Glapthorne, Henry · published 1639 · first performed or written 1634 [1634-1639] [incorrect] (Annals) not in BritDrama · Globe unassigned nearest T60 Imperial Rome: rulers, favour and politi · 548 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T60: caesar, rome, emperor, empire, honour, lord, lucius, great, palsgrave, kings.
I would pull my eyes out, Should they convey into my soul a thought Tending to so much sacrilege to honour, And perfect masculine virtue. Yet I must Put off that glorious title, like a garment, Old and unfit for wearing: O my Lords, Our honours individual with our souls Grows to that essence, as toth' hand or cheek The native whiteness; and to have that torn, Lugged off by violent torture, is a sufferance Beyond the strength of patience: is't not, Lords? Yes, and look How far the noble immaterial soul, Transcends the duller body, so much torments Resemblance of a star, a Comet fall By my own fire consumed to earth forgotten. Great Sir, though a stranger to you By birth and nation, yet the strict alliance I've to your princely nobleness, enjoins me Under your pardon, and with the allowance Of these brave Counts, your followers, to deliver My zealous counsel to you. Noble Scot, Use your discretion freely. Thus great Sir then, Though't be i'th' power of Princes to prescribe Laws to their subjects, 'tis their subjects' wills Must put those Laws in act, 'tis their obedience, Which are the ablest sinews of the state, And 'twere a barbarous cruelty to employ Their hands against themselves, a strange injustice, To make their proper virtue instrument Of their own ruin. Colonel Lesle Speaks home. And too much purpose. Do not Lords Misunderstand my meaning, I speak not this, That I contemn authority, or dislike Order in every thing, without pre-eminence In title of command our trade the warfare Could not subsist, but to inform our General, Our too much injured General, that it is No such strange crime, to disobey a Prince In things injust; and can there be a greater, Or shamefuller injustice than for Caesar, By's Mandate to enforce him to resign His glorious charge up? 'Twere a shame. An utter, an abominable disgrace To all that honour virtue, should we suffer it? Here then Ends what I would have uttered; of what force Are Caesar's Mandates, when their real loves Has disannulled them? circled with these hearts, These bulwarks of brave hearts, what need have you To acknowledge any Emperor but yourself? yourself great Duke, whose merit lays just claim To that supremest title. Pray once more, Give me your patience: Rashness, Gentlemen, Gives the first onset fiercely, then recoils, As Wasps when they have lost their stings: affairs Of this high consequence, do require mature Deliberation: to confirm our own Strength for the exploit, 'twere fit we did conjoin With Saxon Weimar and Gustavus Horn, And the other bold confederates: how likes Your Grace this project? The Drum and Fife, Trumpet and Canon, when their loud voices sing, io's to victory, could ne'er beget More music in my ravished sense: best friend, I am so bankrupt grown in my extent Of gratitude, that trust me I could weep, To see myself so far outdone in friendship: I am engaged in honour to go on, That this insulting Emperor by his fall, To gain fit means to gratify your loves. Thou aery name of loyalty, hence to heaven, And find like smoke a burial in the clouds, Thus I expire thy essence; henceforth I'll acknowledge No other Emperor but these worthies hearts.
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)
I would pull my eyes out, Should they convey into my soule a thought Tending to so much sacriledge to honour, And perfect masculine vertue. Yet I must Put off that glorious title, like a garment, Old and unfit for wearing: O my Lords, Our honours individuall with our soules Growes to that essence, as toth' hand or cheeke The native whitenesse; and to have that torne, Lug'd off by violent torture, is a suffrance Beyond the strength of patience: is't not, Lords? Yes, and looke How farre the noble immateriall soule, Transcends the duller body, so much torments Resemblance of a star, a Comet fall By my owne fire consum'd to earth forgotten. Great Sir, though a stranger to you By birth and nation, yet the strict alliance I've to your princely noblenesse, injoynes me Under your pardon, and with the allowance Of these brave Counts, your followers, to deliver My zealous counsell to you. Noble Scot, Use your discretion freely. Thus great Sir then, Though't be i'th power of Princes to prescribe Lawes to their subjects, 'tis their subjects wills Must put those Lawes in act, 'tis their obedience, Which are the ablest sinewes of the state, And 'twere a barbarous cruelty to imploy Their hands against themselves, a strange injustice, To make their proper vertue instrument Of their owne ruine. Colonell Lesle Speakes home. And to much purpose. Doe not Lords Misunderstand my meaning, I speake not this, That I contemne authority, or dislike Order in every thing, without preeminence In title of command our trade the warfare Could not subsist, but to informe our Generall, Our too much injur'd Generall, that it is No such strange crime, to disobey a Prince In things injust; and can there be a greater, Or shamefuller injustice then for Caesar, By's Mandate to inforce him to resigne His glorious charge up? 'Twere a shame. An utter, an abominable disgrace To all that honor vertue, should we suffer it? Here then Ends what I would have uttered; of what force Are Caesars Mandats, when their reall loves Has disannull'd them? circled with these hearts, These bulwarkes of brave hearts, what need have you To acknowledge any Emperor but your selfe? Your selfe great Duke, whose merit lays just claime To that supremest title. Pray once more, Give me your patience: Rashnesse, Gentlemen, Gives the first on-set fiercely, then recoyles, As Waspes when they have lost their stings: affaires Of this high consequence, doe require mature Deliberation: to confirme our owne Strength for the exploit, 'twere fit we did conjoyne With Saxon Waymar and Gustavus Horne, And the other bold confederates: how likes Your Grace this project? The Drum and Fife, Trumpet and Canon, when their lowd voyces sing, Iös to victory, could nere beget More musick in my ravished sense: best friend, I am so bankrupt growne in my extent Of gratitude, that trust me I could weepe, To see my selfe so farre outdone in friendship: I am ingag'd in honour to goe on, That this insulting Emperor by his fall, To gaine fit meanes to gratifie your loves. Thou aëry name of loyalty, hence to heaven, And finde like smoake a buriall in the clouds, Thus I expire thy essence; henceforth Ile acknowledge No other Emperor but these worthies hearts.