The Seven Champions of Christendom · chunk 24 of 43
Kirke, John · published 1638 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1638] (Annals) romance · Red Bull Company (second) · Red Bull unassigned nearest T13 Knights, squires and ladies · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T13: knight, raph, lady, knights, george, master, squire, rafe, pray, god.
Rest you contended with content, our will admits No counsel but our own; here lives no pity of our Enemy, We have bought vengeance at a mightier rate, Than you, or can, or must be privy to. Learning by time and industry are bought, But he that barters for revengeful Arts, Must with his best prized jewel from depart: I have yet showed tricks to make 'em laugh, But long it shall not be ere I smite home To make us pastimes by their general ruins: And now my friends and subjects shall behold The indented time and riddle of our safety: Ho Tarpax, The chiefest which attends upon our acts. What would my Master? Tarpax must obey. Set forth my brazen pillar. 'Tis done. Now wonder at the Tablet I shall read, Which while it comes to pass, live in more pleasures And voluptuous state, than doth the Roman Potentates. ORmand be bold, seeare, and free, Revel thou in art's potency, Till from the cold and Northern Clime, A Knight post on the wings of time, Being lighted on Tartaries ground, Of Fame spoke loud by honour crowned: From Brute descended, and his breast Is with a sanguine Cross be blessed: Then shall this Sword, thy Art here closed, By him be drawn, thy Art opposed; Thy life, thy Arts, thy potent power Expire, dissolve that instant hour. This bugbear frights us not, and yet my fall must come From Brute descended, and on his breast The Emblem of our hate, a sanguine Cross: Must Ormandines great power be shaken down By a chill Northern Ague-shaken Knight, A lump of snow, a frosty I sickle? this saying damps me, And the thin pure blood, which but even now Flowed through the azure branches of my veins, Is run to cherish my fear-trembling heart, Who, there affrighted at its horrid ruin, Mixed with cold comfort, is congealed to clods, And I a blood less substance do remain. Why is our King and governor dismayed? Walk in I pray, I'm very much disturbed: A swarthy passion harrows up my sense: Ho Tarpax. Your call must be obeyed: I'm here. Fetch me my Characters, my calculation, & my glass. They are here. My ever-ready servant, fly to the first Aerial degree, Snatch thee a cloud, and wrap thyself into't; Fly to Tartaria, look within his Court, confines, & Country, If any Christian Knight there be arrived, I fear me Tarpax; bring me answer swift, Whilst I survey my Book and magic glass. I'm gone; ten minutes hence expect me back. Ha? what's here? The Tartars son slain by a British Knight, Who, as a penance for this heinous fact, Sent here to fetch my head, by Oath enjoined to't: A British Knight, the same my Tablet speaks of: Now Ormandine must fall. Ho Tarpax! What sees my Tarpax?
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)
Reſt you contended with content, our will admits No counſell but our owne; here lives no pitty of our Enemy▪ We have bought vengeance at a mightier rate, Than you, or can, or muſt be privy to. Learning by time and induſtry are bought, But he that barters for revengefull Arts, Muſt with his beſt pri'zd jewell from depart: I have yet ſhewed tricks to make 'em laugh, But long it ſhall not be ere I ſmite home To make us paſtimes by their generall ruines: And now my friends and ſubjects ſhall behold The indented time and riddle of our ſafety: Ho Tarpax, The chiefeſt which attends upon our acts. What would my Maſter? Tarpax muſt obey. Set forth my brazen pillar. 'Tis done. Now wonder at the Tablet I ſhall read, Which while it comes to paſſe, live in more pleaſures And voluptuous ſtate, than doth the Roman Potentates. ORmand be bold, ſeeare, and free, Revell thou in Arts potency, Till from the cold and Northerne Clime, A Knight poſt on the wings of time, Being lighted on Tartaries ground, Of Fame ſpoke loud by honour crown'd: From Brute deſcended, and his breſt Is with a ſanguine Croſſe be bleſt: Then ſhall this Sword, thy Art here clos'd, By him be drawne, thy Art oppos'd; Thy life, thy Arts, thy potent power Expire, diſſolve that inſtant houre. This bug-beare frights us not, and yet my fall muſt come From Brute deſcended, and on his breaſt The Embleme of our hate, a ſanguine Croſſe: Muſt Ormandines great power be ſhaken downe By a chill Northerne Ague-ſhaken Knight, A lumpe of ſnow, a froſty I ſickle? this ſaying damps me, And the thinne pure blood, which but even now Flowed through the azure branches of my veines, Is runne to cheriſh my feare-trembling heart, Who, there affrighted at its horrid ruine, Mixt with cold comfort, is congeal'd to clods, And I a blood leſſe ſubſtance doe remaine. Why is our King and governour diſmay'd? Walke in I pray, I'me very much diſturb'd: Aſwarthy paſſion harrows up my ſence: Ho Tarpax. Your call muſt be obey'd: I'me here. Fetch me my Characters, my calculation, & my glaſſe. They are here. My ever-ready ſervant, fly to the firſt Aëriall degree, Snatch thee a cloud, and wrap thy ſelfe intoo't; Fly to Tartaria, looke within his Court, confines, & Country, If any Chriſtian Knight there be arriv'd, I feare me Tarpax; bring me anſwer ſwift, Whilſt I ſurvy my Booke and magick glaſſe. I'me gone; ten minutes hence expect me back. Ha? what's here? The Tartars ſonne ſlaine by a Brittiſh Knight, Who, as a pennance for this hainous fact, Sent here to fetch my head, by Oath enjoyn'd too't: A Brittiſh Knight, the ſame my Tablet ſpeaks of: Now Ormandine muſt fall. Ho Tarpax! What ſees my Tarpax?