Davenant, William · published 1639 · first performed or written 1640 [Jan 21] (Annals) not in BritDrama · before the Court unassigned nearest T25 Kings, power and law: political sententi · 407 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
But when those growing comforts we survey, By whom our hopes are longer lived, Then gladly we our vows, and praises pay To her, from whom they are derived. And since (great Queen) she is derived from you; We here begin our offerings, For those who sacrificed to Rivers, knew, Their first rights due, unto their Springs. The Stream, from whence our blessings flow, you bred; You in whose bosom, e'en the chief, and best Of Modern Victors laid his weary head, when he rewarded Victories with rest. Your Beauty kept his valour's flame alive; Your Tuscan wisdom taught it how to thrive. WHy are our joys detained by this delay? Unless (as in a morning Overcast) We find it long, ere we can find out day; So whilst our hopes increase, our time doth waste. Or are you slow 'cause th'way to Honour's Throne (In which you travail now) is so uneven, Hilly, and craggy, or as much unknown, As that uncertain path which leads to Heaven? O that Philosophers (who through those mists Low nature casts, do upper knowledge spy) Or those that smile at them (o'erweening Priests) Could with such sure such an undoubted eye, Reach distant Heaven, as you can Honours' Throne, Than we should shift our flesh t'inhabit there, Where we are taught, the Heroes are gone; Though now content with Earth, 'cause you are here. THose quarreling winds (that deafened unto death The living, and did wake men dead before) Seem now to pant small gusts, as out of breath, And fly, to reconcile themselves on shore. If it be Kingly patience to out last Those storms the people's giddy fury raise, Till like, fantastic winds themselves they waste, The wisdom of that patience is thy praise. Murmur's a sickness epidemical; 'Tis catching, and infects weak common ears; For through those crooked, narrow Alleys, all Invaded are, and killed by Whisperers. This you discerned, and by your mercy taught, Would not (like Monarchs that severe have been) Invent, Imperial Arts, to question thought; Nor punish vulgar sickness as a sin. Nor would your valour, (when it might subdue) Be hindered of the pleasure to forgive; theyare worse than overcome (your wisdom knew) That needed mercy to have leave to live. Since strength of virtues, gained you honour's throne; Accept our wonder, and enjoy your praise! he's fit to govern there, and rule alone, Whom inward helps, not outward force doth raise.
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)
But when thoſe groweing comforts we ſurvay, By whom our hopes are longer liv'd, Then gladly we our vows, and prayſes pay To her, from whom they are deriv'd. And ſince (great Queene) ſhee is deriv'd from you; We heere beginne our offerings, For thoſe who ſacrific'd to Rivers, knew, Their firſt rights due, unto their Springs. The Streame, from whence our bleſsings flow, you bred; You in whoſe boſome, e'ven the chife, and beſt Of Moderne Victors lay'd his weary head, when he rewarded Victorys with reſt. Your Beauty kept his vallor's flame alive; Your Tuſcane wiſedome taught it how to thrive. WHy are our joyes detain'd by this delay? Vnleſſe (as in a morning Overcaſt) We finde it long, ere we can finde out day; So whilſt our hopes increaſe, our time doth waſte. Or are you ſlow 'cauſe th'way to Honor's Throne (In which you travaile now) is ſo uneven, Hilly, and craggy, or as much unknowne, As that uncertaine path which leads to Heaven? O that Philoſophers (who through thoſe miſts Low nature caſts, doe upper knowledge ſpie) Or thoſe that ſmile at them (o're-weening Prieſts) Could with ſuch ſure ſuch an undoubted eye, Reach diſtant Heaven, as you can Honors' Throne, Then we ſhould ſhift our fleſh t'inhabite there, Where we are taught, the Heroes are gone; Though now content with Earth, 'cauſe you are heere. THoſe quar'ling winds (that deafned unto death The living, and did wake men dead before) Seeme now to pant ſmall guſts, as out of breath, And flie, to reconcile themſelves on ſhore. If it be Kingly patience to out laſt Thoſe ſtormes the peoples giddy fury rayſe, Till like, fantaſtick windes themſelves they waſte, The wiſedome of that patience is thy prayſe. Murmur's a ſickneſſe epidemicall; 'Tis catching, and infects weake common eares; For through thoſe crooked, narrow Alleys, all Invaded are, and kil'd by Whiſperers. This you diſcern'd, and by your mercy taught, Would not (like Monarchs that ſevere have bin) Invent, Imperiall Arts, to queſtion thought; Nor puniſh vulgar ſickneſſe as a ſin. Nor would your valour, (when it might ſubdue) Be hinder'd of the pleaſure to forgive; Th'are worſe than overcome (your wiſedome knew) That needed mercy to have leave to live. Since ſtrength of virtues, gain'd you Honours throne; Accept our wonder, and enjoy your praiſe! Hee's fit to governe there, and rule alone, Whom inward helps, not outward force doth raiſe.