Richards, Nathaniel · published 1640 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1636] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T60 Imperial Rome: rulers, favour and politi · 541 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T60: caesar, rome, emperor, empire, honour, lord, lucius, great, palsgrave, kings.
'tis a guard, I fear the Emperor in his mind is changed And this some sudden plot to take your life. Within this hour my Lord. Let it be so, By that time hither I will conduct th'emperor In th'interim cut her off, when she is dead Narcissus with his own saves many a head. A Headsman and a scaffold are these for me▪ For thee thou woman all composed of lust Bloody insatiate Monster of thy Sex See here thy stage of death, be sure to die, If thou haste respite given thee for to pray And ask the God's forgiveness, think it A world of favour and he sudden, least Unprepared we force you to the block. O be not wholly lost die resolute, If thou respect the womb that brought thee forth, Let thy faults ripe in Act, be blown to Air. Through fair repentance. How can that be? Am not I only Author of all ill, Is it not I that have prepared the paths To the loose life of all licentiousness, Black murder, lust, and rapes unspeakable Why do I live? I that have lived too long, Worthy a thousand deaths; I fear not death But O the journey I know not whether, Torments me more than twenty thousand deaths But how so e'er it must not be denied, Fall then my earthly substance; thus low humbled Let my declining height submit my head To take an everlasting leave of life. Hold, our blood's to precious we will not die So like a Calf, nor by the hand of any But our own, thus and thus, O this cold steel How it offends my flesh, I want full strength To put it home; if thou be valiant and a soldier Help to dispatch me; that was bravely done O my mad lust whither wilt thou bear me A dim black fog raised from the Lernaean Fen Obscures my sight; farewell dear, dear Mother. Had I been ruled by you, I had been happy Now justly scourged for disobedience. A Caitiff most accurst she is no other That scorns the virtuous counsels of a Mother; So farewell light of eyes, ne'er to entice, Horror invades my blood, I am all Ice. Is she then dead. And that desperately by her own hands. O Caesar grant this Corpse to my dispose. 'Tis at your free dispose convey her hence, And now since we are free by fair revenge, Never shall marriage yoke the mind of Caesar To trust the hollow faith of woman more, And if we do; may Heaven by treason foul Shorten our days; the sequel of our reign, Shall to the good of Rome suppress black vice. kingdoms are swallowing gulfs by careless rule, justice makes Kings the Gods to imitate, Virtue in Princes, is the prop of state. Our Play is done, now what your censures are, If with, or against art's industry, the care took by the Author (and our pains to please) We know not yet, till judgement give us ease. Why should we doubt? this Theater does appear The Music Rome of concord; you being here. Let no harsh jarring sound of discord then, Echo dislike; claps crown the Tragic Pen.
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)
Tis a guard, I feare the Emp'rour in his minde is chang'd And this some sudaine plot to take your life. Within this houre my Lord. Let it be so, By that time hither I will conduct th'Emp'rour In th'interim cut her off, when she is dead Narcissus with his owne saves many a head. A Headsman and a scaffold are these for me▪ For thee thou woman all compos'd of lust loudy insatiate Monster of thy Sex See here thy stage of death, be sure to die, If thou haste respite given thee for to pray And aske the Gods forgivenesse, thinke it A world of favour and he suddaine, least Vnprepar'd we force you to the blocke. O be not wholly lost die resolute, If thou respect the wombe that brought thee forth, Let thy faults ripe in Act, be blowne to Ayre. Through faire repentance. How can that be? Am not I onely Author of all ill, Is it not I that have prepar'd the paths To the loose life of all licentiousnesse, Blacke murder, lust, and rapes unspeakable Why doe I live? I that have liv'd too long, Worthy a thousand deaths; I feare not death But O the journey I know not whether, Torments me more then twentie thousand deaths But how so e're it must not be deni'd, Fall then my earthly substance; thus low humbl'd Let my declining height submit my head To take an everlasting leave of life. Hold, our bloud's to precious we will not die So like a Calfe, nor by the hand of any But our owne, thus and thus, O this cold steele How it offends my flesh, I want full strength To put it home; if thou be valiant and a souldier Helpe to dispatch me; that was bravely done O my mad lust whither wilt thou beare me A dimme blacke fogge rais'd from the Lernean Fen Obscures my sight; farewell deare, deare Mother. Had I beene rul'd by you, I had beene happy Now justly scourg'd for disobedience. A Caitiffe most accurst she is no other That scornes the vertuous counsells of a Mother; So farewell light of eyes, ne'r to intice, Horrour invades my blood, I am all Ice. Is she then dead. And that desperatly by her owne hands. O Caesar grant this Corps to my dispose. 'Tis at your free dispose convey her hence, And now since we are free by faire revenge, Never shall marriage yoake the minde of Caesar To trust the hollow faith of woman more, And if we doe; may Heaven by treason foule Shorten our dayes; the sequell of our raigne, Shall to the good of Rome suppresse blacke vice. Kingdomes are swallowing gulphes by carelesse rule, Iustice makes Kings the Gods to immitate, Vertue in Princes, is the prop of state. OVr Play is done, now what your censures ae, If with, or against Arts idustrie, the care Tooke by the Author (and our paines to pease) We know not yet, 'till judgement give us ase. Why should we doubt? this Theater do's appeare The Musicke Rome of concord; you being here. Let no harsh jarring sound of discord then, Echo dislike; claps crowne the Tragicke Pen.