Lower, William · published 1639 · first performed or written 1639 [c.1622-1639] (Annals) not in BritDrama T17 Eastern conquest: Persians, Turks and so typicality 0.76 · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
Nay good my Lord, no more of this discourse, You promised once a manly resolution To tug with fortune, will you fall again Into relapse of grief, and sad remembrance? How poor this shows in you! Well, I'll forget it, And find some other talk: you told me now This was a part of fair Arabia, Termed deserta, and another part Hight Faelix, there's another yet beside, Or else the history is false that writes it, How name you that? That Sir is Petraea, So called of Petra, the chief City in't, Or else because 'tis rocky. Which of these Arabia faelix, Petraea or deserta Is that sweet soil so much commended for Her gums and spices, odours, and perfumes? I'm sure it is not this. No, that is Faelix, And rightly bears it that denomination; For 'tis a happy Country, no delight But flows abundant there, embroidered fields, Fair meadows, pleasant groves, clear crystal brooks, Sweet lovely Cities, gardens diapered All o'er with Flora's richest tapestry, Are seen there all the year, continual spring Dwells in that coast, white hoary bearded Hiems, ne'er shakes his snowy tresses, nor his frost Nips the fair flowers that beautify her breast, Nor boisterous Boreas with his winter blasts, Shakes her fair fruit, but delicate Favonius Creeps gently o'er her fields with flowery breath Creating gums and spices; sure it is The garden of the world; the Phoenix else Had never chose that place above all other To recreate herself in: your Damascus Is but a desert if compared unto it. But good old man, have you forgotten that, Before the Tartar did invade my land, We had laid down our travel there to see The much admired Phoenicia, when the sight Of this fair picture did captive my heart: What motion do I feel again within me, To blow the fire raked in forgetful ashes, And half dead in Damascus? Stand, and give up your purses, or your lives, We require one or both. Dost thou not see us Stand with our swords drawn, mine I thus give up into thy body,— What shall we do? our Capt killed, let's fly. As thou hast lived with him, so shalt thou die And serve him in the other world But I Served him for fear, not love, and should be loath To wait on him to hell such a ney. Villain forsake thy master, that thou shalt not my sword shall keep thee in thy true obedience, Blessed deliverance! we have cause to thank The heavenly powers for this our victory, And preservation. With what confidence Of good success their Captain gave the onset? But when the PRINCE's conquering sword dispatched him How soon his thieves were quelled. Sweet Prince I fear More storms for in this clouded Wilderness They are most frequent, and I doubt the worst Is not blown o'er, let's therefore haste our journey To shelter us in safety.
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)
Nay good my Lord, no more of this discourse, You promis'd once a manly resolution To tugge with fortune, will you fall againe Into relapse of griefe, and sad remembrance? How poore this shewes in you! Well, I'le forget it, And finde some other talke: you told me now This was a part of faire Arabia, Termed deserta, and another part Hight Faelix, there's another yet besides, Or else the history is false that writes it, How name you that? That Sir is Petraea, So call'd of Petra, the chiefe City in't, Or else because 'tis rocky. Which of these Arabia faelix, Petraea or deserta Is that sweetsoyle so much commended for Her gummes and spices, odours, and perfumes? I'm sure it is not this. No, that is Faelix, And rightly beares it that denomination; For 'tis a happy Country, no delight But flowes abundant there, embroydered ields, Faire meadowes, pleasant groves, cleare cristall brooks, Sweet lovely Cities, garden diapred All o're with Flora's richest tapestry, Are seene there all the yeere, continuall spring Dwels in that coast, white hoary bearded Hyems, Ne're shakes his snowy trefes, nor his frost Nips the faire flowers that beautifie her breast, Nor boysterous Boras with his winter blasts, Shakes her faire fruit, but delicate Favonius Creeps gently o're her fields with flowry breath Creating gummes and spices; sure it is The garden of the world; the Phaenix else Had never chose that place above all other To recreate her selfe in: your Damascus Is but a desart if compar'd unto it. But good old man, have you forgotten that, Before the Tartar did invade my land, We had laid downe our travell there to see The much admir'd Phaenicia, when the sight Of this faire picture did captive my heart: What motion doe I feele againe within me, To blow the fire rak'd in forgetfull ashes, And halfe dead in Damascus? Stand, and give up your purses, or your lives, We require one or both. Do'st thou not see us Stand with our swords drawn, mine I thus give up into thy body,— What shall we doe? our Capt kil'd, let's flye. As thou hast liv'd with him, so shalt thou dy And serve him in the other world But I Serv'd him for feare, not love, and should be loath To wait on him to hell such a ney. Villaine forsake thy master, that thou shalt not my sword shall keepe thee in thy true obedience, Blesd deliverance! we have cause to thanke The heavenly powers for this our victory, And preservation. With what confidence Of good successe their Captaine gave the onset? But when the Princes conquering sword dispatch'd him How soone his theeves were quel'd. Sweet Prince I feare More stormes for in this clouded Wildernesse They are most frequent, and I doubt the worst Is not blowne o're, let's therefore hast our journey To shelter us in safety.