Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A04874
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The seven champions of Christendome Acted at the Cocke-pit, and at the Red-Bull in St. Iohns streete, with a generall liking. And never printed till this yeare 1638. Written by I.K.
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Kirke, John, d. 1643.
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1638
(1638)
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STC 15014; ESTC S109282
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46,214
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84
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The shock of all the Knights our parts hath seene Ere shrinke under the sinews of an Army Al. Why now just now we have Have we not still by daring challenges oppos'd our selves The round worlds opposites Have not our prowesses In stately lifts tost up the golden ball and wonne it Is not bright honour free in Princes Courts We have o'recome and now we are o'recome And shall we envie what we ever loved And were lov'd for so thinkes the Adder When his sting is gone his hissing has the power to venome too Cast off that coate it not becomes thee Lenon 'T will weare thy honour thread-bare to the bones And make death seize on thee with infamy Le. Let Death come how he will And doe you tamely suffer what you will This Brittish Knight shall never boast in Wales That ere he triumpht Victor over me Al. Another charge A charge and a shout cry Arbasto What over desperate and life-weary foole Dares meete the couched Lance of this brave Knight Seeing the foyle we tooke Le. The cry went in our Prince Arbasto's name Hearke another charge gives 'em a second meeting 'T is well he kept his saddle at the first A charge a cry Arbasto Looke to the Prince there some and take him For falne I 'me sure he is before this time Al. I now admire and love this venture in him Well done young twig of a most Royall bough Thou hast wonne our losses which we must allow Le. Heark the third charge is begun A charge a crye save the Prince Al. I doe not like that sound what ever accident Betides Arbasto hath not lost but wonne renowne Now what newes bringst thou Enter Messenger Mes. Set ope your eares to entertaine sad news I sing the latest Requiem of our Prince hee 's slaine Al. Falne I beleeve but yet I hope not slaine Le. This whet-stone makes revenges edge more keene Goe forward good mischance Mes. Twice met this brave young Prince the Brittish Knights And bore his body stiffe against his shock Vnmov'd of either stirrop or of saddle Their shiver'd Launces quarrell'd as they brake And as they upward flew clasht strong together And he unmov'd undanted twice appear'd As faire for Victor as his stout opponent And had he rested there he had equall shar'd The dayes bright honour with him Le. Well the disaster Mes. Bowing his plumed head unto his Syre Who sent him smiles of joyes incouragement Addrest him for the third and last Careere The Christian Knight likewise 'gan couch his Lance But as he graspt it in his manly fist An angry fire circled about his eyes And from the furrows of his browes Revenge Leapt forth and seizes on the Prince They charg'd he fell and in the fall his neck He broke so ends my heavy Nuntius Both The Prince Al. So Honour sprung a bud and blasted it Before it grew to his maturity Noble Prince I pitty thy misfortune more the Knights And I for this condemne nimble mischance But not the Knight at all Le. Murderous villain if my braines can invent torture Sufficient sufficient here begins thy hell And I thy first devill Al. And I will second be how to prevent yee Enter the King of Tartary two Knights in armour the body of the Prince Arbasto in a Herse King Set downe the broken columne of mine age The golden Anchor Hope once shewed to me Hath split and sunke the vessell held my wealth Oh my Arbasto Alm. Take comfort Royall sir Fame stories few are living more the dead Death hath but rockt him then on honours bed Then let him sleepe King Hee 's a good Physitian that can quite kill griefe That hath but newly made his patient of me Teares must give vent first to the oppressed heart And Time lay drawing plaisters to the sore Before he can find ease but yet I thanke yee Le. Most Noble Sir Teares shews effeminate in noble spirits Those aged sluces want that Raine that falls Bewaile him not with teares but with revenge If drops must needs be spilt let 'em be blood His blood that wilfully sheds blood The Law of Nations wisely did allow All Iusts and Turnaments in Princes Courts For honours cause to breake a friendly staffe But not to make a butchery or shambles in Court lists Therefore if I might of his jury be My Verdict should be given up he must dye Alm. Lord Lenon 't is most certaine he must dye I love my Soveraigne well I lov'd his sonne But dare not say that he deserves to dye This stranger here came here in honours cause Stak't honour downe and bravely bore it hence Your selfe silence but envies tongue can witnesse with me I have spoke but truth where lives the Noblenesse But in the minde wild beasts have strength irrationall And rude but want the sence of reasons government Let rage hot raines bite upon temperance The Iron handed Fates warres hard at game And threw a cast at brave Arbastoes life But let your sentence passe my Lord ha' done Len. Spoke like no lover of his Soveraignes sonne Alm. Reply'd not like a lover unto either Your valours 's horse-like and it must be tam'd Len. T will breake the Riders necke dares but to back him King Forbeare I say on your allegeance Had my Arbasto dyed in our defence Against the pride of the hot Persian Host That seekes to pale his Temple with our wreath And name Tartary new Persia Our cares had beene but slight but in a friendly Breathing exercise when honor goes a feasting but for shew A jesting practice in the Schoole of Armes There for to lose him Len. An ill intent arm'd Executions hand King I know not that why should he ruine him Shewing more kind innated friendship to him Than brother shewes to brother Len. Remus and Romulus my Lord one suckt more Harder on the Wolfe than tother Thinke what a game Hope lost Alm. Upon my soule my Lord the Knight is cleare Of any foule intent against your sonne Len. Why Almaine Almaine dare you stand to this Alm. Lenon I dare and in thy venome blood write He 's not guilty King No more I say upon your lives no more Too hard it is for me to give a true descidence to the cause The Knight was ever courteous faire and free And 'gainst the Persian in my just defence Ransom'd my sonne from multitudes of losse And brought home conquest to our very gate I cannot then in honour take his life Our neighbour Kings would say I dealt not faire And quite disclaime in us all brother-hood To banish him were but the more to enlarge his fame All kingdomes are but Knight errands native home Len. In private be it spoke my Liege I like not Almonas love to this same Knight It little shewes love to the deceased Prince What was he but a young strait tender plant The sturdy Oke might well have spar'd him then His toward hopes were ruin'd and cut downe Had he done this in any other Court