Lower, William · published 1639 · first performed or written 1639 [c.1622-1639] (Annals) not in BritDrama T17 Eastern conquest: Persians, Turks and so typicality 0.77 · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
Taken prisoners By two that seemed to command the rest With all their plate and jewels. Know you not In what part of that fatal soil befell This sad disaster, or by whom 'twas done? Was't in Arabia faelix, or desert, Or Petrea else? 'Faith Sir I was never There in my life before, nor did I then inquire the true denomination of it, And therefore cannot satisfy you in The thing you do demand But you can tell me The nature of the place and Country, then I'll satisfy myself: was't sweet and lovely, Perfumed with spices and rich Frankincense, Or was't a rocky soil, and mountainous, Wild, unfrequented, full of caves and dens, Of wood and desert, you can tell me this? I'm sure it was not spicy, for it had A bitter smack, we proved it to our cost, Some never could digest it: Frankincense There was not any, I should smell it then: Mountains I saw, and unfrequented paths, Resembling well a desert: this is all I can inform you of by circumstance. How's this? am I awake, or in a dream? Dead, or alive? what Apoplex was that Tied all this while my tongue from breaking forth Into wild exclamations? O my heart! My better part, Lucinda prisoner! Heavens what a sound is that, no death so fatal, So doleful to my thoughts, Lucinda ta'en By thieves and outlaws, worse, and Perseus' Uncertain where she is, still worse and worse. What shall I do, die? that were to no purpose, And leave her unredeemed: no, I'll first Raise a great Army, and lay waste that soil, That fatal soil which first procured my woe: I'll cut off this distinction of three names, Arabia faelix, Petraea, and Deserta, And bring them into one, and that's the later: Cosmographers shall ne'er divide the land Into three parts, Arithmeticians neither Shall work it as a fraction, but entire, An entire number, termed by all deserta: The Phoenix shall no longer harbour there, Or if she do, we will destroy the Spices Where with she always built her funeral pile To burn herself to ashes, and thereby Hinder a second birth: what will we not Do to revenge this wrong? the worst of ills That can be thought of is not bad enough For to afflict that Country which detains My fair Lucinda from me: I have not The patience to dispatch an Embassage And to expect reply: I'll go myself And by my armies march, my cannon's mouth, My trumpets warlike sound, my beating drum, The King shall know the business why I come. Then you dismissed the army. As I was Commanded by your Highness, so I did. But did you tell my loving friends & soldiers, That in this grateful heart of poor Amandus, Was treasured up their love and faithful service, Never to be forgotten.
seed 43: T18 · seed 44: T18 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Taken prisoners By two that seemed to command the rest With all their plate and jewels. Know you not In what part of that fatall soile befell This sad disaster, or by whom 'twas done? Was't in Arabia faelix, or desart, Or Petrea else? 'Faith Sir I was never There in my life before, nor did I then Enquire the true denomination of it, And therefore cannot satisfie you in The thing you doe demand But you can tell me The nature of the place and Country, then I'le satisfie my selfe: was't sweet and lovely, Perfum'd with spices and rich Frankincense, Or was't a rocky soile, and mountainous, Wilde, unfrequented, full of caves and dennes, Of wood and desert, you can tell me this? I'm sure it was not spicy, for it had A bitter smacke, we prov'd it to our cost, Some never could digest it: Frankincense There was not any, I should smell it then: Mountaines I saw, and unfrequented pathes, Resembling well a desart: this is all I can informe you of by circumstance. How's this? am I awake, or in a dreame? Dead, or alive? what Apoplex was that Ty'd all this while my tongue from breaking forth Into wilde exclamations? O my heart! My better part, Lucinda prisoner! Heavens what a sound is that, no death so fatall, So dolefull to my thoughts, Lucinda tane By theeves and out-lawes, worse, and Perseus Vncertaine where she is, still worse and worse. What shall I doe, dye? that were to no purpose, And leave her unredeemed: no, I'le first Raise a great Army, and lay waste that soyle, That fatall soyle which first procur'd my woe: I'le cut off this distinction of three names, Arabia faelix, Petraea, and Deserta, And bring them into one, and that's the later: Cosmographers shall ne're divide the land Into three parts, Arithmeticians neither Shall worke it as a fraction, but entire, An entire umber, term'd by all deserta: The Phaenix shall no longer harbour there, Or if she doe, we will destroy the Spice Where with she alwaies built her funerall pile To burne her selfe to ashes▪ and theby Hinder a second birth: what will we not Doe to revenge this wrong? the worst of ils That can be thought of is not bad enough For to afflict that Country which detaines My faire Lucinda from me: I haue not The patience to dispatch an Embassage And to expect reply: I'le goe my selfe And by my armies march, my cannons mouth, My trumpets warlike sound, my beating drum, The King shall know the businesse why I come. Then you dismiss'd the army. As I was Commanded by your Highnesse, so I did. But did you tell my loving friends & souldiers, That in this gratefull heart of poore Amandus, Was treasur'd up their love and faithfull service, Never to be forgotten.