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 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Our Admiral's father! call him back. I won't stay to hear 'em. Sir, be prudent, And do not for your son fright the King's health. What, ha' they left us? how does my Admiral? I am forbid to tell you sir. By whom. The Queen and my Lord Constable. Are there Remaining seeds of faction? have they souls Not yet convinced i'th' truth of Chabots' honour, Clear as the crystal heaven, and 'bove the reach Of imitation. 'tis their care of you, And no thought prejudicial to my son. Their care of me? How can the knowledge of my Admiral's state Concern their fears of me, I see their envy Of Chabots' happiness, whose joy to be Rendered so pure and genuine to the world Doth grate upon their conscience and affright 'em; But let 'em vex, and bid my Chabot still Exalt his heart, and triumph, he shall hauë The access of ours, the kingdom shall put on Such joys for him as she would boast to celebratë Her own escape from ruin. He is not in state to hear my sad news I perceive. That countenance is not right, it does not answë● What I expect, Say, how is my Admiral? The truth upon thy life. To secure his, I would you had. Ha'? Who durst oppose him? One that hath power enough hath practised on him And made his great heart stoop. I will revenge it With crushing, crushing that rebellious power to nothing. Name him. He was his friend. A friend to malice, his own black imposthume Burn his blood up, what mischief hath engendered New storms? 'tis the old tempest. Did not we Appease all horrors that looked wild upon him? You dressed his wounds I must confess, but made No cure, they bleed a fresh, pardon me sir, Although your conscience have closed too soon, He is in danger, and doth want new surgery Though he be right in fame, and your opinion, He thinks you were unkind. Alas poor Chabot, Doth that afflict him. So much, though he strive With most resolved and Adamantine nerves, As ever humane fire in flesh and blood, Forged for example, to bear all, so killing The arrows that you shot were (still your pardon) No Centaurs blood could rankle so. If this Be all, i'll cure him, Kings retain More Balsam in their soul them hurt in anger. far short sir, with one breath they uncreate, And Kings with only words more wounds can make Then all their kingdom made in balm can heal, 'tis dangerous to play to wild a descant On numerous virtue, though it become Princes To assure their adventures made in every thing, Goodness confined within poor flesh and blood, Hath but a queasy and still sickly state, A musical hand should only play on her Fluent as air, yet every touch command. No more, Commend us to the Admiral, and say, The King will visit him, and bring health.
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)
Our Admiralls father! call him backe. I wnot ſtay to heare e'm. Sir, be prudent, And doe not for your ſonne fright the Kings health. What, ha they left us? how does my Admirall? I am forbid to tell you ſir. By whom. The Queene and my Lord Conſtable. Are there Remaining ſeedes of faction? have they ſoules Not yet convinc'd ith truth of Chabots honour, Cleare as the chriſtall heaven, and bove the reach Of imitation. Tis their care of you, And no thought prejudiciall to my ſonne. Their care of me? How can the knowledge of my Admiralls ſtate Concerne their feares of me, I ſee their envie Of Chabots happineſſe, whoſe joy to be Rendr'd ſo pure and genuine to the world Doth grate upon their conſcience and affright 'em; But let 'em vexe, and bid my Chabot ſtill Exalt his heart, and triumph, he ſhall havë The acceſſe of ours, the kingdome ſhall put on Such joyes for him as ſhe would boſt to celebratë Her owne eſcape from ruine. He is not in ſtate to heare my ſad newes I perceive. That countenance is not right, it does not anſwë What I expect, Say, how is my Admirall? The truth upon thy life. To ſecure his, I would you had. Ha? Who durſt oppoſe him? One that hath power enough hath practiſed on him And made his great heart ſtoope. I will revenge it With cruſhing, cruſhing that rebellious power to nothing. Name him. He was his friend. A friend to malice, his owne blacke impoſtume Burne his blood up, what miſchiefe hath ingendred New ſtormes? Tis the old tempeſt. Did not we Appeaſe all horrors that look'd wilde upon him? You dreſt his wounds I muſt confeſſe, but made No cure, they bleede a freſh, pardon me ſir, Although your conſcience have clos'd too ſoone, He is in danger, and doth want new ſurgerie Though he be right in fame, and your opinion, He thinkes you were unkinde. Alas poore Chabot, Doth that afflict him. So much, though he ſtrive With moſt reſolv'd and Adamantine nerves, As ever humane fire in fleſh and blood, Forg'd for example, to beare all, ſo killing The arrowes that you ſhot were (ſtill your pardon) No Centaures blood could rancle ſo. If this Be all, ile cure him, Kings retaine More Balſome in their ſoule them hurt in anger. Farre ſhort ſir, with one breath they uncreate, And Kings with onely words more wounds can make Then all their kingdome made in balme can heale, Tis dangerous to play to wilde a deſcant On numerous vertue, though it become Princes To aſſure their adventures made in every thing, Goodneſſe confin'd within poore fleſh and blood, Hath but a queazie and ſtill ſickly ſtate, A muſicall hand ſhould onely play on her Fluent as ayre, yet every touch command. No more, Commend us to the Admirall, and ſay, The King will viſite him, and bring health.