The Seven Champions of Christendom · chunk 6 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 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
O no. O No. How soon fresh flowers fall, which now did grow. Delay not long thy Parents rest my George, Hear a brief story, and then send me hence: Know then that cursed Calib, which now dotes on thee, Did not at first do so, but poisoned us, And fled with thee away unto that Cell of honour, Secured by her enchantments from all danger, Then her intents not satisfied with both our lives, Began to prey on thine; but pity, spite of Hell, Flew from thine eyes, and overthrew the murderess black intent: That since thoust lived in love and favour with her. But now be wise, her power is in thy hand. Oh then be swift, be swift to execute Thy Parents murder on the damned witch: That done, redeem the Christian Champions, go with them, Her Cave is not unfurnished of rich Arms; Fame holds the Christian Trophy thou must bear, England's Red Cross shall George, than St. George wear, That summoned us, back sends us: George waft thy wand. Farewell. Farewell dear son. Go rest, go rest sweet shadows, be no more disturbed, All my sick passions, that late were scattered with My troubled thoughts, are reunited in this little Orb: But for this Calib, this accursed Hag, Whose deeds are blacker than her tempting tutors, Revenge hath filled her cup unto the brim, And she shall quaff her foul souls black perdition. Protract not George, we rest not till she dies. No more, no more, revenge like lightning flies. Shield me my Tarpax from the furious boy, That hurries to my death more swifter Than the hot fiery Steeds, that threw Ambitious Phaeton from his pride: defend me then. Calib, we cannot. Thy power's extinct, and thou thyself must fall: Did dotage on thy Deathsman blind thee so, To give thy safe protection and thy power to him? Now armed with both, comes to destroy thee. Fie Calib, fie, could not the Riddle which I read to thee, When thou desired'st the knowledge of thy doom, Forewarn thee then? Prepare, he comes. Hell and confusion. ay, confusion comes. How comes he? armed? One hand thy power, the other bears a Falchion. Oh gentle Tarpax, numb his senses so, That he forget the power of his wand, we may be safe. He comes, he comes. Circle me round, and keep him off a while, Whilst on the outside of this Rock I climb Up by the crags unto the top. Have I found thee witch? I'll not be long from thy accursed heart; The bastard, hag, is proved legitimate heir To great Coventry, whom thou, thou devil, Worse than those that guard thee, murdered. But in despite of all thy hellish host, Who faint against the justice of my cause, I thus assay thee. Thus we defend her. Fight sweet spirits, fight, kill but that boy, I'll let ope Rivers of my blood to you, And you shall drink your fill.
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)
O no. O No. How ſoone freſh flowers fall, which now did grow. Delay not long thy Parents reſt my George, Heare a briefe ſtory, and then ſend me hence: Know then that curſed Calib, which now doates on thee, Did not at firſt doe ſo, but poiſon'd us, And fled with thee away unto that Cell of honour, Secur'd by her inchantments from all danger, Then hir intents not ſatisfied with both our lives, Began to prey on thine; but pitty, ſpight of Hell, Flew from thine eyes, and overthrew the Murdreſſe black intent▪ That ſince th'aſt liv'd in love and favour with her. But now be wiſe, her power is in thy hand. Oh then be ſwift, be ſwift to execute Thy Parents murder on the damned witch: That done, redeeme the Chriſtian Champions, go with them, Her Cave is not unfurniſht of rich Armes; Fame holds the Chriſtian Trophy thou muſt beare, Englands Red Croſſe ſhall George, then St. George weare, That ſummond us, back ſends us: George waft thy wand. Farewell. Farewell deare ſon. Go reſt, go reſt ſweet ſhadows, be no more diſturb'd, All my ſick paſſions, that late were ſcatter'd with My troubled thoughts, are re-united in this little Orbe: But for this Calib, this accurſed Hagge, Whoſe deeds are blacker than her tempting tutors, Revenge hath fill'd her cup unto the brim, And ſhe ſhall quaffe her foule ſoules black perdition. Protract not George, we reſt not till ſhe dies. No more, no more, revenge like lightning flies. Shield me my Tarpax from the furious boy, That hurries to my death more ſwifter Than the hot fiery Steeds, that threw Ambitious Phaeton from his pride: defend me then. Calib, we cannot. Thy power's extinct, and thou thy ſelfe muſt fall: Did dotage on thy Deaths-man blind thee ſo, To give thy ſafe protection and thy power to him? Now arm'd with both, comes to deſtroy thee. Fie Calib, fie, could not the Riddle which I read to thee, When thou deſired'ſt the knowledge of thy doome, Forewarne thee then? Prepare, he comes. Hell and confuſion. I, confuſion comes. How comes he? arm'd? One hand thy power, the other beares a Falchion. Oh gentle Tarpax, numbe his ſences ſo, That he forget the power of his wand, we may be ſafe. He comes, he comes. Circle me round, and keepe him off a while, Whilſt on the outſide of this Rocke I climbe Vp by the crags unto the top. Have I found thee witch? I'le not be long from thy accurſed heart; The baſtard, hagge, is prov'd legitimate heire To great Coventry, whom thou, thou devill, Worſe than thoſe that guard thee, murther'd. But in deſpight of all thy helliſh hoaſt, Who faint againſt the juſtice of my cauſe, I thus aſſay thee. Thus we defend her. Fight ſweet ſpirits, fight, kill but that boy, I'le let ope Rivers of my blood to you, And you ſhall drinke your fill.