The Seven Champions of Christendom · chunk 11 of 43
Kirke, John · published 1638 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1638] (Annals) romance · Red Bull Company (second) · Red Bull T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.69 · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
The sprightly youths, Niger, Pallemon, & Antigonus; Niger well mounted on a sable horse, His armour of the same resemblance, Discovered in him actions stern, and high, Past through the City with Magestic pace: His outward form prefigured to the eye, Future presages of bold victory. Next Pallemon gave our eyes view Of Knightly prowess, his armour russet, Round beset with flames; though artificial, Seemed to consume the youthful wearer, True emblem of unpitied light brain pride; A fiery Sorrel bore the noble youth, Who chewed the ringled bit, as in disdain, To be o'ermastered by so weak a Rain: And as the Sun forsook his Mistress lap, He left the City. Last of all appeared Antigonus, in a sure armour clad; A milk white Courser bore him through the streets: His Plume agreed with it, and at all points White, like the cause he went for: When he set forth, methought he looked like justice Dropped from heaven, to take revenge on wrong And cruelty, the people's prayers Went with him, and their eyes Dropped tears, o'ermastered with their ecstasies. Oh be propitious heaven to their designs, Give double vigour to their able nerves, Inflame their hearts with matchless charity. Ancetes haste you to the Temple straight, Give order to Apollo's sacred Priests, To make his Altars smoke with hallowed fumes, Let neither prayers nor Sacrifice be scant, To move the Gods to hear our just complaint, I shall my Lord. Good daughter be it your charge to summon all The Virgin Votaries of Diana's train, Attired in all the choice habiliments, To gratulate these warlike youths return, 'Tis our last hazard, and like Gamesters now, We venture all at one uncertain throw: If we prevail, immortal Verse shall crown And memorize their happy victory; But if they fall, their ruins shall be song In Elegiacke strains, recorded fit For such untimely fatal overthrows: however, honour shall adorn their Hearse, And they still live by never dying Verse. Wit must not be advanced then? No, all's dust. Must not the Maypole up? What will this come to at length? God Pan will never endure it. He must endure it, an he were a god of Tustaffety: I am in a fustian-fume to see't, But all will do no good. Well fellow well-brain, do I live to see, The Maypole slighted, I could be drunk By privilege in those days, and had A stay to lean on: now 'tis past, And who can help it? That we shall presently know: Here comes the Priest of Pan, And he'll dissolve us, 'tis all to nothing else. Lay by your idle sports and vanities, And send up vows and sad repentant tears: These offend, and pull down ruins on us, To provoke the gods, ready to destroy us. What news Baptisto there? Oh sir, I cannot speak and tell ye, Let me weep out mine eyes first, And then I may chance find the way to't. Prithee whither, out with it?
seed 43: T12 · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
The ſprightly youths, Niger, Pallemon, & Antigonus; Niger well mounted on a ſable horſe, His armour of the ſame reſemblance, Diſcover'd in him actions ſterne, and high, Paſt through the City with Mageſticke pace: His outward forme prefigur'd to the eye, Future preſages of bold victory. Next Pallemon gave our eyes view Of Knightly proweſſe, his armour ruſſet, Round beſet with flames; though artificiall, Seem'd to conſume the youthfull wearer, True embleme of unpittied light braine pride; A fiery Sorrell bore the noble youth, Who chew'd the ringled bit, as in diſdaine, To be o're-maſter'd by ſo weake a Raine: And as the Sunne forſooke his Miſtreſſe lappe, He left the City. Laſt of all appear'd Antigonus, in a ſure armour clad; A milke white Courſer bare him through the ſtreetes: His Plume agree'd with it, and at all poynts White, like the cauſe he went for: When he ſet forth, me thought he lookt like Iuſtice Dropt from heaven, to take revenge on wrong And cruelty, the peoples prayers Went with him, and their eyes Dropt teares, o're-maſterd with their extaſies. Oh be propitious heaven to their deſignes, Give double vigour to their able nerves, Inflame their hearts with matchleſſe charity. Ancetes haſte you to the Temple ſtrait, Give order to Apollo's ſacred Prieſts, To make his Altars ſmoak with hallowed fumes, Let neither prayers nor Sacrifice be ſcant, To move the Gods to heare our juſt complaint, I ſhall my Lord. Good daughter be it your charge to ſummon all The Virgin Votaries of Dianaes traine, Attir'd in all the choyce habiliments, To gratulate theſe warlike youths returne, 'Tis our laſt hazard, and like Gameſters now, We venture all at one uncertaine throw: If we prevaile, immortall Verſe ſhall crowne And memorize their happy victory; But if they fall, their ruines ſhall be ſong In Elegiacke ſtraines, recorded fit For ſuch untimely fatall overthrowes: How ever, honour ſhall adorne their Herſe, And they ſtill live by never dying Verſe. Wit muſt not be advanc'd then? No, all's duſt. Muſt not the May-pole up? What will this come to at length? God Pan will never endure it. He muſt endure it, an he were a god of Tuſtaffety: I am in a fuſtian-fume to ſee't, But all will doe no good. Well fellow well-braine, doe I live to ſee, The May-pole ſlighted, I could be drunke By priviledge in thoſe dayes, and had A ſtay to leane on: now 'tis paſt, And who can helpe it? That we ſhall preſently know: Here comes the Prieſt of Pan, And hee'le diſſolve us, 'tis all to nothing elſe. Lay by your idle ſports and vanities, And ſend up vowes and ſad repentant teares: Theſe offend, and pull downe ruines on us, To provoke the gods, ready to deſtroy us. What newes Baptiſto there? Oh ſir, I cannot ſpeake and tell yee, Let me weepe out mine eyes firſt, And then I may chance finde the way too't. Prithee whither, out with it?