Marlowe, Christopher · published 1590 · first performed or written 1587 [1587-1588] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T17 Eastern conquest: Persians, Turks and so · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
WHat, are the Turtles fraid out of their nests? Alas poor fools, must you be first shall feel The sworn destruction of Damascus. They know my custom: could they not as well Have sent ye out, when first my milk-white flags Through which sweet mercy threw her gentle beams Reflexing them on your disdainfull cies: As now when fury and incensed hate Flings slaughtering terror from my coal-black tents. And tells for truth, submissions comes too late. Most happy King and Emperor of the earth. Image of Honour and Nobility. For whom the Powers divine have made the world. And on whose throne the holy Graces sit. In whose sweet person is comprised the Sum Of nature's Skill and heavenly majesty. Pity our plights, O pity poor Damascus: Pity old age, within whose silver hairs Honour and reverence evermore have reigned, Pity the marriage bed, where many a Lord In prime and glory of his loving joy. Embraceth now with tears of ruth and blood, The jealous body of his fearful wife, Whose cheeks and hearts so punished with conceit, To think thy puissant never stayed arm Will part their bodies, and prevent their souls From heavens of comfort, yet their age might bear, Now wax all pale and withered to the death, As well for grief our ruthless Governor Have thus refused the mercy of thy hand, (Whose sceptre Angels kiss, and Furies dread) As for their liberties, their loves or lives, O then for these, and such as we ourselves, For us, for infants, and for all our bloods, That never nourished thought against thy rule, pity, O pity, (sacred Emperor) The prostrate service of this wretched town. And take in sign thereof this gilded wreath, Whereto each man of rule hath given his hand, And wished as worthy subjects happy means, To be investers of thy royal brows, Even with the true Egyptian Diadem. Virgins, in vain ye labour to prevent That which mine honour swears shall be performed: Behold my sword, what see you at the point? Nothing but fear and fatal steel my Lord. Your fearful minds are thick and misty then For there sits Death, there sits imperious Death. Keeping his circuit by the slicing edge. But I'm pleased you shall not see him there, He now is seated on my horsemen's spears: And on their points his fleshless body feches. Techelles, straight go charge a few of them To charge these Dames, and show my servant death: Sitting in scarlet on their armed spears. O pity us. Away with them I say and show them death. I will not spare these proud Egyptians. Nor change my Martial observations, For all the wealth of Gehon's golden waves. Or for the love of Venus, would she leave The angry God of Arms, and lie with me. They have refused the offer of their lives, And know my customs are as peremptory As wrathful Planets, death, or destiny. What, have your horsemen shown the virgin's Death? They have my Lord, and on Damascus walls Have hoist up their slaughtered carcases.
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)
WHat, are the Turtles fraide out of their neastes? Alas poore fooles, must you be first shal feele The sworne destruction of Damascus. They know my custome: could they not as well Haue sent ye out, when first my milkwhite flags Through which sweet mercie threw her gentle beams Reflexing them on your disdainfull cies: As now when furie and incensed hate Flings slaughtering terrour from my coleblack tents. And tels for trueth, submissions comes too late. Most happy King and Emperour of the earth. Image of Honor and Nobilitie. For whome the Powers diuine haue made the world. And on whose throne the holy Graces sit. In whose sweete person is compriz'd the Sum Of natures Skill and heauenly maiestie. Pittie our plightes, O pitie poore Damascus: Pitie olde age, within whose siluer haires Honor and reuerence euermore haue raign'd, Pitie the mariage bed, where many a Lord In prime and glorie of his louing ioy. Embraceth now with teares of ruth and blood, The iealous bodie of his fearfull wife, Whose cheekes and hearts so punisht with conceit, To thinke thy puisant neuer staied arme Will part their bodies, and preuent their soules From heauens of comfort, yet their age might beare, Now waxe all pale and withered to the death, As well for griefe our ruthlesse Gouernour Haue thus refusde the mercie of thy hand, (Whose scepter Angels kisse, and Furies dread) As for their liberties, their loues or liues, O then for these, and such as we our selues, For vs, for infants, and for all our bloods, That neuer nourisht thought against thy rule, Pitie, O pitie, (sacred Emperour) The prostrate seruice of this wretched towne. And take in signe thereof this gilded wreath, Whereto ech man of rule hath giuen his hand, And wisht as worthy subiects happy meanes, To be inuesters of thy royall browes, Euen with the true Egyptian Diadem. Virgins, in vaine ye labo to preuent That which mine honor sweares shal be perform'd: Behold my sword, what see you at the point? Nothing but feare and fatall steele my Lord. Your fearfull minds are thicke and mistie then For there sits Death, there sits imperious Death. Keeping his circuit by the slicing edge. But I'am pleasde you shall not see him there, He now is seated on my horsmens speares: And on their points his fleshlesse bodie feches. Techelles, straight goe charge a few of them To chardge these Dames, and shew my seruant death: Sitting in scarlet on their armed speares. O pitie vs. Away with them I say and shew them death. I will not spare these proud Egyptians. Nor change my Martiall obseruations, For all the wealth of Gehons golden waues. Or for the loue of Venus, would she leaue The angrie God of Armes, and lie with me. They haue refusde the offer of their liues, And know my customes are as peremptory As wrathfull Planets, death, or destinie. What, haue your horsmen shewen the virgins Death? They haue my Lord, and on Damascus wals Haue hoisted vp their slaughtered carcases.