Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1623 · first performed or written 1613 [Jun] (Annals) history · King's Men T31 Popes, cardinals and the crown typicality 0.81 · 454 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T31: cardinal, pope, king, lord, majesty, holy, rome, france, church, lords.
Now God incense him, And let him cry Ha', louder. But my Lord When returns Cranmer? He is returned in his Opinions, which Have satisfied the King for his Divorce, Together with all famous Colleges Almost in Christendom: shortly (I believe) His second Marriage shall be publishd, and Her Coronation. Katherine no more Shall be called Queen, but Princess Dowager, And Widow to Prince Arthur. This same Cranmers A worthy Fellow, and hath ta'en much pain In the King's business. He has, and we shall see him For it an Archbishop. So I hear. 'Tis so. The Cardinal. Observe, observe, he's moody. The Packet Cromwell, Gav't you the King? To his own hand, in's Bedchamber. Looked he o' th' inside of the Paper? Presently He did unseal them, and the first he viewed, He did it with a Serious mind: a heed Was in his countenance. You he bade Attend him here this Morning. Is he ready to come abroad? I think by this he is. Leave me a while. It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon, The French Kings Sister; He shall marry her. Anne Bullen? No: I'll no Anne Bullens for him, There's more in't then fair Visage. Bullen? No, we'll no Bullens: Speedily I wish To hear from Rome. The marchioness of Penbroke? He's discontented. Maybe he hears the King Does whet his Anger to him. Sharp enough, Lord for thy justice. The late Queen's Gentlewoman? A Knight's Daughter To be her Mistress Mistress? The Queens, Queen? This Candle burns not clear, 'tis I must snuff it, Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous And well deserving? yet I know her for A spleeny Lutheran, and not wholesome to Our cause, that she should lie i' th' bosom of Our hard ruled King. Again, there is sprung up An Heretic, an Arch-one; Cranmer, one Hath crawled into the favour of the King, And is his Oracle. He is vexed at something. I would 'twere something that would fret the string, The Master-cord on's heart. The King, the King. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated To his own portion? And what expense by ' th' hour Seems to flow from him? How, i' th' name of Thrift Does he rake this together? Now my Lords, Saw you the Cardinal? My Lord, we have Stood here observing him. Some strange Commotion Is in his brain: He bites his lip, and starts, Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then lays his finger on his Temple: strait Springs out into fast gate, then stops again, Strikes his breast hard, and anon, he casts His eye against the Moon: in most strange Postures We have seen him set himself.
seed 43: T38 · seed 44: T38 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Now God incenſe him, And let him cry Ha, lowder. But my Lord When returnes Cranmer? He is return'd in his Opinions, which Haue ſatisfied the King for his Diuorce, Together with all famous Colledges Almoſt in Chriſtendome: ſhortly (I beleeue) His ſecond Marriage ſhall be publiſhd, and Her Coronation▪ Katherine no more Shall be call'd Queene, but Princeſſe Dowager, And Widdow to Prince Arthur. This ſame Cranmer's A worthy Fellow, and hath tane much paine In the Kings buſineſſe. He ha's, and we ſhall ſee him For it an Arch-byſhop. So I heare. 'Tis ſo. The Cardinall. Obſerue, obſerue, hee's moody. The Packet Cromwell, Gau't you the King? To his owne hand, in's Bed-chamber. Look'd he o' th' inſide of the Paper? Preſently He did vnſeale them, and the firſt he view'd, He did it with a Serious minde: a heede Was in his countenance. You he bad Attend him heere this Morning. Is he ready to come abroad? I thinke by this he is. Leaue me a while. It ſhall be to the Dutches of Alanſon, The French Kings Siſter; He ſhall marry her. Anne Bullen? No: Ile no Anne Bullens for him, There's more in't then faire Viſage. Bullen? No, wee'l no Bullens: Speedily I wiſh To heare from Rome. The Marchioneſſe of Penbroke? He's diſcontented. Maybe he heares the King Does whet his Anger to him. Sharpe enough, Lord for thy Iuſtice. The late Queenes Gentlewoman? A Knights Daughter To be her Miſtris Miſtris? The Queenes, Queene? This Candle burnes not cleere, 'tis I muſt ſnuffe it, Then out it goes. What though I know her vertuous And well deſeruing? yet I know her for A ſpleeny Lutheran, and not wholſome to Our cauſe, that ſhe ſhould lye i' th' boſome of Our hard rul'd King. Againe, there is ſprung vp An Heretique, an Arch-one; Cranmer, one Hath crawl'd into the fauour of the King, And is his Oracle. He is vex'd at ſomething. I would 'twer ſomthing yt would fret the ſtring, The Maſter-cord on's heart. The King, the King. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated To his owne portion? And what expence by' th' houre Seemes to flow from him? How, i' th' name of Thrift Does he rake this together? Now my Lords, Saw you the Cardinall? My Lord, we haue Stood heere obſeruing him. Some ſtrange Commotion Is in his braine: He bites his lip, and ſtarts, Stops on a ſodaine, lookes vpon the ground, Then layes his finger on his Temple: ſtraight Springs out into faſt gate, then ſtops againe, Strikes his breſt hard, and anon, he caſts His eye againſt the Moone: in moſt ſtrange Poſtures We haue ſeene him ſet himſelfe.