Renaissance Drama — Topics · seed 42

Londini Status Pacatus, or London's Peaceable Estate · chunk 2 of 4

Heywood, Thomas · published 1639 · first performed or written 1639 [Oct 29] (Annals)
not in BritDrama
unassigned nearest T24 Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses · 488 words

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Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.

From Janus this use may it please you gather, You for one year are made the City's Father; These four succeeding Seasons, I resign Unto your charge; (which I before called mine: To the twelve Months, most aptly may comply Your twelve chief Companies: who can deny My Daughter Day for your employment pressed? The black-browed Night, sequestered for your rest? So spend the Hours to enrich future story, Both for your own grace and the City's glory. My golden Key make use off, to set wide Those Prison gates, where many a soul hath died, Starved by th'Oppressors cruelty; those Gaild For Capital crimes, unpitied, and unbaild, Reserve for public Trial: justice is bound To cut of Gangreenes, to preserve the sound: But none knows better than yourself (Grave Lord) What Mercy is; or when to use the Sword. I Nquire from all antiquity, 'tis said That when Apollo's Son, (ay Orpheus) played Upon my Harp: the rivers if they swelled Above their banks or Torrents that rebelled; Grew smooth to hear my music: and forbore To vex the Channels, or molest the Shore. The Panther, Tiger, the wild Boar, the Bear, Forget their rage, to give me attentive ear, Lions with Lambs together couched in love, As dreadless by the Falcon perched the Dove: The Hounds their pursuit did leave off, and there Sat Hart, and Hare, close by them without fear: The sad predicting Raven, from the Oak (Hollowed with age) was not once heard to croak, Nor any Bird of harsh throat: only then The Nightingale, the Robin, and the Wren With all their musical choir, in silent groans, (Afraid to sing out) cherrupt to my Tones. The very Trees I did so much entrance, They shook their bows because they could not dance: But, Stones not rooted, but above the ground Moved in rare postures to my Harps sweet sound: I the four blustering Brothers rage's make calm, And'stead of violent gusts to breath soft balm. Yet there's an Harmony which doth rejoice Man's heart, more than the Jnstrument, or Voice; The Gittern, Harp, the Viol, and the Lute, When that is heard to sound may all stand mute; Whose happy Symptoms more contentment brings Than any Consort, made by breatb or strings: And sends a sweeter rapture to the ears Than that above; made by th'orbicular Spheres. May it your grave Praetorian wisdom please, You are that Orpheus who can do all these: If any stream beyond its bounds shall swell, You bear the Trident that such rage can quell. When beasts of Rapine (trusting to their power) Would any of your harmless stocks devour: Yours is the sword that can such violence stay, To keep the Rich from rigour, Poor from prey; Neither from any harshall-boading beak, Lest discord shall be heard, when you but speak; Whilst in Harmonious choir the rest contend, Which in your praise each other shall transcend.
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Details

Metadata, position in the edition, topic in the other seeds
PlayLondini Status Pacatus, or London's Peaceable Estate
AuthorHeywood, Thomas
Publication year (edition)1639
First performance / composition (Annals)1639 [Oct 29]
Genre (British Drama)not in BritDrama
Play typeOccasional;Nonprofessional
Edition / TCP / DEEPedition 1116 · TCP A03233 · DEEP 937
Edition roleRepresentative edition — used in the analysis
Positionnodes 66–127 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 2 of 4 in this edition
Length488 words · 678 tokens
Topic (seed 42)unassigned by HDBSCAN · nearest topic T24 — Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses at 0.796
Other seedsseed 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)
From Janus this use may it please you gather, You for one yeare are made the Cities Father; These foure succeeding Seasons, I resigne Vnto your charge; (which I before cald mine: To the twelue Moneths, most aptly may comply Your twelue chiefe Companies: who can deny My Daughter Day for your imployment prest? The blacke-brow'd Night, sequestred for your rest? So spend the Houres to inrich future story, Both for your owne grace and the Cities glory. My golden Key make use off, to set wide Those Prison gates, where many a soule hath dide, Starv'd by th'Oppressors cruelty; those Gaild For Capitall crimes, unpittied, and unbaild, Reserve for publicke Triall: Iustice is bound To cut of Gangreenes, to preserue the sound: But none knowes better than your selfe (Grave Lord) What Mercy is; or when to use the Sword. I Nquire from all antiquity, 'tis said That when Apolloes Son, (I Orpheus) plaid Vpon my Harpe: the rivers if they swel'd Above their bankes or Torrents that rebeld; Grew smooth to heare my musicke: and forbore To vexe the Channels, or molest the Shore. The Panther, Tyger, the wild Boare, the Beare, Forget their rage, to give me attentive eare, Lions with Lambs together coucht in love, As dreadlesse by the Falcon pearcht the Dove: The Hounds their pursuite did leave off, and there Sate Hart, and Hare, close by them without feare: The sad predicting Raven, from the Oake (Hollowed with age) was not once heard to croake, Nor any Bird of harsh throate: onely then The Nightingale, the Robin, and the Wren With all their musicall quire, in silent groanes, (Affraide to sing out) cherrupt to my Tones. The very Trees I did so much intrance, They shooke their bowes because they could not dance: But, Stones not rooted, but above the ground Mov'd in rare postures to my Harps sweet sound: I the foure blustering Brothers rage make calme, And'stead of violent gusts to breath soft balme. Yet there's an Harmony which doth rejoyce Mans heart, more than the Jnstrument, or Voyce; The Gitterne, Harpe, the Viol, and the Lute, When that is heard to sound may all stand mute; Whose happy Symptoms more contentment brings Than any Consort, made by breatb or strings: And sends a sweeter rapture to the eares Than that above; made by th'orbicular Spheares. May it your grave Pretorian wisedome please, You are that Orpheus who can doe all these: If any streame beyond its bounds shall swell, You beare the Trident that such rage can quell. When beasts of Rapine (trusting to their power) Would any of your harmelesse stocks devoure: Yours is the sword that can such violence stay, To keepe the Rich from rigour, Poore from prey; Neither from any harshall-boading beake, Least discord shall be heard, when you but speake; Whilst in Harmonious quire the rest contend, Which in your praise each other shall transcend.