Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1623 · first performed or written 1613 [Jun] (Annals) history · King's Men unassigned nearest T32 Rings and jewels as tokens · 493 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T32: ring, ti, gave, finger, jewel, lady, lord, love, invisible, away.
Do not I know you for a Favourer Of this new Sect? ye are not sound. Not sound? Not sound I say. Would you were half so honest: men's prayers than would seek you, not their fears. I shall remember this bold Language. Do. Remember your bold life too. This is too much; Forbear for shame my Lords. I have done. And I. Then thus for you my Lord, it stands agreed I take it, by all voices: That forthwith, You be conveyed to th' Tower a Prisoner; There to remain till the King's further pleasure Be known unto us: are you all agreed Lords. And by that verte no man dare accuse you. And by that virtue no man dare accuse you. We are. Is there no other way of mercy, But I must needs to th' Tower my Lords? What other, Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome: Let some o' th' Guard be ready there. For me? Must I go like a Traitor thither? Receive him, And see him safe i' th' Tower. Stay good my Lords, I have a little yet to say. Look there my Lords, By virtue of that Ring, I take my cause Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it To a most Noble judge, the King my Master. This is the King's Ring. 'Tis no counterfeit. 'Ts the right Ring, by Heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves. Do you think my Lords The King will suffer but the little finger Of this man to be vexed? 'tis now too certain; How much more is his Life in value with him? Would I were fairly out on't. My mind gave me, In seeking tales and Informations Against this man, whose honesty the Devil And his Disciples only envy at, Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye. Dread Sovereign, How much are we bound to Heaven, In daily thankes; that gave us such a Prince; Not only good and wise, but most religious: One that in all obedience, makes the Church The chief aim of his Honour, and to strengthen That holy duty out of dear respect, His Royal self in judgement comes to hear The cause betwixt her, and this great offender. You were ever good at sudden Commendations, Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not To hear such flattery now, and in my presence They are too thin, and base to hide offences, To me you cannot reach. You play the Spaniel, And think with wagging of your tongue to win me: But whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for; I'm sure Thou hast a cruel Nature and a bloody. Good man sit down: Now let me see the proudest He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee. By all that's holy, he had better starve, Then but once think his place becomes thee not.
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)
Doe not I know you for a Fauourer Of this new Sect? ye are not ſound. Not ſound? Not ſound I ſay. Would you were halfe ſo honeſt: Mens prayers then would ſeeke you, not their feares. I ſhall remember this bold Language. Doe. Remember your bold life too. This is too much; Forbeare for ſhame my Lords. I haue done. And I. Then thus for you my Lord, it ſtands agreed I take it, by all voyces: That forthwith, You be conuaid to th' Tower a Priſoner; There to remaine till the Kings further pleaſure Be knowne vnto vs: are you all agreed Lords. And by that verte no man dare accuſe you. And by that vertue no man dare accuſe you. We are. Is there no other way of mercy, But I muſt needs to th' Tower my Lords? What other, Would you expect? You are ſtrangely troubleſome: Let ſome o' th' Guard be ready there. For me? Muſt I goe like a Traytor thither? Receiue him, And ſee him ſafe i' th' Tower. Stay good my Lords, I haue a little yet to ſay. Looke there my Lords, By vertue of that Ring, I take my cauſe Out of the gripes of cruell men, and giue it To a moſt Noble Iudge, the King my Maiſter. This is the Kings Ring. 'Tis no counterfeit. 'Ts the right Ring, by Heau'n: I told ye all, When we firſt put this dangerous ſtone a rowling, 'Twold fall vpon our ſelues. Doe you thinke my Lords The King will ſuffer but the little finger Of this man to be vex'd? Tis now too certaine; How much more is his Life in value with him? Would I were fairely out on't. My mind gaue me, In ſeeking tales and Informations Againſt this man, whoſe honeſty the Diuell And his Diſciples onely enuy at, Ye blew the fire that burnes ye: now haue at ye. Dread Soueraigne, How much are we bound to Heauen, In dayly thankes; that gaue vs ſuch a Prince; Not onely good and wiſe, but moſt religious: One that in all obedience, makes the Church The cheefe ayme of his Honour, and to ſtrengthen That holy duty out of deare reſpect, His Royall ſelfe in Iudgement comes to heare The cauſe betwixt her, and this great offender. You were euer good at ſodaine Commendations, Biſhop of Wincheſter. But know I come not To heare ſuch flattery now, and in my preſence They are too thin, and baſe to hide offences, To me you cannot reach. You play the Spaniell, And thinke with wagging of your tongue to win me: But whatſoere thou tak'ſt me for; I'm ſure Thou haſt a cruell Nature and a bloody. Good man ſit downe: Now let me ſee the proudeſt Hee, that dares moſt, but wag his finger at thee. By all that's holy, he had better ſtarue, Then but once thinke his place becomes thee not.