Fisher, Jasper · published 1633 · first performed or written 1625 [c.1611-1633] (Annals) history · at University unassigned nearest T17 Eastern conquest: Persians, Turks and so · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
we'll now invite them to a martial Feast, Carving with falchions, and carousing healths In their life's moisture. Well returned Androgens: Have you obtained, or is your suit denied? Our message told unto the Scots, Their King With willing sympathy, levies a Band, Ten thousand footmen, whose strange appetites Murder, and then devour; and dare gnaw, and suck Their enemies' bones. Conducted thence, we saw The Pictish Court, and friendly entertained, Receive eight thousand, whose most ugly shapes, Painted like Bears, and Wolves, and brinded Tigers, May kill, and stonify without all weapons. More aid they promise, if more need. These forces. Lead by Cadallan hither march with speed. 'tis well, our Kings consent for common good. When all are joined, we shall o'erspread the hills, And soldiers thicker than the sand on shore, Hide all the landing coasts. Ere next day break, The rocks shall answer, what the drum doth speak. That ceremonious fear, which bends the heart Of mortal creatures, and displays itself In outward signs of true obedience; As prayer, kneeling, sacrifice, and Hymns: Requires again help from immortal Deities, As promise, not as Debt: we laud their names, They give us blessings, and forgive our blames. Thus gods and men do barter. What in Piety Ascends, as much descends again in pity: A golden chain reaching from Heaven to Earth. And now's the time, good Brother, of their aid, When dangers, black face frowns upon our state. Away, away, ye hearts and tongues profane: Without devotion mysteries are vain. Draw near ye heavenly powers, Who dwell in Starry bowers. And ye who in the deep, On mossy pillows sleep. And ye who keep the centre, Where never light did enter. And ye whose habitations, Are still among the nations; To see, and hear our doings, Our births, our wars, our wooings. Behold our present grief: Belief doth beg relief. By the vervain, and Lunary, By Fernseed planetary, By the dreadful Mistletoe, Which doth on holy Oak grow. Draw near, draw near, draw near. Help us beset with danger, And turn away your anger: Help us begirt with trouble, And now your mercy double: Help us oppressed with sorrow, And fight for us tomorrow. Let fire consume the foeman, Let air infect the Roman, Let Seas entomb their fury, Let gaping earth them bury: Let fire and air and water, And earth conspire their slaughter. By the vervain, &c. Help us, help us, help us. we'll praise then your great power, Each month, each day, each hour: And blaze in lasting story, Your honour and your glory. High altars lost in vapour; Young Heifers free from labour; White Lambs for suck still crying, Shall make your music dying. The boys and girls around, With honeysuckles crowned: The Bards with Harp and rhyming, Green bays their brows entwining, Sweet tune, and sweeter ditty, Shall chant your gracious pity.
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)
Wee'l now invite them to a martiall Feast, Caruing with Fauchions, and carowsing healths In their liues moysture. Well return'd Androgens: Haue you obtain'd, or is your suite denied? Our message told vnto the Scots, Their King VVith willing sympathy, leauies a Band, Ten thousand footmen, whose strange appetites Murder, and then deuoure; and dare gnaw, and suck Their enemies bones. Conducted thence, we saw The Pictish Court, and friendly intertain'd, Receiue eight thousand, whose most vgly shapes, Painted like Beares, and VVolues, and brinded Tygers, May kill, and stonifie without all weapons. More aide they promise, if more need. These forces. Lead by Cadallan hither march with speed. Tis well, our Kings consent for common good. VVhen all are ioyn'd, we shall ore-spred the hills, And souldiers thicker than the sand on shoare, Hide all the landing coasts. Ere next day breake, The rockes shall answer, what the drumme doth speake. That ceremonious feare, which bendes the heart Of mortall creatures, and displaies it selfe In outward signes of true obedience; As praier, kneeling, sacrifice, and Hymnes: Requires againe helpe from immortall Deities, As promise, not as Debt: we laud their names, They giue vs blessings, and forgiue our blames. Thus gods and men doe barter. What in Pietie Ascends, as much descends againe in pity: A golden chaine reaching from Heauen to Earth. And now's the time, good Brother, of their aide, When dangers, blacke face frownes vpon our state. Away, away, ye hearts and tongues prophane: Without deuotion mysteries are vaine. Draw neere ye heauenly powers, Who dwell in Starry bowers. And ye who in the deep, On mosste pillowes sleep. And ye who keep the center, Where neuer light did enter. And ye whose habitations, Are still among the nations; To see, and heare our doings, Our birthes, our warres, our wooings. Behold our present griefe: Beleefe doth beg reliefe. By the veruaine, and Lunary, By Fernefeed planetary, By the dreadfull Mistletoe, Which doth on holy Oake grow. Draw neere, draw neere, draw neere. Helpe vs beset with danger, And turne away your anger: Helpe vs begirt with trouble, And now your mercie double: Helpe vs opprest with sorrow, And fight for vs to morrow. Let fire consume the foe-man, Let aire infect the Romane, Let Seas intombe their furie, Let gaping earth them burie: Let fire and aire and water, And earth conspire their slaughter. By the veruaine, &c. Helpe vs, helpe vs, helpe vs. Wee'l praise then your great power, Each moneth, each day, each hower: And blaze in lasting story, Your honour and your glorie. High altars lost in vapour; Young Heifars free from labour; White Lambes for suck still crying, Shall make your musicke dying. The boies and girles around, VVith honie-suckles crown'd: The Bardes with Harpe and riming, Greene bayes their browes entwyning, Sweet tune, and sweeter dittie, Shall chaunt your gracious pittie.