Rutter, Joseph / Corneille, Pierre · published 1637 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638] (Annals) not in BritDrama · before the Court T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea typicality 0.85 · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
ay, on all sides encouraged our own men; Some I made fall upon the foe, and others I kept from falling from us, those that came I ranged in order, put 'em on the places Which they were to make good; but what was done We had no means to know, till the first light Showed us our victory, and their loss. They seeing a new supply come to our aid, Fled now more fiercely, than before they fought. They got into their ships, and cut their cables, Disorderly retreating, and not minding Whether their Kings retired or stayed behind, Fear more prevailing, made them lose their duty. They came in with the flood, and with the ebb. They went away. In the mean time their Kings, And some few of their men engaged amongst us, Sold their lives dear enough; I bid'em yield, But while they had a Sword to fight, they would not, Till seeing their Soldiers fall about their feet And that alone they must defend themselves, They asked who was our leader, I was named, They yield themselves to me. So was this Battle Ended for want of men to fight it out. And thus, Sir, when we are about your service Sir, here's Cimena come to ask you justice. What shall I do? I would not have her see thee, In stead of thanks I must dismiss thee from me, But ere thou leav'st the Court, return again Unto thy king's embraces. 'Tis strange, she should Pursue the man thus, whom she fain would save. I'm told she is in love with him. I'll try, Make show as you were sad. At length Cimena, Content yourself, for your desires have met With their success. Though Roderigo's valour Ha'got the better of the Moores. Himself Has perished with the wounds he there received, Give thanks to heaven that has given you vengeance; Her colour's changed already. But, Sir, mark Her swoonings, and by them how she betrays The secrets of her Soul, surely she loves him. Is Roderigo dead then? No, no, he lives, And still remains thy true, and constant lover, Thou shalt enjoy him, take thy mirth again. Sir, we as often faint with joy as sadness, And when excess of that surprises us, It soon confounds our senses. Thou wouldst feign That to do thee a courtesy we should Believe impossibles; but here thy sadness Has showed itself too plain. Well, Sir, you may Add this too, if you please, to my misfortunes, And call my swoonings the effects of grief, I must confess, I grieved to see myself robbed of the life I sue for. If he die Of wounds he has received for 's Countries good, My vengeance is lost, and my designs betrayed, I ask his death, but not a glorious one; I would not have him die i'th' bed of honour, But on a Scaffold, that his name may rot, And his memorial perish, 'Tis no shame
seed 43: T47 · seed 44: T45 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I, on all ſides encourag'd our own men; Some I made fall upon the foe, and others I kept from falling from us, thoſe that came I rang'd in order, put 'um on the places Which they were to make good; but what was done We had no meanes to know, 'till the firſt light Shew'd us our victory, and their loſſe. They ſeeing a new ſupply come to our aide, Fled now more fiercely, than before they fought. They got into their ſhips, and cut their cables, Diſorderly retreating, and not minding Whether their Kings retir'd or ſtay'd behind, Feare more prevailing, made them loſe their duty. They came in with the flood, and with the ebb. They went away. In the meane time their Kings, And ſome few of their men ingag'd amongſt us, Sold their lives deare enough; I bid'um yeeld, But while they had a Sword to fight, they would not, Till ſeeing their Souldiers fall about their feet And that alone they muſt defend them ſelves, They ask'd who was our leader, I was nam'd, They yeild themſelves to me. So was this Battaile Ended for want of men to fight it out. And thus, Sir, when we are about your ſervice Sir, here's Cimena come to aske you juſtice. What ſhall I doe? I would not have her ſee thee, In ſtead of thankes I muſt diſmiſſe thee from me, But ere thou leav'ſt the Court, returne againe Unto thy Kings embraces. 'Tis ſtrange, ſhe ſhould Purſue the man thus, whom ſhe faine would ſave. I'me told ſhe is in love with him. I'le try, Make ſhew as you were ſad. At length Cimena, Content your ſelf, for your deſires have met With their ſucceſſe. Though Roderigo's valour Ha'got the better of the Moores. Himſelfe Has periſh'd with the wounds he there receiv'd, Give thankes to heaven that has given you vengeance; Her colour's chang'd already. But, Sir, marke Her ſwoundings, and by them how ſhe betrayes The ſecrets of her Soule, ſurely ſhe loves him. Is Roderigo dead then? No, no, he lives, And ſtill remaines thy true, and conſtant lover, Thou ſhalt enjoy him, take thy mirth againe. Sir, we as often faint with joy as ſadneſſe, And when exceſſe of that ſurprizes us, It ſoone confounds our ſenſes. Thou would'ſt faine That to do thee a courteſie we ſhould Beleeve impoſſibles; but here thy ſadneſſe Has ſhew'd it ſelfe too plain. Well, Sir, you may Adde this too, if you pleaſe, to my misfortunes, And call my ſwoundings the effects of griefe, I muſt confeſſe, I grieved to ſee my ſelfe Rob'd of the life I ſue for. If he dye Of wounds he has receiv'd for 's Countries good, My vengeance is loſt, and my deſignes betray'd, I aske his death, but not a glorious one; I would not have him dye ith' bed of honour, But on a Scaffold, that his name may rot, And his memoriall periſh, 'Tis no ſhame