Randolph, Thomas · published 1638 · first performed or written 1630 [licensed for stage, Nov 25] (Annals) moral · King's Revels Company T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation typicality 0.78 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
I were unworthy if I should Appeal from his tribunal; Be it so: I doubt not but his censure runs with me: Never may any thing that's sad and tragical Dare to approach his Presence; let him be So happy as to think no man is wretched, Or that there is a thing called misery. Such is my prayer, that he may only see. Not be the subject of a Tragedy! Sister, a truce till then; that vice may bleed Let us join whips together. 'Tis agreed. Mime, let it be your office to prepare The Masque which we intended: 'Tis my care. How did she say? a Mass? Brother fly hence, Fly hence, Idolatry will overtake us. It was a Masque she spoke of, a rude Dance Presented by the seven deadly sins. Still 'tis a Mass, sister, away, I tell you It is a mass, a mass, a mass of vile Idolatry. 'Tis but a simple Dance, brought in to show The native fowl●…esse and deformity Of our dear fin, and what an ugly guest He entertains, admits him to his B●…est! Say, in a Dance how shall we go, That never could a measure know! How shall we sing to please the Scene That never yet could keep a mean? Disorder is the Masque we bring, And Discords are the Tunes we sing. No sound in our harsh ears can find a place But highest Trebles, or the lowest Base. See Brother, if men's hearts and Consciences Had not been seared, and cauterised, how could they Affect these filthy harbingers of hell! These Proctors of Belzebub, Lucifer's Hinch-boyes! I pray ye stir yourselves within a while. And here, unless your favourable mildness With hope of mercy do encourage us, Our Author bids us end: he dares not venture Neither what's past, nor that which is to come Upon his Country, 'tis so weak, and impotent It cannot stand a trial, nor dares hope The benefit of his Clergy; But if rigour Sat judge, must of necessity be condemned To Vulcan or the Sponge: All he can plead Is a desire of Pardon; for he brings you No plot at all, but a mere Olla Podrida, A medley of ill-placed, and worse penned humours. His desire was in single Scenes to show How Comedy presents each single vice Ridiculous, whose number as their Character He borrows from the man to whom he owes All the poor skill he has, great Aristotle. Now if you can endure to hear the rest, Y'are welcome; if you cannot, do but tell Your meaning by some sign, and all farewell. If you will stay resolve to pardon first; Our Author will deserve it by offending. Yet if he miss a Pardon, as in justice You cannot grant it, though your mercy may, Still he hath this left for a comfort to him, That he picks forth a subject of his Rhyme May lose perchance his credit, not his time.
seed 43: T4 · seed 44: T5 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I were unworthy if I should Appeale from his tribunall; Be it so: I doubt not but his censure runs with me: Never may any thing that's sad and tragicall Dare to approach his Presence; let him be So happy as to think no man is wretched, Or that there is a thing call'd miserie. Such is my praier, that he may only see. Not be the subject of a Tragedie! Sister, a truce till then; that vice may bleed Let us joyne whips together. 'Tis agreed. Mime, let it be your office to prepare The Masque which we intended: 'Tis my care. How did she say? a Masse? Brother fly hence, Fly hence, Idolatry will overtake us. It was a Masque she spake of, a rude Dance Presented by the seven deadly sinnes. Still 'tis a Masse, sister, away, I tell you It is a masse, a masse, a masse of vile Idolatry. 'Tis but a simple Dance, brought in to shew The native fowlesse and deformitie Of our deare finne, and what an ugly guest He entertaines, admits him to his Best! Say, in a Dance how shall we goe, That never could a measure knowe! How shall we sing to please the Scene That never yet could keepe a meane? Disorder is the Masque we bring, And Discords are the Tunes we sing. No sound in our harsh eares can find a place But highest Trebles, or the lowest Base. See Brother, if mens hearts and Consciences Had not been sear'd, and cauterized, how could they Affect these filthy harbingers of hell! These Procters of Belzebub, Lucifers Hinch-boyes! I pray yee stirre your selves within a while. And here, unlesse your favourable mildnesse With hope of mercy doe encourage us, Our Author bids us end: he dares not venture Neither what's past, nor that which is to come Vpon his Country, 'tis so weake, and impotent It cannot stand a triall, nor dares hope The benefit of his Cleargy; But if rigour Sit Iudge, must of necessity be condemn'd To Vulcan or the Spunge: All he can plead Is a desire of Pardon; for he brings you No plot at all, but a meere Olla Podrida, A medly of ill-plac'd, and worse pen'd humours. His desire was in single Scenes to shew How Comedy presents each single vice Ridiculous, whose number as their Character He borrowes from the man to whom he owes All the poore skill he has, great Aristotle. Now if you can endure to heare the rest, Y'are welcome; if you cannot, doe but tell Your meaning by some signe, and all farewell. If you will stay resolve to pardon first; Our Author will deserve it by offending. Yet if he misse a Pardon, as in Iustice You cannot grant it, though your mercy may, Still he hath this left for a comfort to him, That he picks forth a subject of his Rime May loose perchance his credit, not his time.