ruins branded slaves. Do not expostulate the heavens will: But, O, remember to forget thyself: Forget remembrance what thou once hast been. Come, creep with me from out this open air. Even trees have tongues, and will betray our life. I am a raising of our house, my boy: Which fortune will not envy, 'tis so mean, And like the world (all dirt) there shalt thou rip The innards of thy fortunes, in mine ears, Whilst I sit weeping, blind with passions tears: Then i'll begin, and we'll such order keep, That one shall still tell griefs, the other weep.
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)
My Lord, the Genowaies had wont to say Name not the Genowaies: that very word Vnkings me quite, makes me vile passions slaue. O, you that made open the glibbery Ice Of vulgar fauour, viewe Andrugio. Was neuer Prince with more applause confirm'd, With louder shouts of tryumph launched out Into the surgy maine of gouernment: Was neuer Prince with more despight cast out, Left shipwrackt, banisht, on more guiltlesse ground. O rotten props of the craz'd multitude, How you stil double, faulter, vnder the lightest chance That straines your vaines. Alas, one battle lost, Your whorish loue, your drunken healths, your houts and shouts, Your smooth God saue's, and all your diuels last That tempts our quiet, to your hell of throngs. Spit on me Lucio, for I am turnd slaue: Obserue how passion domineres ore me. No wonder, noble Lord, hauing lost a sonne, A country, crowne, and I Lucio, hauing lost a sonne, a sonne, A country, house, crowne, sonne. O lares, misereri lares. Which shall I first deplore? My sonne, my sonne, My deare sweete boy, my deare Antonio. Antonio? I, eccho, I; I meane Antonio. Antonio, who meanes Antonio? Where art? what art? know'st thou Antonio? Yes. Liues hee? No. Where lies hee deade? Here. Where? Here. Art thou Antonio? I thinke I am. Dost thou but think? What, dost not know thy selfe? He is a foole that thinks he knowes himselfe. Vpon thy faith to heauen, giue thy name. I were not worthy of Andrugio's blood, If I denied my name's Antonio. I were not worthy to be call'd thy father, If I denied my name Andrugio. And dost thou liue? O, let me kisse thy cheeke, And deaw thy browe with trickling drops of ioy. Now heauens will be done: for I haue liu'd To see my ioy, my sonne Antonio. Giue my thy hand; now fortune doe thy worst, His blood, that lapt thy spirit in the wombe, Thus (in his loue) will make his armes thy tombe. Blesse not the bodie with your twining armes, Which is accurst of heauen. O, what black sinne Hath bin committed by our auntient house, Whose scalding vengeance lights vpon our heads, That thus the world, and fortune casts vs out, As loathed obiects, ruines branded slaues. Doe not expostulate the heauens will: But, O, remember to forget thy selfe: Forget remembrance what thou once hast bin. Come, creepe with me from out this open ayre. Euen trees haue tongues, and will betray our life. I am a raising of our house, my boy: Which fortune will not enuie, tis so meane, And like the world (all durt) there shalt thou rippe The inwards of thy fortunes, in mine eares, Whilst I sit weeping, blinde with passions teares: Then ile begin, and weele such order keepe, That one shall still tell greefes, the other weepe.