Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1623 · first performed or written 1613 [Jun] (Annals) history · King's Men 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.
So farewell, to the little good you bear me. Farewell? A long farewell to all my Greatness. This is the state of Man; to day he puts forth The tender Leaves of hopes, to morrow Blossoms, And bears his blushing Honours thick upon him: The third day, comes a Frost; a kill Frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His Greatness is a ripening, nips his root, And then he falls as I do. I have ventured Like little wanton Boys that swim on bladders: This many Summers in a Sea of Glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blowne Pride At length broke under me, and now has left me Weary, and old with Service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this World, I hate ye. I feel my heart new opened. Oh how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on Prince's favours? There is betwixt that smile we would aspire too, That sweet Aspect of Princes, and their ruin, More pangs, and fears than wars, or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. Why how now Cromwell? I have no power to speak Sir. What, amazed At my misfortunes? Can thy Spirit wonder A great man should decline. Nay, and you weep I am fall'n indeed. How does your Grace. Why well: Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell, I know myself now, and I feel within me, A peace above all earthly Dignities, A still, and quiet Conscience. The King has cured me, I humbly thank his Grace: and from these shoulders These ruined Pillars, out of pity, taken A load, would sink a Navy, (too much Honor.) O 'tis a burden Cromwell, 'tis a burden Too heavy for a man, that hopes for Heaven. I am glad your Grace, Has made that right use of it. I hope I have: I am able now (me thinks) (Out of a Fortitude of Soul, I feel) To endure more Miseries, and greater far Than my Weake-hearted Enemies, dare offer. What News abroad? The heaviest, and the worst, Is your displeasure with the King. God bless him. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moor is chosen Lord Chancellor, in your place. That's somewhat sudden. But he's a Learned man. May he continue Long in his Highness' favour, and do justice For Truths-sake, and his Conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in Blessings, May have a Tomb of Orphant's tears wept on him. What more? That Cranmer is returned with welcome; Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. That's News indeed. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in secrecy long married, This day was viewed in open, as his Queen, Going to Chapel: and the voice is now Only about her Coronation.
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)
So farewell, to the little good you beare me. Farewell? A long farewell to all my Greatneſſe. This is the ſtate of Man; to day he puts forth The tender Leaues of hopes, to morrow Bloſſomes, And beares his bluſhing Honors thicke vpon him: The third day, comes a Froſt; a killing Froſt, And when he thinkes, good eaſie man, full ſurely His Greatneſſe is a ripening, nippes his roote, And then he fals as I do. I haue ventur'd Like little wanton Boyes that ſwim on bladders: This many Summers in a Sea of Glory, But farre beyond my depth: my high-blowne Pride At length broke vnder me, and now ha's left me Weary, and old with Seruice, to the mercy Of a rude ſtreame, that muſt for euer hide me. Vaine pompe, and glory of this World, I hate ye▪ I feele my heart new open'd. Oh how wretched Is that poore man, that hangs on Princes fauours? There is betwixt that ſmile we would aſpire too, That ſweet Aſpect of Princes, and their ruine, More pangs, and feares then warres, or women haue; And when he falles, he falles like Lucifer, Neuer to hope againe. Why how now Cromwell? I haue no power to ſpeake Sir. What, amaz'd At my misfortunes? Can thy Spirit wonder A great man ſhould decline. Nay, and you weep I am falne indeed. How does your Grace. Why well: Neuer ſo truly happy, my good Cromwell, I know my ſelfe now, and I feele within me, A peace aboue all earthly Dignities, A ſtill, and quiet Conſcience. The King ha's cur'd me, I humbly thanke his Grace: and from theſe ſhoulders Theſe ruin'd Pillers, out of pitty, taken A loade, would ſinke a Nauy, (too much Honor.) O 'tis a burden Cromwel, 'tis a burden Too heauy for a man, that hopes for Heauen. I am glad your Grace, Ha's made that right vſe of it. I hope I haue: I am able now (me thinkes) (Out of a Fortitude of Soule, I feele) To endure more Miſeries, and greater farre Then my Weake-hearted Enemies, dare offer. What Newes abroad? The heauieſt, and the worſt, Is your diſpleaſure with the King. God bleſſe him. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore is choſen Lord Chancellor, in your place. That's ſomewhat ſodain. But he's a Learned man. May he continue Long in his Highneſſe fauour, and do Iuſtice For Truths-ſake, and his Conſcience; that his bones, When he ha's run his courſe, and ſleepes in Bleſſings, May haue a Tombe of Orphants teares wept on him. What more? That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Inſtall'd Lord Arch-byſhop of Canterbury. That's Newes indeed. Laſt, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in ſecrecie long married, This day was view'd in open, as his Queene, Going to Chappell: and the voyce is now Onely about her Corronation.