Chapman, George · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) · Paul's unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
Were your King brother in you: all your powers (Stretched in the arms of great men and their bawds) Set close down by you; all your stormy laws Spouted with lawyer's mouths; and gushing blood, Like to so many Torrents: all your glories: (Making you terrible, like enchanted flames Fed with bare coxcombs: and with crooked hams) All your prerogatives, your shames and tortures: All daring heaven, and opening hell about you: Were I the man, ye wronged so and provoked: (Though ne'er so much beneath you) like a box tree I would (out of the toughness of my root) Ram hardness, in my lowness, and like death Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot through all Honours and horrors: through foul and fair, And from your whole strength toss you into air. Go, thouart a devil; such another spirit Could not be stilled, from all Th'Armenian dragons. O my loves glory: heir to all I have: That's all I can say, and that all I swear. If thou outlive me, as I know thou must, Or else hath nature no proportioned end To her great labours: she hath breathed a spirit Into thy entrails, of effect to swell Into another great Augustus Caesar: Organs, and faculties fitted to her greatness: And should that perish like a common spirit, Nature's a Courtier and regards no merit. here's nought but whispering with us: like a calm Before a tempest, when the silent air Lays her soft ear close to the earth to hearken For that she fears is coming to afflict her; Some fate doth join our ears to hear it coming. Come, my brave eagle, let's to Covert fly: I see Almighty Aether in the smoke Of all his clouds descending: and the sky Hid in the dim ostents of Tragedy. Now stir the humour, and begin the brawl. The King and D'Ambois now are grown all one. Nay, they are two my Lord. How's that? No more. I must have more my Lord. What more than two? How monstrous is this? Why? You make me Horns. Not I, it is a work, without my power, Married men's ensigns are not made with fingers: Of divine Fabric they are, Not men's hands; Your wife, you know, is a Mere Cynthia, And she must fashion horns out of her Nature. But doth she? dare you charge her? speak false Prince. I must not speak my Lord: but if you'll use The learning of a noble man, and read here's something to those points: soft you must pawn Your honour having read it to return it. Not I, I pawn mine Honour, for a paper? You must not buy it under. Keep it then! And keep fire in your bosom. What says he? You must make good the rest. How fares my Lord? Takes my Love any thing to heart he says? Come you're a.
seed 43: T57 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Were your King brother in you: all your powers (Stretcht in the armes of great men and their bawds) Set close downe by you; all your stormie lawes Spouted with Lawyers mouths; and gushing bloud, Like to so many Torrents: all your glories: (Making you terrible, like enchaunted flames Fed with bare cockescombes: and with crooked hammes) All your prerogatiues, your shames and tortures: All daring heauen, and opening hell about you: Were I the man, ye wrong'd so and prouok'd: (Though ne're so much beneath you) like a box tree I would (out of the toughnesse of my root) Ramme hardnesse, in my lownesse, and like death Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot through all Honors and horrors: through fowle and faire, And from your whole strength tosse you into aire. Goe, th'art a diuell; such another spirit Could not be stild, from all Th'Armenian dragons. O my Loues glory: heire to all I haue: That's all I can say, and that all I sweare. If thou outliue me, as I know thou must, Or else hath nature no proportiond end To her great labors: she hath breath'd a spirit Into thy entrailes, of effect to swell Into another great Augustus Caesar: Organes, and faculties fitted to her greatnesse: And should that perish like a common spirit, Nature's a Courtier and regards no merit. Heer's nought but whispering with vs: like a calme Before a tempest, when the silent aire Laies her soft eare close to the earth to hearken For that she feares is comming to afflict her; Some fate doth ioine our eares to heare it comming. Come, my braue eagle, let's to Couert flie: I see Almighty Aether in the smoake Of all his clowds descending: and the skie Hid in the dimme oftents of Tragedy. Now stirre the humour, and begin the brawle. The King and D'Ambois now are growen all one. Nay, they are two my Lord. How's that? No more. I must haue more my Lord. What more than two? How monstrous is this? Why? You make me Horns. Not I, it is a worke, without my power, Married mens ensignes are not made with fingers: Of diuine Fabrique they are, Not mens hands; Your wife, you know, is a Meere Cynthia, And she must fashion hornes out of her Nature. But doth she? dare you charge her? speak false Prince. I must not speake my Lord: but if yow'le vse The learning of a noble man, and read Heer's something to those points: soft you must pawne Your honour hauing read it to returne it. Not I, I pawne mine Honour, for a paper? You must not buie it vnder. Keepe it then! And keepe fire in your bosome. What saies he? You must make good the rest. How fares my Lord? Takes my Loue any thing to heart he saies? Come y'are a.