Fisher, Jasper · published 1633 · first performed or written 1625 [c.1611-1633] (Annals) history · at University T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.80 · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Thinking it Heaven in hell: Behold my pangs, Pity my dying groans, and be more soft. O may our shadows mingle; then shall I Envy no more those Citizens above, The ambrosian juncates of the Olympian hall And all that gorgeous Roof. But coward's talk. Come thou last refuge of a wearisome life; A passport to the Elysian land, A key To unlock my grieved inmate. lo I come. O let this river from my eyes, this stream From my poor breast, beg favour of thy ghost: O let this lukewarm blood thy Rigour steep, And mollify thy adamantine heart. Leander-like I swim to thee through blood: Be thy bright eyes my Pharos, and conduct me Through the dull night of gloomy Erebus. Flow, flow, ye lively drops, and from my veins Run winding to the Ocean of my bliss: Tell her my love, and if She still shall doubt, Swear that ye came directly from my heart. I stay too long. Sweet Lady give me welcome. Though I shall pass twelve monsters as the Sun, Or twelve Herculean labours on a row: Yet one kind look makes all my journey sweet Thou fairy-queen of the Tartarian Court, To whom Proserpine may the Apple give, Worthier than She, to warm old Pluto's bed: See thy poor vassal weltering in his gore. I faint, I faint. I die thy Martyr, as I lived thy Priest: Great Goddess be propitious, Sweet Landora— What shall I do? How shall I scape? I scorn to take advantage, Rise and Fight. I had rather be killed quickly, quickly. Then die, as thou distressed. O let me wink first. I shall never endure it. Oh, oh. I am peppered and salted. O that base Fortune should great spirits damp, And fawn on muddy slaves: That envious fate Should ripen villainy with a Syrian dew, And blast sweet virtue with a Sirian flame. A Catalogue of mischiefs do concur Our Britain Hector, Nennius dead: Our Kings Angry to be refused, sit still at home: And then those traitors with their train augment His huge and expert Army: Nothing stops him; Rivers, nor Rampires, Woods, nor dangerous Bogs; On this side Thames his dismal Ensigns shine: Last, Kent's unhappy rulers are at Sea o'erthrown, and our men almost spent. Then, General, In desperate pride, and valours scornful rage, Let us run headlong through their armed tents, And make their Camp a Shambles: So to raise Our lofty tombs upon their slaughtered heaps. Nay, rather first let's parley for peace. Ye Country-gods and Nymphs, who Albion love, Old Father Neptune, all ye powers divine, Witness my loyal care: If humane strength, Courage, and policy, could a Kingdom save; We did our best. But discord, child of hell, Numbers of train-men, and each Captain picked Out of a Province, make us bow or break. In vain we strive, when Deities do frown: When Destinies push, Atlas himself comes down.
seed 43: T12 · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thinking it Heauen in hell: Behold my pangs, Pittie my dying groanes, and be more soft. O may our shadowes mingle; then shall I Enuie no more those Citizens aboue, The ambrosian iuncates of the Olympian hall And all that gorgeous Roofe. But cowards talke. Come thou last refuge of a wearisome life; A pasport to the Elysian land, A key To vnlocke my grieued in-mate. Loe I come. O let this riuer from my eyes, this streame From my poore breast, beg fauour of thy ghost: O let this luke-warme blood thy Rigour steepe, And mollifie thy adamantine heart. Leander-like I swim to thee through blood: Be thy bright eyes my Pharos, and conduct me Through the dull night of gloomy Erebus. Flow, flow, ye liuely drops, and from my veines Run winding to the Ocean of my blisse: Tell her my loue, and if Shee still shall doubt, Sweare that ye came directly from my heart. I stay too long. Sweet Lady giue me wellcome. Though I shall passe twelue monsters as the Sunne, Or twelue Herculean labours on a row: Yet one kinde looke makes all my iourney sweet Thou Fayry-Queene of the Tartarian Court, To whom Proserpine may the Apple giue, Worthier than Shee, to warme old Plutoes bed: See thy poore vassall weltering in his goare. I faint, I faint. I dye thy Martyr, as I liu'd thy Priest: Great Goddesse be propitious, Sweet Landora — What shall I doee? How shall I scape? I scorne to take aduantage, Rise and Fight. I had rather be kill'd quickly, quickly. Then die, as thou destrest. O let me winke first. I shall neuer indure it. Oh, oh. I am pepper'd and salted. O that base Fortune should great spirits damp, And fawne on muddie slaues: That enuious fate Should ripen villany with a Syrian dew, And blast sweet vertue with a Sirian flame. A Catalogue of mischiefes doe concurre Our Britaine Hector, Nennius dead: Our Kings Angry to be refus'd, sit stil at home: And then those traitors with their traine augment His huge and expert Armie: Nothing stops him; Riuers, nor Rampiers, Woods, nor dangerous Bogges; On this side Thames his dismall Ensignes shine: Last, Kents vnhappie rulers are at Sea Ore-throwne, and our men almost spent. Then, Generall, In desperate pride, and valours scornefull rage, Let vs runne head-long through their armed tents, And make their Campe a Shambles: So to raise Our loftie toombes vpon their slaughtered heapes. Nay, rather first lets parley for peace. Ye Country-gods and Nymphes, who Albion loue, Old Father Neptune, all ye powers diuine, Witnesse my loyall care: If humane strength, Courage, and policy, could a Kingdome saue; We did our best. But discord, child of hell, Numbers of traine-men, and each Captaine pickt Out of a Province, make vs bow or breake. In vaine we striue, when Deities doe frowne: When Destinies push, Atlas himselfe comes downe.