Lower, William · published 1639 · first performed or written 1639 [c.1622-1639] (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T17 Eastern conquest: Persians, Turks and so · 549 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
THis air shall be perfumed, and every sense Delighted with sweet smelling frankincense And aromatic fumes: for please you know, Gentle Spectators, from our Scene doth grow Abundance of such fragrant stuff, you'll see A Play that breathes Arabian spicery, And such a doleful story as may take Your minds to see a Prince and Princess fate Presented, and their hard adventures shown, Yea make you weep, and think they are your own: Our Poet fears none but the common wits, Who think a scene's not good unless it fits Their merry humours with some apish toys, And peevish jests fancied by girls and boys, Despised by abler judgements, who desire A sad and solid matter, such a fire Is kindled for you here; we fear no blame Shall brand our Phoenix in her Funeral flame. SIr, do not grieve, it is the chance of war, Cheer up, & triumph in despite of fortune, What falls without the compass of redress To sorrow for, argues a feeble spirit, And it doth nothing suit your Princely mind Too much to yield to passion. I confess, Moral Philosophy doth teach as much, And you have given me precepts, read me lectures Of fickle fortune's mutability, How madly, and without consideration, She doth confer her favours, yet my sufferings (How great you know my faithful Consolario) Are of that nature, as but counterpoised In equal balance with weak humane frailty, They would in spite of my resistance weigh me Down, down unto she ground. How noble Prince, Your passion hath unrectified your mind, And lead you into error, did you never Read and believe what Scipio Affricanus Said unto some commanders of his army? That he did show a greater magnanimity In mastering the affections of his mind, Then in o'erthrowing armies, conquering kingdoms. Apply this noble Roman, to yourself, Sweet Prince Amandus, what although your state Be desperate now, your Country almost ruined, Your army fled, and your chief City straight Besieged by these Barbarians, if you can Bear with a constant patience what the will Of heaven doth lay on you, no doubt you shall Purchase a greater glory to yourself By manly suffering what yond cannot help, Than Geolon the Tartar, though the fates Surrender fair Damascus to his hands. Why should the partial fates be so unjust, So cruel to me? had my fortune been Good as my right, the lot of grief had fall'n Upon another soil: and thou my Country, My dearest Country, hadst not felt these wrongs, These miseries of war thou now sustainest; The careful husbandman had then enjoyed His harvest to himself, and reaped the fruits Of his own labours, had not seen his house Burnt to the very ground, his Vineyards spoiled, His fields laid waste; the woeful father then With bleeding heart had not beheld his daughter, His fairest daughter ravished in his sight, And his chaste wife lie prostituted to The lust of common souldiers, whilst al He stands spectator of the loathed Scene, Whose death at last shuts up the tragedy: These things had never happened if my cause, Had been considered, nor this stately City (Whose lofty turrets wrap themselves in clouds) Had never been begirt thus round about By foreign foes. What news bring you my friend?
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)
THis aire shall be perfum'd, and every sence Delighted with sweet smelling frankinsence And aromatick fumes: for please you know, Gentle Spectators, from our Sceane doth grow Abundance of such fragrant stuffe, you'll see A Play that breathes Arabian spicerie, And such a dolefull story as may take Your minds to see a Prince and Princesse fate Presented, and their hard adventures showne, Yea make you weepe, and think they are your own: Our Poet feares none but the common wits, Who think a Sceane's not good unles it fits Their merry humours with some apish toyes, And peevish jeasts fancyed by girles and boyes, Despis'd by abler judgements, who desire A sad and solid matter, such a fire Is kindled for you heere; we feare no blame Shall brand our Phaenix in her Funerall flame. SIr, do not grieve, it is the chance of warre, Cheer up, & triumph in despight of fortune, What fals without the compasse of redresse To sorrow for, argues a feeble spirit, And it doth nothing suit your Princely minde Too much to yeeld to passion. I confesse, Morall Philosophy doth teach as much, And you have given me precepts, read me lectures Of fickle fortunes mutability, How madly, and without consideration, She doth conferre her favours, yet my sufferings (How great you know my faithfull Consolario) Are of that nature, as but counterpoiz'd In equall ballance with weake humane frailty, They would in spite of my resistance weigh me Down, down unto she ground. How noble Prince, Your passion hath unrectifi'd your minde, And lead you into errour, did you never Read and believe what Scipio Affricanus Said unto some commanders of his army? That he did shew a greater magnanimity In mastering the affections of his minde, Then in o'rethrowing armies, conquering kingdomes. Apply this noble Roman, to your selfe, Sweet Prince Amandus, what although your state Be desperate now, your Country almost ruin'd, Your army fled, and your chiefe City strait Besieg'd by these Barbarians, if you can Beare with a constant patience what the will Of heaven doth lay on you, no doubt you shall Purchase a greater glory to your selfe By manly suffering what yon cannot helpe, Than Geolon the Tartar, though the fates Surrender faire Damascus to his hands. Why should the partiall fates be so unjust, So cruell to me? had my fortune been Good as my right, the lot of griefe had falne Vpon another soile: and thou my Country, My dearest Country, hadst not felt these wrongs, These miseries of warre thou now sustainest; The carefull husbandman had then enjoy'd His harvest to himselfe, and reap'd the fruits Of his owne labours, had not seene his house Burnt to the very ground, his Vineyards spoil'd, His fields laid waste; the wofull father then With bleeding heart had not beheld his daughter, His fairest daughter ravish'd in his sight, And his chaste wife lye prostituted to The lust of common souldiers, whilst al He stands spectator of the loathed Scene, Whose death at last shuts up the tragedy: These things had never hapned if my cse, Had been consider'd, nor this Ciy (Whose lefty turrets wrap themselves in clouds) Had never been begirt thus round about By forraine foes. What newes bring you my friend?