Britannia Triumphans (Britain Triumphing) · chunk 3 of 7
Davenant, William · published 1637 · first performed or written 1638 [licensed for performance, Jan 8] (Annals) not in BritDrama · before the Court T56 Magic, spells and conjuring typicality 0.83 · 463 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T56: magic, faustus, charms, charm, conjure, spirits, skill, ho, power, spells.
Your eyes encounter him As you would make great use of's visit here. With reason Sir, for he hath power to wake Those that have many ages slept, such as When busy in their flesh, were my Disciples. Haile thou most ancient Prophet of this Isle, I that have practised superstitious rites Unto thy memory, beg thy immortal aid, To raise their figures that in times forgot Were in the world predominant; Help to Confute this righteous fool, that boasts his small Neglected stock of wisdom, comes from Heaven, and show How little it prevailed on earth, since all The mighty here, are of my sect. 'Tis long Since this my Magic rod hath struck the Air Yet loss of practice can no Art impair, That soars above the reach of nature's might, Thus then I charm the Spirits of the night, And unto Hell conjure their wings to steer, And straight collect from dismal corners there The great seducers of this Isle, that by Their baits of pleasure strove to multiply Those sad Inhabitants, who curse that truth below Which here on Earth they took no pains to know, Appear! Appear! nimbly obey my will T' express I died t' increase my Magic skill. Bellerophon? Thou that the offspring art of Heaven, Most timely, and by Inspiration sure, Thou com'st to help me to despise and scorn These Airy mimic Apparitions, which This cozening Prophet would present as great Examples for succeeding times to imitate. Through thick assembled clouds, through mists that would Choke up the eagle's eye, I in my swift And sudden journey through the Air, have seen All these fantastics objects, which but show How dull the Impious were to be so sillily Misled, and how the good did ever need But little Care, and less of Brain, to scape Th' apparent baits of such gross Fools. I Sir, T' were easy to subdue if Choleric scorn Might make up confutation without help Of Arguments, the virtuous Sir of late Have got a fine Feminine trick to rail At all they will dislike, refer what is Not easily understood unto a kind Obedient Faith, and then call reason but A new and saucy Heretic, those that My reverend Prophet raised, which you Sir in A virtuous fury have called Fools, I'm sure Did govern when alive, and by Imposture made their estimation thrive. Monster! thou know'st 'tis not thy strange defence Of Reason that provokes my rage, but thou Wouldst cunningly disguise thy sense In reason's shape, cozening thy willing self, And giving seeming pleasures, real Attributes: These taking tunes, to which the numerous world Do dance (when your false-sullenness shall please) You may compare, toth' th' dangerous Music of The swan, a merry preparation still To Melancholy death.
nodes 127–190 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 3 of 7 in this edition
Length
463 words · 608 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T56 — Magic, spells and conjuringcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.830 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T45 · seed 44: T51 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Your eyes encounter him As you would make great use of's visit here. With reason Sir, for he hath power to wake Those that have many ages slept, such as When busie in their flesh, were my Disciples. Haile thou most ancient Prophet of this Isle, I that have practis'd superstitious rites Vnto thy memory, beg thy immortall aid, To raise their figures that in times forgot Were in the world predominant; Helpe to Confute this righteous foole, that boasts his small Neglected stocke of wisedome, comes from Heaven, and shew How little it prevail'd on earth, since all The mightie here, are of my sect. 'Tis long Since this my Magicke rod hath struck the Aire Yet losse of practice can no Art impaire, That soares above the reach of natures might, Thus then I charme the Spirits of the night, And unto Hell conjure their wings to steere, And streight collect from dismall corners there The great seducers of this Isle, that by Their baits of pleasure strove to multiply Those sad Inhabitants, who curse that truth below Which here on Earth they tooke no paines to know, Appeare! Appeare! nimbly obey my will T' expresse I di'd t' increase my Magicke skill. Bellerophon? Thou that the of-spring art of Heaven, Most timely, and by Inspiration sure, Thou com'st to helpe me to despise and scorne These Ayry mimick Apparitions, which This cosening Prophet would present as great Examples for succeeding times to imitate. Through thick assembled clouds, through mists that would Choke up the Eagles eye, I in my swift And sudden journey through the Aire, have seene All these fantasticks objects, which but shew How dull the Impious were to be so sillily Misled, and how the good did ever need But little Care, and lesse of Braine, to scape Th' apparant bayts of such grosse Fooles. I Sir, T' were easy to subdue if Cholerick scorne Might make up confutation without helpe Of Arguments, the virtuous Sir of lae Have got a fine Feminine trick to rayle At all they will dislike, referre what is Not easily understood unto a kind Obedient Faith, and then call reason but A new and saucie Heretick, those that My reverend Prophet rais'd, which you Sir in A virtuous fury have cal'd Fooles, I' me sure Did governe when alive, and by Imposture made their estimation thrive. Monster! thou know'st 'tis not thy strange defence Of Reason that provokes my rage, but thou Wouldst cunningly disguise thy sense In Reasons shape, cosening thy willing selfe, And giving seeming pleasures, reall Attributes: These taking tunes, to which the numerous world Doe dance (when your false-sullennesse shall please) You may compare, to' th dangerous Musique of The swan, a merry preparation still To Melancholy death.