Marlowe, Christopher · published 1590 · first performed or written 1587 [1587-1588] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Sweet Bajazeth, I will prolong thy life, As long as any blood or spark of breath Can quench or cool the torments of my grief. Now Bajazeth, abridge thy baneful days, And beat thy brains out of thy conquered head: Since other means are all forbidden me, That may be ministers of my decay. O highest Lamp of everliving Ioue, Accursed day infected with my griefs, Hide now thy stained face in endless night, And shut the windows of the lightsome heavens, Let ugly darkness with her rusty coach engirt with tempests wrapped in pitchy clouds, Smother the earth with never fading mists: And let her horses from their nostrils breath Rebellious winds and dreadful thunderclaps: That in this terror tamburlaine may live. And my pined soul resolved in liquid ay, May still excruciate his tormented thoughts. Then let the stony dart of senseless cold, Pierce through the centre of my withered heart, And make a passage for my loathed life. What do mine eyes behold, my husband dead? His skull all riven in twain, his brains dashed out?: The brains of Bajazeth, my Lord and Sovereign?: O Bajazeth, my husband and my Lord, O Bajazeth, O Turk, O Emperor, give him his liquour Not I, bring milk and fire, and my blood I bring him again, tear me in pieces, give me the sword with a ball of wildfire upon it. Down with him, down with him. Go to my child, away, away, away. Ah, save that Infant, save him, save him. ay, even I speak to her, the Sun was down. Streamers white. Red, Black, here here, here. Fling the meat in his face. Tamburlaine, tamburlaine, Let the soldiers be buried. Hell, death, Tamburlaine, Hell, make ready my Coach, my chair, my jewels, I come, I come, I come. Wretched Zenocrate, that livest to see, Damascus walls died with Egyptian blood. Thy Father's subjects and thy countrymen: Thy streets strowed with dissevered joints of men, And wounded bodies gasping yet for life. But most accursed, to see the Sun-bright troup Of heavenly virgins and unspotted maids, Whose looks might make the angry God of arms, To break his sword, and mildly treat of love, On horsemen's Lances to be hoist up, And guiltlessly endure a cruel death. For every fell and stout Tartarian Stead, That stamped on others with their thundering hooves When all their riders charged their quivering spears Began to check the ground, and rain themselves: Gazing upon the beauty of their looks: Ah Tamburlaine, wert thou the cause of this That term'st Zenocrate thy dearest love? Whose lives were dearer to Zenocrate Than her own life, or ought save thine own love. But see another bloody spectacle. Ah wretched eyes, the enemies of my heart, How are ye glutted with these grievous objects, And tell my soul more tales of bleeding ruth? See, see Anippe if they breath or no.
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)
Sweet Baiazeth, I will prolong thy life, As long as any blood or sparke of breath Can quench or coole the torments of my griefe. Now Baiazeth, abridge thy banefull daies, And beat thy braines out of thy conquer'd head: Since other meanes are all forbidden me, That may be ministers of my decay. O highest Lamp of euerliuing Ioue, Accursed day infected with my griefs, Hide now thy stained face in endles night, And shut the windowes of the lightsome heauens, Let vgly darknesse with her rusty coach Engyrt with tempests wrapt in pitchy clouds, Smother the earth with neuer fading mistes: And let her horses from their nostrels breathe Rebellious winds and dreadfull thunderclaps: That in this terrour tamburlaine may liue. And my pin'd soule resolu'd in liquid ay, May styl excruciat his tormented thoughts. Then let the stony dart of sencelesse colde, Pierce through the center of my withered heart, And make a passage for my loathed life. What do mine eies behold, my husband dead? His Skul al riuin in twain, his braines dasht out?: The braines of Baiazeth, my Lord and Soueraigne?: O Baiazeth, my husband and my Lord, O Baiazet, O Turk, O Emperor, giue him his liquor Not I, bring milk and fire, and my blood I bring him againe, teare me in peeces, giue me the sworde with a ball of wildefire vpon it. Downe with him, downe with him. Goe to my child, away, away, away. Ah, saue that Infant, saue him, saue him. I, euen I speake to her, the Sun was downe. Streamers white. Red, Blacke, here here, here. Fling the meat in his face. Tamburlaine, tamburlaine, Let the souldiers be buried. Hel, death, tamburlain, Hell, make ready my Coch, my chaire, my iewels, I come, I come, I come. Wretched Zenocrate, that liuest to see, Damascus walles di'd with Egytian blood. Thy Fathers subiects and thy countrimen: Thy streetes strowed with disseuered iointes of men, And wounded bodies gasping yet for life. But most accurst, to see the Sun-bright troope Of heauenly vyrgins and vnspotted maides, Whose lookes might make the angry God of armes, To breake his sword, and mildly treat of loue, On horsmens Lances to be hoisted vp, And guiltlesly endure a cruell death. For euery fell and stout Tartarian Stead, That stampt on others with their thundring hooues When al their riders chardg'd their quiuering speares Began to checke the ground, and rain themselues: Gazing vpon the beautie of their lookes: Ah Tamburlaine, wert thou the cause of this That tearm'st Zenocrate thy dearest loue? Whose liues were dearer to Zenocrate Than her owne life, or ought saue thine owne loue. But see another bloody spectacle. Ah wretched eies, the enemies of my hart, How are ye glutted with these grieuous obiects, And tell my soule mor tales of bleeding ruth? See, se Anippe if they breathe or no.