The Tragedy of Charles Duke of Byron · chunk 21 of 37
Chapman, George · published 1608 · first performed or written 1608 [1607-1608] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Queen's Revels unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
king's hate to hear what they command men speak, Ask life, and to desert of death ye yield. Where Medicines loath, it irks men to be healed, Resign your sword (my Lord) the King commands it. Me to resign my sword? what king is he, Hath used it better for the realm than I? My sword, that all the wars within the length, Breadth and the whole dimensions of great France, Hath sheathed betwixt his hilt and horrid point? And fixed ye all in such a flourishing Peace? My sword that never enemy could enforce, Bereft me by my friends? Now, good my Lord, Beseech the King, I may resign my sword, To his hand only. You must do your office, The King commands you; 'tis in vain to strive, For I must force it; Have I near a friend, That bears another for me? All the Guard? What will you kill me? will you smother here His life that can command, and save in field, A hundred thousand lives? For manhood sake; Lend something to this poor forsaken hand; For all my service, let me have the honour To die defending of my innocent self, And have some little space to pray to God. Come, you are an Atheist Byron, and a Traitor, Both foul and damnable; Thy innocent self? No Leper is so buried quick in ulcers As thy corrupted soul: Thou end the war? And settle peace in France? what war hath raged, Into whose fury I have not exposed, My person; which is as free a spirit as thine? Thy worthy Father, and thyself, combined, And armed in all the merits of your valours; (Your bodies thrust amidst the thickest fight;) Never were bristled with so many battles, Nor on the foe have broke such woods of Lances As grew upon my thigh; and I have Marshalled; I am ashamed to brag thus; where envy And arrogance, their opposite Bulwark raise; Men are allowed to use their proper praise; Away with him; Away with him? live I? And here my life thus slighted? cursed man, That ever the intelligencing lights Betrayed me to men's whorish fellowships; To PRINCE's Moorish slaveries; To be made The anvil, on which only blows, and wounds Were made the seed, and wombs of others honours; A property for a Tyrant, to set up, And puff down, with the vapour of his breath; Will you not kill me? No; we will not hurt you, We are commanded only to conduct you Into your lodging; To my lodging? where? Within the cabinet of Arms my Lord: What to a prison? Death; I will not go; we'll force you then; And take away my sword; A proper point of force; ye had as good, Have robbed me of my soul; Slaves of my Stars, Partial and bloody; O that in mine eyes Were all the Sorcerous poison of my woes, That I might witch ye headlong from your height, And trample on't, your execrable light.
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)
Kings hate to heare what they command men speake, Aske life, and to desert of death ye yeeld. Where Medicins loath, it yrcks men to be heald, Resigne your sword (my Lord) the King commands it▪ Me to resigne my sword? what king is he, Hath vsd it better for the realme then I? My sword, that all the warres within the length, Breadth and the whole dimensions of great France, Hath sheathd betwixt his hilt and horrid point? And fixt ye all in such a florishing Peace? My sword that neuer enimie could inforce, Bereft me by my friendes? Now, good my Lord, Beseech the King, I may resigne my sword, To his hand onely. You must do your office, The King commands you; Tis in vaine to striue, For I must force it; Haue I nere a friend, That beares another for me? All the Guard? What will you kill me? will you smother here His life that can command, and saue in field, A hundred thousand liues? For man-hood sake; Lend something to this poore forsaken hand; For all my seruice, let me haue the honor To dye defending of my innocent selfe, And haue some little space to pray to God. Come, you are an Atheist Byron, and a Traytor, Both foule and damnable; Thy innocent selfe? No Leper is so buried quicke in vlcers As thy corrupted soule: Thou end the war? And settle peace in France? what war hath rag'd, Into whose fury I haue not exposd, My person▪ wich is as free a spirit as thine? Thy worthy Father, and thy selfe, combinde, And armd in all the merits of your valors; (Your bodyes thrust amidst the thickest fight▪) Neuer were bristeld with so many battayles▪ Nor on the foe haue broke such woods of Launces As grew vpon my thigh; and I haue Marshald; I am ashamd to bragge thus; where enuy And arrogance, their opposit Bulwarke raise; Men are allowd to vse their proper praise; Away with him; Away with him? liue I? And here my life thus sleighted? cursed man, That euer the intelligensing lights Betraid me to mens whorish fellowships; To Princes Moorish slaueries; To be made The Anuille, on which onely blowes, and woundes Were made the seed, and wombs of others honors; A property for a Tyrant, to set vp, And puffe downe, with the vapour of his breath; Will you not kill me? No; we will not hurt you, We are commanded onely to conduct you Into your lodging; To my lodging? where? Within the Cabynet of Armes my Lord: What to a prison? Death; I will not go; Weele force you then; And take away my sword; A proper point of force; ye had as good, Haue rob'd me of my soule; Slaues of my Starrs, Partiall and bloody; O that in mine eyes Were all the Sorcerous poyson of my woes, That I might witch ye headlong from your height, And trample ou't, your excrable light.