Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) not in BritDrama · Ogilby's Men unassigned nearest T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
Hear me. I choose to leap into these fires, Rather than hear thee preach thy cursed faith. You're sure to follow me, the King will praise My last act yet; thus I give up my breath, And sacrifice you all for his son's death. Oh Tyrant, cruel to thyself, but we Must follow our blessed Guide and holy Guardian: Lead on, good Angel, fear not, virtuous Queen; A black night may beget a smiling morn, At worst to die, 'tis easier than be borne. Great Jove and Mars appeased be With blood, which we now offer thee, Drained from a Christian's heart, our first Oblation of that Sect accursed; And may we to the Altar bring Patrick, our second offering. The father of this Tribe, whose blood Thus shed, will do this Island good. The gods allow what we present; For see, the holy flame is sent To mighty Jove and Mars, now bring Your vocal sacrifice, and sing. Look down, great Jove and God of war, A new sacrifice is laid On your Altars, richer far, Than what in aromatic heaps we paid: No curled smoke we send, With perfumes to befriend The drooping air, the cloud We offer is exhaled from blood, More shining than your tapers are, And every drop is worth a star. Were there no red in heaven, from the torne heart Of Christians, we that colour could impart, And with their blood, supply those crimson streaks That dress: the sky, when the fair morning breaks. Father. The King. Away. Let not my daughters stir from hence: Is this reward, you gods, for my devotion: No more: I could not by my Art foresee This danger. Our father seemed much troubled. I must appear a stranger to all passages, Be not disturbed, my princely charge, use you The free delights of life, while they are presented In these your lovers: Sirrah, make fast the door, And wait aloof; I'll follow the sad King. No misery can happen, while I thus Embrace Ferochus. And I safe in the arms Of my dear servant. You make it heaven by gracing me. But why have we so long Delayed our blessed enjoyings, thus content With words, the shadows of our happiness. So, so, here's fine devotion in the Temple: But where's my bracelet, let me see? Where's Rodamant? Am I invisible again? Is this the trick on't. The door is safe; come, my dear princely Mistress, And with the crown of love reward your servant. What's that? Fruition of our joys. Is not this Delight enough, that we converse, and smile And kiss, Ferochus. Who's that? Where, Madam? I felt another lip. Than mine? here's none, try it again: Why should her constitution be so cold? I would not lose more opportunities, Love, shoot a flame like mine into her bosom. Who's that, Endarius, that kissed me now? None, since you blessed my lip with a touch, Madam, My brother is at play with your fair sister.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T26 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Heare me. I choose to leap into these fires, Rather than heare thee preach thy cursed faith. Y'are sure to follow me, the King will praise My last act yet; thus I give up my breath, And facrifice you all for his sons death. Oh Tyrant, cruell to thy selfe, but we Must follow our blest Guide and holy Guardian: Lead on, good Angell, feare not, vertuous Queene; A black night may beget a smiling morne, At worst to dye, 'tis easier than be borne. Great Jove and Mars appeased bee With bloud, which we now offer thee, Drain'd from a Christians heart, our first Oblation of that Sect accurst; And may we to the Altar bring Patrick, our second offering. The father of this Tribe, whose blood Thus shed, will doe this Iland good. The gods allow what we present; For see, the holy flame is sent To mightie Jove and Mars, now bring Your vocall sacrifice, and sing. Looke downe, great Jove and God of war, A new sacrifice is layd On your Altars, richer far, Than what in arromatick heaps we paid: No curled smoake we send, With perfumes to befriend The drooping aire, the cloud We offer is exhal'd from bloud, More shining than your tapers are, And everie drop is worth a star. Were there no red in heaven, from the torne heart Of Christians, we that colour could impart, And with their bloud, supply those crimson streakes That dress: the skie, when the faire morning breakes. Father. The King. Away. Let not my daughters stir from hence: Is this reward, you gods, for my devotion: No more: I could not by my Art foresee This danger. Our father seem'd much troubled. I must appeare a stranger to all passages, Be not disturb'd, my princely charge, use you The free delights of life, while they are presented In these your lovers: Sira, make fast the doore, And wait aloofe; I'll follow the sad King. No miserie can happen, while I thus Embrace Ferochus. And I safe in the armes Of my deare servant. You make it heaven by gracing me. But why have we so long Delay'd our blest enjoyings, thus content With words, the shaddowes of our happinesse. So, so, here's fine devotion in the Temple: But where's my bracelet, let me see? Where's Rodamant? Am I invisible agen? Is this the trick on't. The doore is safe; come, my deare princely Mistresse, And with the crowne of love reward your servant. What's that? Fruition of our joyes. Is not this Delight enough, that we converse, and smile And kisse, Ferochus. Who's that? Where, Madam? I felt another lip. Than mine? here's none, try it agen: Why should her constitution be so cold? I would not lose more opportunities, Love, shoot a flame like mine into her bosome. Who's that, Endurius, that kist me now? None, since you blest my lip with a touch, Madam, My brother is at play with your faire sister.