Davenant, William · published 1639 · first performed or written 1640 [Jan 21] (Annals) not in BritDrama · before the Court unassigned nearest T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions · 433 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
BLow winds! until you raise the Seas so high, That waves may hang like Tears in the sun's eye, That we (when in vast Cataracts they fall) May think he weeps at Nature's Funeral. Blow winds! and from the troubled womb of Earth (Where you receive your undiscovered birth) Break out in wild disorders, till you make ATLAS, beneath his shaking Load to shake. How am I grieved, the world should everywhere Be vexed into a storm, save only here? Thou over-lucky too much happy I'll! Grow more desirous of this flattering style! For thy long health can never altered be, But by thy surfeits on felicity: And I to stir the humours that increase In thy full Body (overgrown with peace) Will call those Furies hither, who incense. The guilty, and disorder Innocence. Ascend! Ascend! you horrid sullen brood Of evil spirits, and displace the good! The great, make only wiser, to suspect Whom they have wronged by falsehood, or neglect; The Rich, make full of avarice as pride, Like Graves, or swallowing Seas, unsatisfied; busy to help the State (when needy grown) From poor men's fortunes, never from their own. The Poor, ambitious make, apt to obey The False in hope to rule whom they betray: And make Religion to become their vice, Named, to disguise ambitious Avarice: WHy should I hasten hither, since the good I bring to men is slowly understood? I know it is the Peoples vice, To lay too meane, too cheape a price On ev'ry blessing they possesse Th'injoying makes them thinke it lesse. If then, the need of what is good, Doth make it lov'd, or understood, Or tis by absence better knowne I shall be valew'd, when I'm gonne. Yet stay! O stay! if but to please The great and wise Philogenes. Should dewes not fall, the Sunne forbeare His course, or I my visits here; Alike from these defects would cease The power and hope, of all increase. Stay then! O stay! If but to ease The cares of wise Philogenes. I will! and much I grieve, that though the best Of Kingly science, harbours in his brest, Yet tis his fate, to rule in adverse times, When wisedome must awhile give place to crimes. O who but he, could thus endure To live, and govern in a sullen age, When it is harder far to cure, The people's folly than resist their rage? WHen with instructed eyes, we look upon Our blessings that descend so fast, From the fair Partner of our monarch's Throne, We grieve, they are too great to last.
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)
BLow winds! untill you raiſe the Seas ſo high, That waves may hang like Teares in the Sunnes eye, That we (when in vaſt Cataracts they fall) May thinke he weepes at Natures Funerall. Blow winds! and from the troubled wombe of Earth (Where you receive your undiſcover'd birth) Breake out in wild diſorders, till you make ATLAS, beneath his ſhaking Load to ſhake. How am I griev'd, the world ſhould every where Be vext into a ſtorme, ſave only here? Thou over-lucky too much happy Ile! Grow more deſirous of this flatt'ring ſtile! For thy long health can never alter'd be, But by thy ſurfets on Felicitie: And I to ſtir the humors that increaſe In thy full Body (over-growne with peace) Will call thoſe Furies hither, who incenſe. The guilty, and diſorder Innocence. Aſcend! Aſcend! you horrid ſullen brood Of evill ſpirits, and diſplace the good! The great, make only wiſer, to ſuſpect Whom they have wrong'd by falſhood, or neglect; The Rich, make full of avarice as pride, Like Graves, or ſwallowing Seas, unſatisfi'd; Buſie to help the State (when needy growne) From poore mens fortunes, never from their owne. The Poore, ambitious make, apt to obey The Falſe in hope to rule whom they betray: And make Religion to become their vice, Nam'd, to diſguiſe ambitious Avarice: WHy ſhould I haſten hither, ſince the good I bring to men is ſlowly underſtood? I know it is the Peoples vice, To lay too meane, too cheape a price On ev'ry bleſsing they poſſeſſe Th'injoying makes them thinke it leſſe. If then, the need of what is good, Doth make it lov'd, or underſtood, Or tis by abſence better knowne I ſhall be valew'd, when I'm gonne. Yet ſtay! O ſtay! if but to pleaſe The great and wiſe Philogenes. Should dewes not fall, the Sunne forbeare His courſe, or I my viſits here; Alike from theſe defects would ceaſe The power and hope, of all increaſe. Stay then! O ſtay! If but to eaſe The cares of wiſe Philogenes. I will! and much I grieve, that though the beſt Of Kingly ſcience, harbours in his breſt, Yet tis his fate, to rule in adverſe times, When wiſedome muſt awhile give place to crimes. O who but he, could thus endure To live, and governe in a ſulleine age, When it is harder far to cure, The Peoples folly than reſiſt their rage? WHen with inſtructed eies, we looke upon Our bleſsings that diſcend ſo faſt, From the faire Partner of our Monarchs Throne, We grieve, they are too great to laſt.