Rowley, William · published 1638 · first performed or written 1608 [1607-1609] (Annals) romance · Prince Charles's Men (first) · Red Bull unassigned nearest T26 Devils, hell and fiends · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
Thou gilded poison, my tongue is silent, but my unquiet Thoughts will still take leave, to think of thy perverse Unkind disdain; I'll think thee peevish, and blame all Thy Sects for thyself sin, for thou wert all to me; Vanish all State, and Wales bow to the yoke of tyrant's Servitude, no defensive stroke shall this Arm lift To save me from thy thrall: rest there regard less honour, And take a fall before thy pride; hence forth some Humble mean, that will afford but merit to my pain, Shall be my lives traffic, I'll never mind This, or too fickle, or too cruel kind, But thus conclude, for thee I prove accursed, Extreme in both, thou art both best and worst. whose's there Amphiabell? Yes virtuous Lady. Thou abidest still. To death: Christians tire not till they be out of breath, Life labours here, at death the wage doth come, Which Tyrants pay in Crowns of martyrdom. We forage unresisted: soft who are these? Cease first, and then examine. Two, that will neither fly, nor resist your force. Then you will surely die Amphiabell. Yes. And the holy Virgin. So, unhappy Tyrant. The Triumphs of our Wars; here pursuit shall stay, In your surprise we have achieved the day. Ring out your triumphs loud, 'tis a large boast, You have gained much, and we have nothing lost. Thou art a traitor Capital to Rome, from whence thy Knightly honours were derived, 'twas thy seditious Heresy that wrought the wrack of honoured Albon, even This Lady hast thou seduced, a merciful summons now calls His last to thee, turn unto Rome, and worship give unto Our Golden gods. No, I will not; when I crave mercy, give it. Thou deputy tyrant, this place is hallowed; do not awake the thunder, if it strike, the boult will fall down Perpendicular, and strike thee under mercy. Ha, ha, ha; what pretty dreams these Christians Apprehend: They say your well is very Sovereign to cure the Itch, I have got a scab, today I'll try the virtue of your Virgin water, 'tis good for sore eyes too, is't not? mine Are some thing Rheumatic. Do, play with Lightning till it blasts thee. Oh! here's hell, witchcraft, my eyes are lost, this sorcerous Pool hath ta'en away my sight: witch He find thee out, And break thy Magic, by drawing of thy blood. Has wounded me. Lay hold upon him, he'll do more mischief else. Guide me to the devil. Thou art going right blindfold, hold fast his hands, I will be Charitable unto my persecutors: now see the change, Virtue, abused turns unto damage more, By help of heaven thus I thine eyes restore. Ha, is't day again? Wilt thou understand from whence thy succour comes? From Apollo, and Iupiter, the gods of Rome, Who would not see a witch abuse their creature, away with Her to th' fire till she be burnt and dead, mine eyes Will stand in fear within my head.
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)
Thou gilded poyson, my tongue is silent, but my unquiet Thoughts will still take leave, to thinke of thy perverse Unkind disdaine; Ile thinke thee peevish, and blame all Thy Sects for thy selfe sin, for thou wert all to me; Vanish all State, and Wales bow to the yoke of Tyrants Servitude, noe defensive stroake shall this Arme lift To save me from thy thrale: rest there regard lesse honour, And take a fall before thy pride; hence forth some Humble meane, that will afford but merit to my paine, Shall be my lives trafficke, Ile never mind This, or too fickle, or too cruell kind, But thus conclude, for thee I prove accurst, Extreame in both, thou art both best and worst. Whose there Amphiabell? Yes vertuous Lady. Thou abidest still. To death: Christians tire not till they be out of breath, Life labours here, at death the wage doth come, Which Tyrants pay in Crownes of Martyrdome. We forage unresisted: soft who are these? Ceaze first, and then examine. Two, that will neither fly, nor resist your force. Then you will surely dye Amphiabell. Yes. And the holy Virgin. So, unhappy Tyrant. The Triumphs of our Wars; here persuite shall stay, In your surprise we have atchiev'd the day. Ring out your triumphs loude, 'tis a large boast, You have gain'd much, and we have nothing lost. Thou art a traytor Capitall to Rome, from whence thy Knightly honors were deriv'd, 'twas thy seditious Heresie that wrought the wracke of honor'd Albon, even This Lady hast thous seduc'd, a mercifull sommons now cals His last to thee, turne unto Rome, and worship give unto Our Golden gods. No, I will not; when I crave mercy, give it. Thou debuty tyrant, this place is hallowed; doe not awake the thunder, if it strike, the boult will fall downe Perpendicular, and strike thee under mercy. Ha, ha, ha; what pretty dreames these Christians Apprehend: They say your well is very Soveraigne to cure the Itch, I have got a scab, to day Ile try the vertue of your Virgin water, 'tis good for sore eyes too, ist not? mine Are some thing Rhumaticke. Doe, play with Lightning till it blasts thee. Oh! here's hell, witchcraft, my eyes are lost, this sorcerous Poole hath tane away my sight: witch He find thee out, And breake thy Magicke, by drawing of thy blood. Has wounded me. Lay hold upon him, hee'le doe more mischeife else. Guide me to the divill. Thou art going right blind-fold, hold fast his hands, I will be Charitable unto my persecutors: now see the change, Vertue, abus'd turnes unto damage more, By helpe of heaven thus I thine eyes restore. Ha, is't day agen? Wilt thou understand from whence thy succour comes? From Apollo, and Iupiter, the gods of Rome, Who would not see a witch abuse their creature, away with Her to th' fire till she be burnt and dead, mine eyes Will stand in feare within my head.