Richards, Nathaniel · published 1640 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1636] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 550 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Black is the night; a Canopy of clouds, Hides the bright Silver spangles of the sky, All is secure, revenge proportion keeps To my full wish; no thought of blood and death Writes on the Index of black deeds at Court The least suspect; mad lust and wine, revels And pleasures, muffle their understanding. O Lust, lust, lust, were't thou not what thou art, A thick black cloud only composed of ill For to tempt judgement, hadst thou the relish Of sweet good, as thou art badly bitter, Thee above all the Gods I would adore, Thee, thee adore, that unresisted thus, Snares the besotted Faction to their fall. Load them with Lethe still, while thus I waft Revenge from Hostia; like the sad flames Of Ilion burn, burn bright Torch; let thy fair view Tune to the dance of death, the amorous Measures of full vengeance; blaze prodigy, When the bad bleed give me that Tragedy. Music, distil new sweetness, vary thy Nectar Notes, while Loves bright eyes, court lips to The height of dalliance, each sacrifice a kiss, To all th'enchantments of love's luscious bliss. O liquid life of live. Here's a full bowl, a health to the height of pleasure. Brave health again, another, and a third. That deep carouse, makes Vectius Valens see. See, what dost see? In my minds eye methinks, A moving Army coming from Hostia. O likelihood, an Army from Claudius. Senseless Cornuto, he's to confident, He has too great affiance in my love. His Cornucopia skull fears prodigies, Alas, his horns forked like an aged Oak, Are grown too great, to huge to enter Rome. O mighty horns. O monstrous Majesty. Scoff of glory. My scorn, Come, come let's dance, Music proceed, Claudius my hate shall with the next sun bleed. Hast, haste to save yourselves, we are betrayed, The armed Troops of Caesar enter Rome, Fly or their brandished steel will girt the Court Past all escape. Deaf, deaf me O thunder, Betrayed, O black affright, fly Silius fly. What to out live my Fate, no, you of The Senate fly, fly all, stand not amazed, my mighty Mistress, endanger not yourself, Excellent Empress, Sulpitius be your guard. But why you sad copartners in my fall, Why stand you thus plunged in the panting depth Of deep amaze, collect your spirits and Pursue your safety. What? fly? And leave you here; first with this hand I'll tear my bowels out, and sacrifice My heart's last leave to life. To fly from you, O 'twere the loathsom'st scum coward e'er leapt: Black blots of infamy to endless fame would write our Epitaphs, if basely fly. Where were the noble minds of Brutus then, Brave Cassius, and Tytinnius hate to life, Our deaths shall be more glorious, far less ill; Yet will we die, armed with a world of valour. Not like those desperate fools, which by their Own swords fall; we are too deep in lust▪ to Suck such back damnation, that were horrid. The soul, the all that is the best in man, Tells of two opposites, life and death in death. True sorrow for life's death misled in life, That's perfect valour, makes men bravely die That lived not so, when the self violent death Is but a bastard valour.
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)
Blacke is the night; a Canopie of cloud, Hides the bright Silver spangles of the skie, All is secure, revenge proportion keepes To my full wish; no thought of blood and death Writes on the Index of blacke deeds at Court The least suspect; mad lust and wine, revells And pleasures, muffle their understanding. O Lust, lust, lust, wer't thou not what thou art, A thicke blacke cloud onely compos'd of ill For to tempt judgement, hadst thou the rellish Of sweet good, as thou art badly bitter, Thee above all the Gods I would adore, Thee, thee adore, that unresisted thus, Snares the besoted Faction to their fall. Loade them with Lethe still, while thus I waft Revenge from Hostia; like the sad flames Of Ilion burne, burne bright Torch; let thy faire view Tune to the dance of death, the amorous Measures of full vengeance; blaze prodigie, When the bad bleed give me that Tragedy. Musicke, distill new sweetnesse, vary thy Nectar Notes, while Loves bright eyes, court lips to The height of dalliance, each sacrifice a kisse, To all th'inchantments of loves luscious blisse. O liquid life of live. Here's a full bole, a health to the height of pleasure. Brave health agen, another, and a third. That deepe carouse, makes Vectius Valens see. See, what dost see? In my mindes eye me thinks, A moving Army comming from Hostia. O likelyhood, an Army from Claudius. Senselesse Cornuto, he's to confident, He ha's too great affiance in my love. His Cornucopia skull feares prodigies, Alas, his hornes fork'd like an aged Oake, Are growne too great, to huge to enter Rome. O mightie hornes. O monstrous Majestie. Scoffe of glory. My scorne, Come, come lets dance, Musicke proceed, Claudius my hate shall with the next sun bleed. Hast, hast to save your selves, we are betrayd, The armed Troopes of Caesar enter Rome, Fly or their brandisht stele will guirt the Court Past all escape. Deafe, deafe me O thuunder, Btrayd, O blacke afright, fly Silius flie. What to out live my Fate, no, you of The Senate fly, fly all, stand not amaz'd, my mightie Mistris, endanger not your selfe, Excellent Empresse, Sulpitius be your guard. But why you sad copartners in my fall, Why stand you thus plung'd in the panting depth Of deepe amaze, collect your spirits and Pursue your safetie. What? fly? And leave you here; first with this hand I'le teare my bowells out, and sacrifice My heart's last leave to life. To flye from you, O 'twere the loathsom'st scumme coward e're lapt: Blacke blots of infamy to endlesse fame Wu'd write our Epitaphs, if basely flye. Where were the noble mindes of Brutus then, Brave Cassius, and Tytinnius hate to life, Our deaths shall be more glorious, far lesse ill; Yet will we die, arm'd with a world of valour. Not like those desperate fooles, which by their Owne swords fall; we are too deepe in lust▪ to Sucke such backe damnation, that were horrid. The soule, the all that is the best in man, Tells of two opposites, life and death in death. True sorrow for lifes death misselead in life, That's perfect valour, makes men bravely die That liv'd not so, when the selfe violent death Is but a bastard volour.