The Bloody Brother (Rollo, Duke of Normandy) · chunk 8 of 39
Fletcher, John / Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip · published 1640 · first performed or written 1617 [revised 1627-1630] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions · 525 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
Consider then and quickly, And like a wise man take the current with you Which once turned head will sink you. Blessed occasion offers itself in thousand safeties to you, Time standing still to point you out your purpose, And resolution (the true child of virtue) Ready to execute: what dull cold weakness Has crept into your bosom, whose mere thoughts Like tempests ploughing up the soiling Forests Ev'n with their swing were wont to shake down hazards. What is't your mother's tears? Prithee be patient. Her hands held up, her prayers, or her curses? O Power of prayer dropped through by a woman. Take heed the Soldiers see it not, 'tis miserable In Rollo, below miserable, take heed your friends The sinews of your cause, the strength you stir by, Take heed I say, they find it not; take heed Your own repentance (like a passing bell) Too late and too loud tell the world you are perished. What noble spirit eager of advancement, Whose employment is his plough, what sword whose sharpness Waits but the arm to wield it, or what hope After the world has blown abroad this weakness Will move again, or make a wish for Rollo? Are we not friends again, by each oath ratified Our tongues the Heralds of our hearts? Poor hearts then. Our worthier friends. No friends Sir to your honour, Friends to your fall, where is your understanding The noble vessel that your full soul sailed in, Ribbed round with honours, where is that? 'tis ruined, The tempest of a woman's sighs hath sunk it. Friendship, take heed Sir, is a smiling harlot That when she kisses, kisses a soldered friendship Pieced out with promises; o painted ruin! Latorch, he is my brother. The more doubted, For hatred hatched at home is a tame Tiger, May fawn and sport, but never leave his nature. The jars of brothers, two such mighty ones, Are like a small stone thrown into a river, The breath scarce heard, but view the beaten current And you shall see a thousand angry rings Rise in his face, still swelling and still growing; So jars circling in distrusts, distrusts pull down dangers, And danger's death, the greatest extreme shadow Till nothing bound them but the Showers, their graves. There is no manly wisdom nor no safety In leaning to this league, this piece patched friendship, This reared up reconcilement on a billow Which as he tumbles totters down your fortune. Is't not your own you reach at? law and nature ushering the way before you, is not he borne and Bequeathed your subject? Ha? What fool would give a storm leave to disturb him When he may shut the casement? can that man Has won so much upon you by your pity, And drawn so high, that like an ominous Comet He darkens all your light, can this couched Lion (Though now he licks and locks up his fell paws Craftily humming like a Cat to cozen you) But ambition whets him and time fits him, Leap to his prey, and seized once, suck your heart out? Do you make it conscience?
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)
Consider then and quickly, And like a wise man take the current with you Which once turn'd head will sink you. Blest occasion offers it selfe in thousand safeties to you, Time standing still to point you out your purpose, And resolution (the true child of vertue) Ready to execute: what dull cold weaknesse Has crept into your bosome, whose meere thoughts Like tempests ploughing up the soyling Forrests Ev'n with their swing were wont to shake down hazards. What ist your mothers teares? Prethee be patient. Her hands held up, her prayers, or her curses? O Power of prayer dropt through by a woman. Take heed the Souldiers see it not, 'tis miserable In Rollo, below miserable, take heed your friends The sinewes of your cause, the strength you stir by, Take heed I say, they finde it not; take heed Your own repentance (like a passing bell) Too late and too lowd tell the world you are perish'd. What noble spirit eager of advancement, Whose imployment is his plough, what sword whose sharpnesse Waits but the arme to weild it, or what hope After the world has blowne abroad this weaknesse Will move againe, or make a wish for Rollo? Are we not friends againe, by each oath ratified Our tongues the Heralds o our hearts? Poore hearts then. Our worthier friends. No friends Sir to your honour, Friends to your fall, where is your understanding The noble vessell that your full soule sail'd in, Rib'd round with honours, where is that? tis ruin'd, The tempest of a womans sighes hath sunk it. Friendship, take heed Sir, is a smiling harlot That when she kisses, kisses a soder'd friendship Peec'd out with promises; ô painted ruine! Latorch, he is my brother. The more doubted, For hatred hatch'd at home is a tame Tiger, May fawne and sport, but never leave his nature. The jarres of brothers two such mighty ones, Are like a small stone throwne into a river, The breath scarce heard, but view the beaten current And you shall see a thousand angry rings Rise in his face, still swelling and still growing; So jarres circling in distrusts, distrusts pull down dangers, And dangers death, the greatest extreame shadow Till nothing bound them but the Showers, their graves. There is no manly wisdome nor no safety In leaning to this league, this peece patcht friendship, This rear'd up reconcilement on a billow Which as he tumbles totters down your fortune. Ist not your own you reach at? law and nature Vshring the way before you, is not he borne and Bequeath'd your subject? Ha? What foole would give a storme leave to disturb him When he may shut the casement? can that man Has woon so much upon you by your pitty, And drawne so high, that like an ominous Comet He darkens all your light, can this couh'd Lyon (Though now he licks and locks up his fell pawes Craftily humming like a Cat to cozen you) But ambition whets him and time fits him, Leap to his prey, and seiz'd once, suck your heart out? Doe you make it conscience?