Glapthorne, Henry · published 1639 · first performed or written 1634 [1634-1639] [incorrect] (Annals) not in BritDrama · Globe T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea typicality 0.69 · 531 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
THe rumour still continues. Yes, my Lord, Ill fames though quick are certain, 'tis concluded Past question or dispute, for these reports Are grounded on too manifest a truth, To carry doubt in them, it is confirmed this morning; He must resign Though a stranger Sir, And so less interessed in the general's cause Then you his Countryman: were you not my friend, You lied to speak it. Must our General That soul of valour Wallenstein; who has (Like subtle lightning) purged the German air, From all the hot infections, foreign war Could threaten: sent the health-carousing Dane Drunk with his own blood home: broke all the force, With which the valiant Palatine and his aids. Infested had the Province: given to Death (That thunderbolt of war) whose very name Was great as Fate itself unto his foes, The Swedish King: and must he now, his age Is candid o'er with victories, be enforced To a base resignation: Death he's damned That dare but mutter it. And they were so Who first occasioned it, 'twould bring much comfort To all true Soldiers. 'Tis concluded Sir, Past all redemption, they are doubly damned For their ingratitude, displace a man To whom they owe their lives! one whom, my Lords, We have seen i'th' heat and bravery of a fight, Cheer up his fainting and disheartened troops, Even when his body seemed but all one wound, That it appeared a little Island, circled Round with the purple deluge of his blood; Who when wars Quiruters, the big-mouthed Drums, And surly Trumpet sung his Army's Dirge, That fatal Music swelled his sprightly sense More than soft Hymns at Nuptials. Sir, his glories Are so well known to us we need not urge Their reputation, but 'tis past my thoughts, Why on the sudden he should be compelled To give his charge up. When the world believed He should have had a double triumph in The honour of his victories. I'll tell you, There is in Princes Courts a lean-faced monster, Termed Envy, reigning in unworthy breasts, To fame's Heroic sons, such as know to cringe With subtle motion to their PRINCE's smiles, Adore his footsteps and his awful nods, And can like Asps instill into his ears, A sweet yet killing venom: these thin souls When the blunt Soldier, has on piles of wounds Built up his country's peace, whisper Beware In time my Lord, lest he do grow too great: This meeting with the jealous PRINCE's fears, (As Princes still are fearful of the greatness Of rising active subjects) breeds resolves to cut up That prop, leaning on which themselves have stood, Firm and unshaken on their base; and these Court Parasites, and th'Emperors weak distrusts, pulls this disgrace on Fridland, which if he With an effeminate patience do put up, May all the Laurels growing on his Crest. Be turned to Cyprisse, serving for no use But to adorn his Funerals. Soft, The general's here himself: my gracious Lord The Duke. Our thrice redoubted General. Ha! that sound Awakes my drowsy soul, pray good my Lords, What do you behold degenerate in my looks, Showing me unworthy still of that great title?
seed 43: T47 · seed 44: T45 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
THe rumour still continues. Yes, my Lord, Ill fames though quicke are certaine, 'tis concluded Past question or dispute, for these reports Are grounded on too manifest a truth, To carry doubt in them, it is confirm'd this morning; Hee must resigne Though a stranger Sir, And so lesse interessed in the Generalls cause Then you his Country-man: were you not my friend, You ly'd to speake it. Must our Generall That soule of valor Wallenstein; who has (Like subtle lightning) purg'd the German ayre, From all the hot infections, forraign warre Could threaten: sent the health-carousing Dane Drunke with his owne blood home: broke all the force, With which the valiant Palatine and his aydes. Infested had the Province: given to Death (That thunder-bolt of warre) whose very name Was great as Fate it selfe unto his foes, The Swedish King: and must he now, his age Is candid o're with victories, be inforc'd To a base Death he's damn'd That dare but mutter it▪ And they were so Who first occasion'd it, 'twould bring much comfort To all true Souldiers. 'Tis concluded Sir, Past all redemption, they are doubly damn'd For their ingratitude, displace a man To whom they owe their lives! one whom, my Lords, We have seen i'th heat and bravery of a fight, Cheere up his fainting and disheartned troupes, Even when his body seem'd but all one wound, That it appear'd a little Iland, circled Round with the purple deluge of his blood; Who when warres Quiruters, the big-mouth'd Drums, And surly Trumpet sung his Armies Dirge, That fatall Musicke sweld his sprightly sense More then soft Hymnes at Nuptials. Sir, his glories Are so well knowne to us we need not urge Their reputation, but 'tis past my thoughts, Why on the sudden he should be compel'd To give his charge up. When the world beleev'd He should have had a double triumph in The honour of his victories. Ile tell you, There is in Princes Courts a leane-fac'd monster, Term'd Envie, raigning in unworthy breasts, To fames Heroicke sonnes, such as know to cringe With subtle motion to their Princes smiles, Adore his foot-steps and his awfull nods, And can like Aspes instill into his eares, A sweet yet killing venome: these thin soules When the blunt Souldier, has on piles of wounds Built up his Countries peace, whisper Beware In time my Lord, least he doe grow too great: This meeting with the jealous Princes feares, (As Princes still are fearefull of the greatnesse Of rising active subjects) breeds resolves to cut up That prop, leaning on which themselves have stood, Firme and unshaken on their base; and these Court Parasites, and th'Emperors weake distrusts, Puls this disgrace on Fridland, which if he With an effeminate patience doe put up, May all the Lawrels growing on his Crest. Be turn'd to Cyprisse, serving for no use But to adorne his Funerals. Soft, The Generall's here himselfe: my gracious Lord The Duke. Our thrice redoubted Generall. Ha! that sound Awakes my drowsie soule, pray good my Lords, What do you behold degenerate in my lookes, Shewing me unworthy still of that great title?