Rowley, William · published 1633 · first performed or written 1619 [c.1619-1620(?)] (Annals) tragedy · Prince Charles's Men (first) · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
I cry you mercy Sir, and my king mercy, And I beshrew my thoughts for being troubled. I know the cause myself, his grace is wise, For seeing me on a Pyramis of honour, So eye-able to the world, the talking slaves, The multitude in their loud be bellowing voices, Might add so much to me Sir, as might dim His own proper glory, for such weak eyes see The present , , or , He gives me safety in Himself much worth and honour, for Sir, what honour Can subjects have, but is their kings Due heir Crowne, , I do app , Your prisoners must be sent him too my Lord. Ha? my prisoners? that goes somewhat further, Sir, I befe yo this day yourself into our Camp, y'are nobly welcome, The go the oo This very night, answer and confirm What he commands. Tomorrow I must return. You shall, mean time I pray be merry with us: Commandd he Co my prisoners nt for! Tis strange; oh my forgetfull mry! I did not ask how my Iacinta fared: But she forgets too, minds not me her father, We'll mix 'em both together, but my prisoners! Sir, here's a woman (forced by some tide of sorrow) With tears entreats your pity, and to see you. If any soldier has done violence to her, Beyond our military discipline, Death shall divide him from us, Fetch her in. I have myself a daughter,- on whose face But thinking, I must need be pitiful: And when I ha' told my conquest to my king, My poor girl then shall know, how for her sake I did one pious act; is this the creature! Yes, my Lord, and a sad one. Leave us: a sad one! The downcast look, calls up compassion in me, A corpse going to the grave looks not more deadly, Why kneelst thou! art thou wronged by any soldier! Rise, for this honour is not due to me. Hast not a tongue to read thy sorrows out! This book I understand not. O my dear father! Thy father? who has wronged him? A great Commander. Under me! Above you. Above me? whose above a General? None but the General of all Spain's Armies, And that's the king, king Roderick; he's all goodness. He cannot wrong thy father. What was Tarquin? A king, and yet a ravisher. Such a sin Was in those days a monster, now 'tis common. Prithee be plain. Have not you Sir, a daughter? If I have not, I am the wretchedst man That this day lives: for all the wealth I have Lives in that child. O for your daughters sake then hear my woes. Rise then, and speak 'em. No, let me kneel still, Such a resemblance of a daughter's duty, Will make you mindful of a father's love: For such my injuries must exact from you, A you would for your own.
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)
I cry you mercy Sir, and my king mercy, And I beshrew my hoghts for beg troubled. I know the canst my selfe, his grce is wise, For seeing me on a of , So eye-able to the world, the slaves, The multitude in their loud beg voyce, Might adde so much to me Sir, as might dim His owne proper , for such see The present , , or , He gives me safty , Himselfe much worth and honour, for Sir, what honour Can subiects have, but is Due heir Crowne, , I do app , Your prisoners must be sent too my Lord. Ha? my prisoners? go somewhat further, Sir, I befe yo this day Your selfe into our nobly , The go the oo This very night swer and confre What he command. To morrow I must returne. You shall, I pray be merry with us: Commandd he Co my prisoners nt for! Tis strange; oh my forgetfull mry! I did not aske how my : But she forgets too, mindes not me her father, We'le mixe 'um both together, but my prisoners! Sir, heres a woman (forede by some tide of sorrow) With teares intreats your pitty, and to see you. If any souldier has done violence to her, Beyond our military discipline, Death shall divide him from us, Fetch he in. I have my selfe a daugh, on whose face But thinking, I must ned be pitifull: And when I ha told my conquest to my king, My poore girle then shall know, how for her sake I did one pious act; is this the creature! Yes, my Lord, and a sad one. Leave us: a sad one! The down-c loo, calls up compssion in me, A Coarse going to the gre looks not more deadly, Why kneelst thou! art thou wrongde by any souldier! Rise, for this honour is not due to me. Hast not a tongue to reade thy sorrowes out! This booke I understand not. O my deare father! Thy father? who has wrongd him? A great Commander. Vnder me! Above you. Above me? whose above a Generall? None but the Generall of all Spaines Armies, And thats the king, king Rdicke; hees all goodnesse. He cannot wrong thy father. What was Tarquin? A king, and yet a isher. Such a sinne Was in those dayes a monster, tis common. Prethee be plaine. Have not you Sir, a daughter? If I have not, I am the wretchedst man That this day lives: for all the wealth I have Lives in that childe. O for your daughters ske then heare my woes. Rise then, and speake 'um. No, let me kneele still, Such a resemblance of a daughters duty, Will make you mindfull of a fathers love: For such my iniuries must exact from you, A you would for your owne.