Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) not in BritDrama · Ogilby's Men T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.79 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
WE know not what will take, your palates are Various, and many of them sick I fear: We can but serve up what our Poets dress, And not considering cost, or pains to please; We should be very happy, if at last, We could find out the humour of your taste, That we might fit, and feast it, so that you Were constant to yourselves, and kept that true; For some have their opinions so displeased, They come not with a purpose to be pleased: Or like some birds that leave the flowery fields, They only stoop at that corruption yields. It were a custom would less stain the times, To praise the virtues, when you chide the crimes. This is but cold encouragement, but we Hope here are few of those, or if there be, We wish 'em not infectious, nor confine We censures; would each soul were masculine: For your own sakes we wish all hear today, Knew but the art and labour of a Play; Than you would value the true muse's pain, The throws and travel of a teeming brain. But we have no despair, that all here may Be friends, and come with candour to this Play. St. Patrick whose large story cannot be Bound in the limits of one Play, if ye First welcome this, you'll grace our poet's art, And give him Courage for a second part. WE are undone. We are lost. Not so, your fears Become you not, great Priests of Jove and Saturn; Shall we that awe we the furies, at whose charm Hell itself quakes, be frighted with a shadow, A tame, a naked Churchman and his tribe Of austere starved faces? no, this Kingdom Shall still be ours, and flourish, every Altar Breathe incense to our gods, and shine with flames, To strike this Christian blind. This is but air, He is now landing, every tread he prints Upon this earth, will make it groan. Are not The havens strengthened by the Kings command With soldiers, to watch that none arrive With this suspicion. But we that can Command armies from hell for our design, And blast him, now stand idle, and benumbed, And shall grow here ridiculous statues, I'll Muster my friends. And if I ha' not lost My power, the Spirits shall obey to drown This straggler, and secure this threatened Island. Stay, which of you can boast more power than I? For every Spirit you command, my spells Can raise a legion; you know I can untenant hell, dispeople the wide air, Where like innumerous atoms the black genij Hover, and nestle one another, all That haunt the woods and waters, all i'th' dark And solitary chambers of the earth, Break through their Adamantine chains, and fly Like Lightning to my will, and shall your factious And petty correspondence with the fiends, Attempt this work without my voice and counsel? Who brought you first acquainted with the devil? Did not my Art?
seed 43: T16 · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
WE know not what will take, your pallats are Various, and many of them sick I feare: We can but serve up what our Poets dresse, And not considering cost, or paines to please▪ We should be very happy, if at last, We could find out the humour of your taste, That we might fit, and feast it, so that you Were constant to your selves, and kept that true▪ For some have their opinions so displeas'd, They come not with a purpose to be pleas'd: Or like some birds that leave the flowry fields, They only stoop at that corruption yeilds. It were a custome would lesse staine the times, To praise the vertues, when you chide the crimes. This is but cold encouragement, but we Hope here are few of those, or if there be, We wish 'em not infectious, nor confine We censures; woo'd each soule were masculine: For your owne sakes we wish all here to day, Knew but the art and labour of a Play; Then you would value the true Muses paine, The throwes and travell of a teeming braine. But we have no despaire, that all here may Be friends, and come with candor to this Play. St. Patrick whose large story cannot be Bound in the limits of one Play, if ye First welcome this, you'll grace our Poets art, And give him Courage for a second part. WE are undone. We are lost. Not so, your feares Become you not, great Priests of Jove and S aturn; Shall we that a we the furies, at whose charme Hell itselfe quakes, be frighted with a shadow, A tame, a naked Church-man and his tribe Of austere starved faces? no, this Kingdome Shall still be ours, and flourish, every Altar Breathe incense to our gods, and shine with flames, To strike this Christian blinde. This is but ayre▪ He is now landing, every tread he prints Upon this earth, will make it grone. Are not The havens strengthned by the Kings command With souldiers, to watch that none arrive With this suspition. But we that can Command armies from hell for our designe, And blast him, now stand idle, and benumm'd, And shall grow here ridiculous statues, I'le Muster my friends. And if I ha'not lost My power, the Spirits shall obey to drowne This stragler, and secure this threatned Island. Stay, which of you can boast more power than I? For every Spirit you command, my spells Can raise a legion; you know I can Untennant hell, dispeople the wide ayre, Where like innumerous atomes the blacke genij Hover, and nistle one another, all That haunt the woods and waters, all i'th darke And solitary chambers of the earth, Breake through their Adamantine chaines, and fly Like Lightning to my will, and shall your factious And petty correspondence with the fiends, Attempt this worke without my voice and counsell? Who brought you first acquainted with the divell? Did not my Art?