Randolph, Thomas · published 1638 · first performed or written 1630 [licensed for stage, Nov 25] (Annals) moral · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
A good wish, Savouring as well discretion, as bold valour: Think not of such a baffled ass as this, More stone, than man: Medusa's head has turned him. There is in ants a choler, every fly Carries a spleen: Poor worms being trampled on Turn tail, as bidding battle to the feet Of their oppref●…ors. A dead palsy sure Hath struck a desperate numbness through his soul, Till it be grown insensible: Mere stupidity Hath ceased him: Your more manly soul I find Is capable of wrong, and like a flint Throws forth a fire into the strikers eyes. You bear about you valours whetstone, anger; Which sets an edge upon the sword, and makes it Cut with a ●…pirit: you conceive fond patience Is an injustice to ourselves, the suffering One injury invites a second, that Calls on a third, till wrongs do multiply And reputation bleed: How bravely anger Becomes that martial brow! A glass within Will show you sir when your great spleen doth rise How fury darts a lightning from your eyes. Learn anger sir against you meet me next; Never was man like me with patience vexed. I am so far from anger in myself, That 'tis my grief I can make others so. It proves a sweetness in your disposition, A gentle winning carriage— dear Aorgus O give me leave to open wide my breast, And let so rare a friend unto my soul; Enter, and take possession: such a man As has no gall, no bitterness, no exceptions, Whom nature meant a Dove, will keep alive The ●…ame of amity, where all discourse Flows innocent, and each free jest is taken. he's a good friend will pardon his friends errors, But he's a better takes no notice of them. How like a beast with rude and savage rage Breathed the distempered soul of Orgylus? The proneness of this passion is the Nurse That fosters all confusion, ruins states, Depopulates Cities, lays great Kingdoms waste; 'Tis that affection of the mind that wants The strongest bridle; give it raines it runs A desperate course, and drags down reason with it. It is the whirlwind of the soul, the storm And tempest of the mind, that raises up The billows of disturbed passions To shipwreck judgement. O— a soul like yours Constant in patience! Let the North wind mee●… The South at sea, and Zephyrus breath opposite To Eurus; let the two and thirty sons Of Aeolus break forth at once, to plow The Ocean, and dispeople all the woods, Yet here could be a calm, it is not danger Can make this cheek grow pale, nor injury Call blood into it. Their's a Glass within Will let you see yourself, and tell you now How sweet a tameness dwells upon your brow. Colax, I must believe, and therefore go; Who is distrustful will be angry too.
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)
A good wish, Savouring as well discretion, as bold valour: Think not of such a baffel'd asse as this, More stone, then man: Medusa's head has turn'd him. There is in ants a choler, every flye Carries a spleene: Poore wormes being trampled on Turne tayle, as bidding battaile to the feet Of their opprefors. A dead palsy sure Hath struck a desperate numnesse through his soule, Till it be growne insensible: Meere stupidity Hath ceaz'd him: Your more manly soule I find Is capable of wrong, and like a flint Throwes forth a fire into the strikers eyes. You beare about you valours whetstone, anger; Which sets an edge upon the sword, and makes it Cut with a pirit: you conceive fond patience Is an injustice to our selves, the suffering One injury invites a second, that Calls on a third, till wrongs doe multiply And reputation bleed: How bravely anger Becomes that martiall brow! A glasse within Will shew you sir when your great spleene doth rise How fury darts a lightning from your eyes. Learne anger sir against you meet me next; Never was man like me with patience vext. I am so farre from anger in my selfe, That 'tis my grief I can make others so. It proves a sweetnesse in your disposition, A gentle winning carriage—deare Aorgus O give me leave to open wide my brest, And let so rare a freind unto my soule; Enter, and take possession: such a man As has no gall, no bitternesse, no exceptions, Whom nature meant a Dove, will keepe alive The ame of amitie, where all discourse Flowes innocent, and each free jest is taken. Hee's a good freind will pardon his freinds errours, But hee's a better takes no notice of them. How like a beast with rude and savage rage Breath'd the distemper'd soule of Orgylus? The pronenesse of this passion is the Nurse That fosters all confusion, ruines states, Depopulates Cities, layes great Kingdomes wast; 'Tis that affection of the mind that wants The strongest bridle; give it raines it runnes A desperate course, and drags downe reason with it. It is the whirlwind of the soule, the storme And tempest of the mind, that raises up The billowes of disturbed passions To shipwrack Iudgment. O—a soule like yours Constant in patience! Let the North wind mee The South at sea, and Zephyrus breath opposite To Eurus; let the two and thirty sonnes Of Eolus break forth at once, to plow The Ocean, and dispeople all the woods, Yet here could be a calme, it is not danger Can make this cheeke grow pale, nor injury Call blood into it. Their's a Glasse within Will let you see your selfe, and tell you now How sweet a tamenesse dwells upon your brow. Colax, I must believe, and therefore goe; Who is distrustfull will be angry too.