Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) not in BritDrama · Ogilby's Men unassigned nearest T56 Magic, spells and conjuring · 523 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T56: magic, faustus, charms, charm, conjure, spirits, skill, ho, power, spells.
Let my knee speak My duty, though I want words for my joy, Ten thousand welcomes; I have guests within too, You'll wonder to salute my sons, not dead, As we suppose, by heavenly providence, I hope, reserved to be made blessed by you, They are here. Your duties to the Queen and Prince, Then to this man, next to our great Preserver. The Patron of us all. A happy meeting: I must rejoice to see you safe, and here: But tell us by what strange means, all this while, You have been preserved? Sit down. What music's this? 'Tis heavenly. And a preface to some message, O will of Heaven, be silent, and attend it: Such harmony as this did wait upon My Angel Victor, when he first appeared, And did reveal a treasure under ground, With which I bought my freedom, when I kept Unhappy Milcho's swine; Heavens will be done. What, all asleep already? holy dreams Possess your fancy, I can wait no longer. Down from the skies, Commanded by the Power that lies The world and nature in a chain, We come, we come, a glorious train, To wait on thee, And make thy person danger-free: Hark whilst we sing, And keep time with our golden wing, To show how earth and heaven agree, What echo rises to our harmony. Holy Patrick, sleep in peace, Whilst I thy Guardian, with these My fellow Angels, wait on thee, For thy desence: A troop, I see, Of serpents, vipers, and whate'er Doth carry killing poison, here Summoned by Art, and power of hell; But thou shalt soon their fury quell, And by the strength of thy command, These creatures shall forsake the Land, And creep into the sea; no more To live upon the Irish shore. Once more then. Patrick, sleep; oh sleep a while, And wake the Patron of this I'll. Your person shall be safe; fear not, great Sir, I have directed all their stings and poison: See where he sleeps, if he escape this danger, Let my life, with some horrid circumstance, End in this place, and carry all your curses. What think you of these creeping executioners? Do they not move, as if they knew their errand? My Queen! my son Conallus! Dichu! ha! And the still wandering ghosts of his two sons! They are alive, Sir. Ha, who durst abuse us? Will you not have compassion of the Queen, And the Prince, Sir? How met they to converse? They are all Christian. Let the serpent then Feed upon all, my powerful Archimagus. In vain is all your malice, Art, and power Against their lives, whom the great hand of Heaven Deigns to protect; like wolves you undertake A quarrel with the Moon, and waste your anger: Nay, all the shafts your wrath directeth hither, Are shot against a brazen arch, whose vault Impenetrable, sends the arrows back, To print just wounds on your own guilty heads. These serpents, (tame at first and innocent, Until man's great revolt from grace released Their duty of creation) you have brought, And armed against my life; all these can I
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)
Let my knee speake My dutie, though I want words for my joy, Ten thousand welcomes; I have guests within too, You'l wonder to salute my sons, not dead, As we suppose, by heavenly providence, I hope, reserv'd to be made blest by you, They are here. Your duties to the Queene and Prince, Then to this man, next to our great Preserver. The Patron of us all. A happie meeting: I must rejoyce to see you safe, and here: But tell us by what strange meanes, all this while, You have been preserv'd? Sit downe. What musick's this? 'Tis heavenly. And a preface to some message, O will of Heaven, be silent, and attend it: Such harmony as this did wait upon My Angell Victor, when he first appear'd, And did reveale a treasure under ground, With which I bought my freedome, when I kept Unhappie Milho's swine; Heavens will be done. What, all asleep already? holy dreames Possesse your faucie, I can wait no longer. Downe from the skies, Commanded by the Power that lies The world and nature in a caine, We come, we come, a glorious traine, To wait on thee, And make thy person dangerfree: Hearke whilst we sing, And keep time with our golden wing, To shew how earth and heaven agree, What eccho rises to our harmoic. Holy Patrick, sleep in peace, Whilst I thy Guardian, with these My fellow Angels, wait on thee, For thy desence: A troop, I see, Of serpents, vipers, and what ere Doth carrie killing poyson, here Summon'd by Art, and power of hell; But thou shalt soone their furie quell, And by the strength of thy command, These creatures shall forsake the Land, And creep into the sea; no more To live upon the Irish shore. Once more then. Patrick, sleep; oh sleep a while, And wake the Patron of this Ile. Your person shall be safe; feare not, great Sir, I have directed all their stings and poyson: See where he sleeps, if he escape this danger, Let my life, with some horrid circumstance, End in this place, and carrie all your curses. What think you of these creeping executioners? Doe they not move, as if they knew their errand? My Queene! my son Conallus! Dicbu! ha! And the still wandring ghosts of his two sons! They are alive, Sir. Ha, who durst abuse us? Will you not have compassion of the Queene, And the Prince, Sir? How met they to converse? They are all Christian. Let the serpent then Feed upon all, my powerfull Archimagus. In vaine is all your malice, Art, and power Against their lives, whom the great hand of Heaven Daines to protect; like wolves you undertake A quarrell with the Moone, and waste your anger: Nay, all the shafts your wrath directeth hither, Are shot against a brazen arch, whose vault Impenetrable, sends the arrowes back, To print just wounds on your owne guiltie heads. These serpents, (tame at first and innocent, Untill mans great revolt from grace releas'd Their dutie of creation) you have brought, And arm'd against my life; all these can I