Markham, Gervase / Machin, Lewis · published 1608 · first performed or written 1608 [1607-1608] (Annals) tragicomedy · Children of the King's Revels unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
Be a blessed Mercury, now mount thee up my spirit, And show thyself a politician, Let slander rule thy tongue, envy thy heart, And let destruction be thy period Of what thou speak'st; for this my maxim is, But rule no heaven, and but revenge no bliss. Here comes the King, my Lord we must be private, Remove your hear from our conference, Now speak my Lord, speak freely as to heaven. First with my knee I kiss this prostrate earth, And humbly beg, that which my tongue shall speak, So it proceed from love and vassalage, May bear a pardon or forgetfulness. You have it, arise, discharge an open breast. O my dread Liege, my speech will make you sad, (And Kings do seldom relish their distastes) And from that sadness such a storm will rise As will even drown up all credulity. O that my loyal heart could cover sin, Or that my tongue enured unto grief, Might lose his spleen ere it distemper you, But love and mine allegiance bid me speak. Then speak, and do not rack me with delay. Women, why were you made for man's affliction, The first that ever made us taste of grief, And last of whom in torments we complain, You devils shaped like Angels, through whose deeds, Our forked shames are made most visible, No soul of sense would wrong bright majesty, Nor stain their blood with such impurity. Nay good Lord leave this allegoric speech, And give me knowledge from a plainer phrase. Then plainly thus, your bed is priest with lust. I know you do not credit, nay what's more, I know you hate me for my virtuousness, Your Queen behaves her like a courtesan, I know you hold me for a vild impostor, O foolish zeal that makes me be so fond To leave my faith unto black censuring, O she hath sinned and done a double wrong To you, to her and sacred chastity. Duke thou art valiant, and with a valiant mind, Slander is worse than theft or sacrilege, Nay more than murder, or the height of treason, A step beyond the utmost plagues in hell. Then thou which in that nature wrong'st a Queen, Deservest a scourge beyond their punishments, Virtue should kill thee now. Nay do, my breast is bare unto thy steel, Kill me because I love thee and speak true, Is this the merit of a Roman faith, For this have I observed, pried in unto, And searched each secret shift of vanity? Nay pray you kill me, faith I'll patiented stand, Live still a monster, hold shame in your hand. Speak a word more, a King shallbe thy death. Death is a slave to him that is resolved, And my soul loathes this servile flattery: Nor will I cover such intemperate sin, But to the world make them and that transparent, Unless yourself will seek to right yourself.
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)
Be a blest Mercury, now mount thee vp my spirit, And shew thy selfe a Polititian, Let slaunder rule thy tongue, enuy thy hart, And let destruction be thy period Of what thou speakst; for this my maxim is, But rule no heauen, and but reuenge no blisse. Here comes the King, my Lord we must be priuat, Remoue your hearings from our conference, Now speake my Lord, speake freely as to heauen. First with my knee I kisse this prostrate earth, And humbly beg, that which my tongue shall speake, So it proceede from loue and vassallage, May beare a pardon or forgetfulnes. You haue it, arise, discharge an open breast. O my dread Liege, my speech will make you sad, (And Kings doe seldome rellish their distastes) And from that sadnes such a storme will rise As will euen droune vp all credulity. O that my loyall hart could couer sinne, Or that my tongue inured vnto griefe, Might lose his spleene ere it distemper you, But loue and mine alleagance bid me speake. Then speake, and doe not rack me with delay. Women, why were you made for mans affliction, The first that euer made vs taste of griefe, And last of whom in torments we complaine, You diuels shapt like Angels, through whose deedes, Our forked shames are made most visible, No soule of sense would wrong bright Maiesty, Nor staine their bloud with such impurity. Nay good Lord leaue this Allegorick speech, And giue me knowledge from a plainer phrase. Then plainly thus, your bed is prest with lust. I know you doe not credit, nay whats more, I know you hate me for my vertuousnes, Your Queene behaues her like a curtezan, I know you hold me for a vild imposter, O foolish zeale that makes me be so fond To leaue my faith vnto black censuring, O she hath sinn'd and done a double wrong To you, to her and sacred chastity. Duke thou art valiant, and with a valiant mind, Slander is worse then theft or sacrilidge, Nay more then murder, or the height of treason, A step beyond the vtmost plagues in hell. Then thou which in that nature wrongst a Queene, Deseru'st a scourge beyond their punishments, Vertue should kill thee now. Nay doe, my brest is bare vnto thy steele, Kill me because I loue thee and speake true, Is this the merit of a Romane faith, For this haue I obseru'd, pried in vnto, And searcht each secret shift of vanity? Nay pray you kill me, faith Ile patient stand, Liue still a monster, hold shame in your hand. Speake a word more, a King shalbe thy death. Death is a slaue to him that is resolud, And my soule loathes this seruile flattery: Nor will I couer such intemperate sinne, But to the world make them and that transparent, Vnlesse your selfe will seeke to right your selfe.