Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) not in BritDrama · Ogilby's Men unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 458 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Unto that title Thus we all bow; it speaks you are allied To Heaven, great Sir, we come not to distract Your peace, look on your number, we bring no Signs of stern war, no invasive force to draw Fear, or suspicion, or your frowns upon us: A handful of poor naked men we are, Thrown on your Coast, whose arms are only prayer, That you would not be more unmerciful Than the rough seas, since they have let us live To find your charity. Whence are you? We are of Britain, Sir. Your name, that answer for the rest so boldly? My name is Patrick, who with these poor men Beseech you would permit. No dwelling here, And therefore quit this Kingdom speedily, Or you shall curse you saw the land. Are they not Spies? A whirlwind snatch'em hence, and on the back Of his black wings transport these fugitives, And drop their cursed-heads into the sea, Or land'em in some cold remotest wilderness Of all the world, they must not here inhabit. Hence, or we'll force you with these goads. Unless You have a mind to try how well your hoods Can swim, go trudge back to your rotten bark, And steer another course. You will find Islands Peopled with squirrels, Rate, and Crows, and coneys, Where you may better plant, my reverend Moles. Faces about. You are inhospitable, And have more flinty bosoms than the rocks That bind your shores, and circle your fair Island: But I must not return. How? How? Till I have Performed my duty: Know great King, I have Commission for my stay, I came not hither Without command, legate from him, before Whose angry breath the rocks do break and thaw; To whose nod the mountains humble their proud heads, The earth, the water, air and heaven is his, And all the stars that shine with evening flames, Show but their trembling when they wait on him: This supreme Kings command I have obeyed, Who sent me hither to bring you to him, And this still wandering nation, to those springs Where souls are everlastingly refreshed; Unto those gardens, whose immortal flowers Stain your imagined shades, and blessed abodes. What place is this? Heaven; now a great way off. But not accessible to those permit Their precious souls be strangled thus with mists, And false opinion of their gods. No more. I must say more in my great Master's cause, And tell you in my dreams, he hath made me hear From the dark wombs of mothers, prisoned infants Confessing how their parents are misled, And calling me thus far to be their freedom. Have pity on yourselves, be men, and let not A blind devotion to your painted gods.—
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)
Vnto that title Thus we all bow; it speakes you are alli'd To Heaven, great Sir, we come not to distract Your peace, looke on your number, we bring no Signes of sterne war, no invasive force to draw Feare, or suspition, or your frownes upon us: A handfull of poore naked men we are, Throwne on your Coast, whose armes are only prayer, That you would not be more unmercifull Than the rough seas, since they have let us live To finde your charitie. Whence are you? We are of Britaine, Sir. Your name, that answer for the rest so boldly? My name is Patrick, who with these poore men Beseech you would permit. No dwelling here▪ And therefore quit this Kingdome speedily, Or you shall curse you saw the land. Are they not Spies? A whirlewind snatch'em hence, and on the back Of his black wings transport these fugitives, And drop their cursed-heads into the sea, Or land'em in some cold remotest▪ wildernesse Of all the world, they must not here inhabit. Hence, or we'll force you with these gods. Vnlesse You have a mind to try how well your hoods Can swim, go trudge back to your rotten bark, And steere another course. You will finde Ilands Peopled with Squirrils, Rate, and Crowes, and , Where you may better plant, my reverend Moles. Faces about. You are inhospitable, And have more flintie bosomes than the rocks That bind your shores, and circle your faire Iland▪ But I must not returne. How? How? Till I haue Perform'd my dutie: Know great King, I have Commission for my stay, I came not hither Without command, Legat from him, before Whose angry breath the rocks doe breake and thaw; To whose nod the mountaines humble their proud heads, The earth, the water, aire and heaven is his, And all the stars that shine with evening flames, Shew but their trembling when they wait on him: This supreme Kings command I have obey'd, Who sent me hither to bring you to him, And this still wandring nation, to those springs Where soules are everlastingly refresh'd; Vnto those gardens, whose immortall flowers Staine your imagin'd shades, and blest abodes. What place is this? Heaven; now a great way off▪ But not accessible to those permit Their pretious soules be strangled thus with mists, And false opinion of their gods. No more. I must say more in my great Masters cause, And tell you in my dreames, he hath made me heare From the dark wombs of mothers, prison'd infants Confessing how their parents are mis-led, And calling me thus far to be their freedome▪ Have pitie on your selves, be men, and let not A blind devotion to your painted gods.—