Massinger, Philip · published 1639 · first performed or written 1624 [1624-1625] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Globe unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Provided The articles agreed on be observed, And you depart hence with it, making oath Never hereafter but as friends to touch Upon this shore. we'll faithfully perform it. Then as you please dispose of it. 'tis an object That I could wish removed. His sins die with him, So far he has my charity. He shall have A soldiers' funeral. Farewell. These rites Paid to the dead, the Conqueror that survives Must reap the harvest of his bloody labour. Sound all loud instruments of joy and triumph, And with all circumstance, and ceremony Wait on the Patron of our liberty, Which he at all parts merits. I am honoured. Beyond my hopes. 'Tis short of your deserts. Lead on: Oh Sir you must: you are too modest. Talk not of comfort, I am both ways wretched, And so distracted with my doubts and fears, I know not where to fix my hopes. My loss Is certain in a father, or a brother, Or both, such is the cruelty of my fate, And not to be avoided. You must bear it With patience, Madam. And what's not in you To be prevented, should not cause a sorrow Which cannot help it. Fear not my brave Lord Your noble father; fighting is to him Familiar as eating. He can teach Our modern duelists how to cleave a button, And in a new way, never yet found out By old Caranza. May he be victorious, And punish disobedience in his son, Whose death in reason should at no part move you, He being but half your brother, and the nearness, Which that might challenge from you, forfeited By his impious purpose to kill him, from whom He received life. A general shout. Of joy. Look up dear Lady, sad news never came Ushered with loud applause. I stand prepared, To endure the shock of it. I am out of breath With running to deliver first. What? we are all made, My Lord has wont the day, your brother's slain, The pirates gone, and by the governor, And states, and all the men of war he is brought home in triumph, nay no musing, pay me For my good news hereafter. Heaven is just! Give thanks at leisure, make all haste to meet him I could wish I were a horse that I might bear you To him upon my back. Thou art an ass, And this is a sweet burden. Peace you crackrope. All honours we can give you and rewards Though all that's rich, or precious in Marseilles Were laid down at your feet, can hold no weight With your deservings, let me glory in Your action as if it were mine own, And have the honour with the arms of love, To embrace the great performer of a deed, Transcending all this Country ere could boast of. Imagine, noble Sir, in what we may Express our thankfulness, and rest assured It shall be freely granted.
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)
Provided The articles agreed on be observ'd, And you depart hence with it, making oath Never hereafter but as friends to touch Vpon this shore. Wee'll faithfully performe it. Then as you please dispose of it. Tis an object That I could wish remou'd. His sins die with him, So far he has my charitie. He shall have A Souldiers funerall. Farewell. These rites Paid to the dead, the Conquerour that survives Must reape the harvest of his bloudy labour. Sound all ld instruments of joy and triumph, And with all circumstance, and ceremonie Wait on the Patron of our libertie, Which he at all parts merits. I am honour'd. Beyond my hopes. 'Tis short of your deserts. Lead on: Oh Sir you must: you are too modest. Talke not of comfort, I am both wayes wretched, And so distracted with my doubts and feares, I know not where to fix my hopes. My losse Is certaine in a father, or a brother, Or both, such is the crueltie of my fate, And not to be avoyded. You must beare it With patience, Madam. And what's not in you To be prevented, should not cause a sorrow Which cannot help it. Feare not my brave Lord Your noble father; fighting is to him Familiar as eating. He can teach Our moderne Duellists how to cleave a button, And in a new way, never yet found out By old Caranza. May he be victorious, And punish disobedience in his sonne, Whose death in reason should at no part move you, He being but halfe your brother, and the neernesse, Which that might challenge from you, forfelted By his impious purpose to kill him, from whom He receiv'd life. A generall shout. Of joy. Looke up deare Lady, sad newes never came sherd with loud applause. I stand prepard, To indure the shocke of it. I am out of breath With running to deliver first. What? Wee are all made, My Lord has wont the day, your brother's slaine, The pirats gone, and by the governour, And states, and all the men of war he is ought home in triumph, nay no musing, pay me For my good newes hereafter. Heaven is just! Give thankes at leasure, make all hast to meete him I coulde wish I were a horse that I might beare you To him upon my backe. Thou art an asse, And this is a sweete burthen. Peace you crackrope. All honours we can give you and rewards Though all that's rich, or precious in Marsellis Were layd downe at your feet, can hold no waight With your deservings, let me glory in Your action as if it were mine owne, And have the honour with the armes of love, To embce the great performer of a deed, Transcending all this Countrey ere could boast of. Imagine, noble Sir, in what we may Expresse our thankfulnesse, and rest assur'd It shall be freely granted.