The Seven Champions of Christendom · chunk 2 of 43
Kirke, John · published 1638 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1638] (Annals) romance · Red Bull Company (second) · Red Bull unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Be full resolved of fear, struck sudden doubts: Age makes my span of days seem but an inch, And snows, like cold December, on my heart: See how I tremble Tarpax, as doth the listening Heart, When he hears the feathered arrows sing his funeral dirge. Name what afflicts my love. But will my Tarpax tell me? Both must and will. When must I die then? when must Calibs life Be back surrendered by the hands of death? Age can no longer to me subsistence give: My Taper hath watched long, when will it out? Perform no flattering part for to delude me: When? ha, when my Tarpax? Fates keep unknown from spirits those last times Of days and hours: yet can I riddle out a prophecy, Which if my Calib well observe and keep Thy time may farther run, death stay his sleep. Say on sweet Tarpax. Whilst Calib in her powerful hand Holds fast her powerful art, So long may Calib by her power, Command Death hold his Dart. But when fond Love by dotage shall, Blindfold wise Calibs eyes, With that great power she did command, The great Enchantress dies. Ha, ha, ha; and when will that be Tarpax? Vanish like smoke, my fear, come kiss me my Love, Thou hast earned thy breakfast Chuck; here suck thy fill. Illo ho, ho Illo. What mole's that disturbs us? Shall I blast him? Hold my Love, 'tis Suckabus our son; fall off. The fool ne'er saw his Father yet, Make us acquainted. So ho, ho; Mother, Mother. Defend me Tarpax: what doth ail the boy? Ale? no mother; I am neither in Ale nor Beer, Nor no such grain-tub, peasantical Element: My Hogshead runs Alegant, and your Nursling broached it. Hath George done this? Slave, thou liest: Go call him hither. Mother, no more such words, my blood's up, And I am apt for Rebellion; and you know A Soldiers Latin for the Lie, is the stab. Hold villain, what resist thy mother? Oh Lord, help me George, George, nursling George. Villain come back, l'le tosse thee in a whirle-winde i'th' ayre else: Come back I say, and learn to put on duty. There stands your sire, you Cur; kneel for a benediction. Hold your hand Mother, I have no mind to be made a Buzzard, nor fly like an Owl i'th' air, or mount like a Kite over Towns and Cities for carrion, without any biding place. Where my father is I know not, but the likeness of our persons shows me a Pig of your own farrow. I am thy Father Suckabus. You may be the Devil for aught I know, For you are neither like my Mother, nor me. Cast fear and wonder off my boy, This is thy Father, and a potent spirit, Prince of the grisly North, that muffles us, and ties, And also unties the fiery rude band og Boreas: Then, as becomes thee, show thy reverence to him.
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)
Be full reſolv'd of feare, ſtruck ſuddain doubts: Age makes my ſpanne of dayes ſeeme but an inch, And ſnowes, like cold December, on my heart: See how I tremble Tarpax, as doth the liſtning Hart, When he heares the feather'd arrowes ſing his funeral dirge. Name what afflicts my love. But will my Tarpax tell me? Both muſt and will. When muſt I dye then? when muſt Calibs life Be backe ſurrenderd by the hands of death? Age can no longer to me ſubſiſtance give: My Taper hath watcht long, when will it out? Performe no flattering part for to delude me: When? ha, when my Tarpax? Fates keepe unknowne from ſpirits thoſe laſt times Of dayes and houres: yet can I riddle out a prophefie, Which if my Calib well obſerve and keepe Thy time may farther runne, death ſtay his ſleepe. Say on ſweet Tarpax. Whilst Calib in her powerfull hand Holds faſt her powerfull art, So long may Calib by her power, Command Death hold his Dart. But when fond Love by dotage ſhall, Blindfold wiſe Calibs eyes, With that great power ſhe did command, The great Inchantreſſe dies. Ha, ha, ha; and when will that be Tarpax? Vaniſh like ſmoake, my feare, come kiſſe me my Love, Thou haſt earn'd thy breakefaſt Chuck; here ſuck thy fill. Illo ho, ho Illo. What mortall's that diſturbs us? Shall I blaſt him? Hold my Love, 'tis Suckabus our ſonne; fall off. The foole nere ſaw his Father yet, Make us acquainted. So ho, ho; Mother, Mother. Defend me Tarpax: what doth ayle the boy? Ale? no mother; I am neither in Ale nor Beere, Nor no ſuch graine-tub, peaſanticall Element: My Hogſhead runnes Alegant, and your Nurſling broacht it. Hath George done this? Slave, thou lyeſt: Goe call him hither. Mother, no more ſuch words, my blood's up, And I am apt for Rebellion; and you know A Souldiers Latin for the Lye, is the ſtab. Hold villaine, what reſiſt thy mother? Oh Lord, helpe me George, George, nurſling George. Villaine come back, l'le toſſe thee in a whirle-winde i'th' ayre elſe: Come back I ſay, and learne to put on duty. There ſtands your ſire, you Cur; kneele for a benediction. Hold your hand Mother, I have no mind to be made a Buzzard, nor flye like an Owle i'th' ayre, or mount like a Kite over Townes and Citties for carrion, without any biding place. Where my father is I know not, but the likeneſſe of our perſons ſhews me a Pig of your owne farrow. I am thy Father Suckabus. You may be the Divell for ought I know, For you are neither like my Mother, nor me. Caſt feare and wonder off my boy, This is thy Father, and a potent ſpirit, Prince of the griſly North, that muffles us, and tyes, And alſo unties the fiery rude band og Boreas: Then, as becomes thee, ſhew thy reverence to him.