Chapman, George / Shirley, James · published 1639 · first performed or written 1612 [1611-1613; revised by Shirley and licensed for stage, Apr 29, 1635] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 521 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
I was ignorant Then of his worth, and heard but the report Of his accusers, and his enemies, Who never mention in his character Shadows of any virtue in those men, They would depress like Crows, and carrion birds, They sly o'er flowrie Meads, clear Springs, fair Gardens, And stoop at carcases; for your own honour Pity poor Chabot. Poor and a Colossus? What could so lately straddle o'er a Province, Can he be fallen so low, and miserable, To want my pity, who breaks forth like day, Takes up all people's eyes, and admiration? It cannot be, he hath a Princely wife too. I interpose not often Sir, or press you With unbecoming importunity, To serve the profitable ends of others Conscience, and duty to yourself enforce My present mediation, you have given The health of your own state away, unless Wisdom in time recover him. If he prove No adulterate gold, trial confirms his value. Although it hold in mettle gracious Sir, Such fiery examination, and the furnace May waste a heart that's faithful, and together With that you call the feces, something of The precious substance may be hazarded. Why, you are the chief engine raised against him, And in the world's Creed labour most to sink him, That in his fall, and absence every beam May shine on you, and only gild your fortune, Your difference is the ground of his arraignment, Nor were we unsollicited by you, To have your bill confirmed, from that that spring Came all these mighty and impetuous waves, With which he now must wrestle, if the strength Of his own innocence can break the storm, Truth wonot lose her servant, her wings cover him, He must obey his fate. I would not have It lie upon my fame, that I should be Mentioned in Story his unjust supplanter For your whole Kingdom, I have been abused, And made believe my suit was just and necessary, My walks have not been safe, my closet prayers, But some plot has pursued me, by some great ones Against your noble Admiral, they have frighted My fancy into my dreams with their close whispers, How to uncement your affections, And render him the fable, and the scorn Of France. Brave Montmorancie. Are you serious. Have I a soul? or gratitude, to acknowledge Myself your creature, dignified and honoured By your high favours with an equal truth, I must declare the justice of your Admiral (In what my thoughts are conscious) and will rather Give up my claim to birth, title, and offices, Be thrown from your warm smile, the top and crown Of subjects happiness, then be bribed with all Their glories to the guilt of Chabots' ruin. Come, come, you over act this passion, And if it be not policy it tastes Too green, and wants some counsel to mature it, His fall prepares your triumph. It confirms My shame alive, and buried will corrupt My very dust, make our house-genious groan, And fright the honest marble from my ashes: His fall prepare my triumph? turn me first A naked exile to the world.
seed 43: T62 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I was ignorant Then of his worth, and heard but the report Of his accuſers, and his enemies, Who never mention in his character Shadowes of any vertue in thoſe men, They would depreſſe like Crowes, and carrion birds, They ſly ore ſlowrie Meades, cleare Springs, faire Gardens, And ſtoope at carcaſſes; for your owne honour Pitty poore Chabot. Poore and a Coloſſus? What could ſo lately ſtraddle ore a Province, Can he be fallen ſo low, and miſerable, To want my pitty, who breakes forth like day, Takes up all peoples eyes, and admiration? It cannot be, he hath a Princely wife too. I interpoſe not often Sir, or preſſe you With unbecomming importunitie, To ſerve the profitable ends of others Conſcience, and duty to your ſelfe inforce My preſent mediation, you have given The health of your owne ſtate away, unleſſe Wiſedome in time recover him. If he proove No adulterate gold, triall confirmes his value. Although it hold in mettle gracious Sir, Such fiery examination, and the furnace May waſt a heart thats faithfull, and together With that you call the feces, ſomething of The precious ſubſtance may be hazarded. Why, you are the chiefe engine rais'd againſt him, And in the worlds Creede labour moſt to ſinke him, That in his fall, and abſence every beame May ſhine on you, and onely guild your fortune, Your difference is the ground of his arraignement, Nor were we unſollicited by you, To have your bill confirm'd, from that that ſpring Came all theſe mighty and impetuous waves, With which he now muſt wraſtle, if the ſtrength Of his owne innocence can breake the ſtorme, Truth wonot loſe her ſervant, her wings cover him, He muſt obey his fate. I would not have It lie upon my fame, that I ſhould be Mentioned in Story his unjuſt ſupplanter For your whole Kingdome, I have beene abuſed, And made beleeve my ſuite was juſt and neceſſary, My walkes have not beene ſafe, my cloſet prayers, But ſome plot has purſued me, by ſome great ones Againſt your noble Admirall, they have frighted My fancy into my dreames with their cloſe whiſpers, How to uncement your affections, And reder him the fable, and the ſcorne Of France. Brave Montmorancie. Are you ſerious. Have I a ſoule? or gratitude, to acknowledge My ſelfe your creature, dignified and honor'd By your high favours with an equall truth, I muſt declare the juſtice of your Admirall (In what my thoughts are conſcious) and will rather Give up my claime to birth, title, and offices, Be throwne from your warme ſmile, the top and crowne Of ſubjects happineſſe, then be brib'd with all Their glories to the guilt of Chabots ruine. Come, come, you over act this paſſion, And if it be not pollicie it taſts Too greene, and wants ſome counſell to mature it, His fall prepares your triumph. It confirmes My ſhame alive, and buried will corrupt My very duſt, make our houſe-genious grone, And fright the honeſt marble from my aſhes: His fall prepare my triumph? turne me firſt A naked exile to the world.