Davenant, William · published 1635 · first performed or written 1636 [Feb 23 or 24] (Annals) masque · before the Court unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 537 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
SIr, this short journey from my Prince's Throne, Is meant in Embassy to You alone; To You, whom he receives not as his Guest, For You are both his Ornament and Feast. Although his Greatness is not taught to bow, His Subjects fear, he will do homage now, Which he esteems no less'ning to his State, Since 'tis his Love decrees it, not his Fate. Nay more, his Message moves so low, I fear, What sounds like tender Courtship in your ear, His jealous Barons will dislike, and cry, I am perverted to disloyalty; Urge my Commission false, then tax me for An easy Traitor, no Ambassador; As if my words would pull his Empire down, Shorten his Sceptre, and contract his Crown; Thus whispered by my fears, I must impart For Ceremony now, what is his heart, Though with content of Truth, I may report You have a numerous Faction in his Court. This Palace where, by sword, than law maintained His few, but mighty Ancestors have reigned, Is consecrated yours; which he doth give, Not in regard he hath short time to live; For so, since his Successor is unknown, You take what is his Subjects, not his own, And what is a surrender now, would be Received tomorrow as a Legacy: If more of his free love, I should relate, They'd style it homage in our jealous state. Come shut our Temple and away, Our bold seditious God shall stay; we'll serve no sacrifice to day, Our humour is to Feast, not Pray. The Battle which our Knights have won, Did last until th' amazed Sun For fear, did mend his usual pace, And set betimes to hide his face. And now the story of their fight Is universal, as his light, Which Fame upon her swifter wing Hath early brought for us to sing. Hark! hark! the trouble of the day draws near, And now the Drum doth teach the heart to beat, Whilst Trumpets cherish not, but wound the ear Of such, who are ordained for a defeat. Hark! Hark! some groan, and curse uncertain Fate, Which us for blood and ruin, doth create. Charge! charge! cries every bold ambitious knight, Whilst artificial darkness hid their way, The lightning of their Swords was all their light, For dust, & sulphurous clouds had choked the day. Hark! hark! some groan, and curse uncertain Fate, Which us for blood and ruin, doth create. Burn, burn, was straight the noise in every Tent, Whilst some misled by their disordered fear, Did help to kindle what they should prevent, And scaped the Van to perish in the Rear. Hark! hark! some groan, and curse uncertain Fate, Which us for blood and ruin, doth create. Fly, fly, cries then the tame dejected Foe; Each wondering at the terror which he feels, And in the hurry of their overthrow, Forsook their Arms, and trusted to their heels. Hark! hark! some groan, and curse uncertain Fate, Which us for blood and ruin, doth create. Stand! stand! was now the word our Knights did give, For weary of pursuit, they had no will To grace with death, who basely sought to live, As if unworthy of their pains to kill.
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)
SIr, this ſhort journey from my Princes Throne, Is meant in Embaſſie to You alone; To You, whom he receives not as his Gheſt, For You are both his Ornament and Feaſt. Although his Greatneſſe is not taught to bow, His Subjects feare, he will doe homage now, Which he eſteemes no leſs'ning to his State, Since 'tis his Love decrees it, not his Fate. Nay more, his Meſſage moves ſo low, I feare, What ſounds like tender Courtſhip in your eare, His Iealous Barons will diſlike, and cry, I am perverted to diſloyaltie; Vrge my Commiſsion falſe, then taxe me for An eaſie Traytor, no Embaſſadour; As if my words would pull his Empire downe, Shorten his Scepter, and contract his Crowne; Thus whiſper'd by my feares, I muſt impart For Ceremony now, what is his heart, Though with content of Truth, I may report You haue a num'rous Faction in his Court. This Pallace where, by ſword, then law maintain'd His few, but mighty Anceſtors have raign'd, Is conſecrated yours; which he doth give, Not in regard he hath ſhort time to live; For ſo, ſince his Succeſſor is unknowne, You take what is his Subjects, not his owne, And what is a ſurrender now, would be Receiv'd tomorrow as a Legacie: If more of his free love, I ſhould relate, They'd ſtile it homage in our Iealous ſtate. Come ſhut our Temple and away, Our bold ſeditious God ſhall ſtay; Wee'l ſerve no ſacrifice to day, Our humor is to Feaſt, not Pray. The Battell which our Knights have won, Did laſt untill th' amazed Sun For feare, did mend his uſuall pace, And ſet betimes to hide his face. And now the ſtory of their fight Is univerſall, as his light, Which Fame upon her ſwifter wing Hath early brought for us to ſing. Heark! heark! the trouble of the day draws neere, And now the Drum doth teach the heart to beat, Whilſt Trumpets cheriſh not, but wound the eare Of ſuch, who are ordain'd for a defeat. Heark! Heark! ſome groane, and curſe uncertaine Fate, Which vs for blood and ruine, doth create. Charge! charge! cries ev'ry bold ambitious knight, Whilſt artificiall darkneſſe hid their way, The lightning of their Swords was all their light, For duſt, & ſulphrous clouds had chok'd the day. Heark! heark! ſome groane, and curſe uncertaine Fate, Which vs for blood and ruine, doth create. Burn, burn, was ſtraight the noyſe in ev'ry Tent, Whilſt ſome miſ-led by their diſorder'd feare, Did helpe to kindle what they ſhould prevent, And ſcap'd the Van to periſh in the Reere. Heark! heark! ſome groane, and curſe uncertaine Fate, Which vs for blood and ruine, doth create. Fly, fly, cryes then the tame dejected Foe; Each wondring at the terror which he feeles, And in the hurry of their overthrow, Forſook their Arms, and truſted to their heels. Heark! heark! ſome groane, and curſe uncertaine Fate, Which vs for blood and ruine, doth create. Stand! ſtand! was now the word our Knights did give, For weary of purſuit, they had no will To grace with death, who baſely ſought to live, As if unworthy of their paines to kill.