Gomersall, Robert · published 1633 · first performed or written 1628 [1622-1628] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T25 Kings, power and law: political sententi · 490 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
WHat will become of this declining State? Can we believe that the yet patient heaven Will any longer suffer? and not give Destruction as notorious as our crimes. Awake, stern justice, and unsheathe thy sword. The Scabbard will not heal us, but the edge, Nor is't enough to brandish, but to strike: Let then thy terror give us innocence, That mildness may no longer injure man. Why, thou perpetual Murmurer, thou sea Tossed with eternal tempest, thou dark sky With everlasting clouds, thou— any thing, Whom, being angry I can call no more: Think better of those acts thou canst not mend. Will Sforza be less bad, because thou whinest? Or dost thou think thy pitiful complaints Can beg a goodness of Ascanio? I never knew that mighty use of tears, That they could wash away another's fault: When thou shalt want a tear for a fit grief, Sanseverin will be a Coward still: And when thy groans are turned to thy last gasp, Cajazzo will not be less treacherous. Now for thy thunder, heaven, now now for a piece Of thy most eminent Artillery. Are you still silent? see, he tears their papers, Papers, perhaps, wherein they worship him, Give him more titles, than they give their God; And yet he tears them. O vast Favourite! Swelled by the airy favour of thy Prince, Till thou hast dimmed the light that made thee shine, Till Sforza's less than his Sanseverin. Tell me, good Picinino, does the Sun Spend all his rays upon one Continent? Or have you ever seen the partial heavens Upon one Acre lavish all her showers While the rest moulder with dry barrenness? I have not, Iuliano, but what then? Are you to seek for the collection? Why, has not Sforza made himself our Sun? Are not his favours our refreshing showers? Why should one suck up what is due to all? Why is the Prince made a Monopoly? Thou mak'st me laugh at thy fond question: What? are not Princes men; of the same mould, Of the same passions with inferiors? Do not they fear, desire, and hate (as we) And shall we only hinder them from love? cobblers may have their friends, & why not Kings? Because theyare higher than the rest of men, Shall they be therefore worse? and therefore want The Benefits, because they have the Rule? O hard condition of Majesty! The former accusation of Kings Has been their cruelty, that they did hate The people they should govern: O hard plight! O strange perverseness! shall their love at length, Their friendship be imputed as their fault? Would Heaven our Sforza had no worse a crime. You are a worthy Advocate, and here Comes your great Patron: go and ask your fee. This is a saucy importunity: You have your answer. O my gracious Lord, Look on these scars I gained in the French war, Where I have lost my Fortunes,
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)
WHat will become of this declining State? Can we beleeve that the yet patient heav'n Will any longer suffer? and not give Destruction as notorious as our crimes. Awake, sterne Iustice, and unsheath thy sword. The Scabberd will not heale us, but the edge, Nor is't enough to brandish, but to strike: Let then thy terrour give us innocence, That mildnesse may no longer injure man. Why, thou perpetuall Murmurer, thou sea Tost with eternall tempest, thou darke sky VVith everlasting clouds, thou—any thing, VVhom, being angry I can call no more: Thinke better of those acts thou canst not mend. VVill Sforza be lesse bad, because thou whin'st? Or dost thou thinke thy pittifull complaints Can beg a goodnesse of Ascanio? I never knew that mighty use of teares, That they could wash away anothers fault: VVhen thou shalt want a teare for a fit griefe, Sanseverin will be a Coward still: And when thy groanes are turn'd to thy last gaspe, Cajazzo will not be lesse trecherous. Now for thy thunder, heav'n, now now for a piece Of thy most eminent Artillery. Are you still silent? see, he teares their papers, Papers, perhaps, wherein they worship him, Give him more titles, then they give their God; And yet he teares them. O vast Favourite! Swell'd by the airy favour of thy Prince, Till thou hast dimm'd the light that made thee shine, Till Sforza's lesse then his Sanseverin. Tell me, good Picinino, does the Sunne Spend all his rayes upon one Continent? Or have you ever seene the partiall Heav'ns Vpon one Acre lavish all her showres While the rest moulder with dry barrennesse? I have not, Iuliano, but what then? Are you to seeke for the collection? Why, has not Sforza made himselfe our Sunne? Are not his favours our refreshing showers? Why should one suck up what is due to all? Why is the Prince made a Monopoly? Thou mak'st me laugh at thy fond question: What? are not Princes men; of the same mould, Of the same passions with inferiours? Doe not they feare, desire, and hate (as we) And shall we onely hinder them from love? Coblers may have their friends, & why not Kings? Because th'are higher then the rest of men, Shall they be therefore worse? and therefore want The Benefits, because they have the Rule? O hard condition of Majesty! The former accusation of Kings Has beene their cruelty, that they did hate The people they should governe: O hard plight! O strange perversnesse! shall their love at length, Their frindship be imputed as their fault? Would Heav'n our Sforza had no worse a crime. You are a worthy Advocate, and here Comes your great Patron: goe and aske your fee. This is a sawcy importunity: You have your answer. O my gracious Lord, Looke on these scarres I gain'd in the French war, Where I have lost my Fortunes,