Marlowe, Christopher · published 1590 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1588] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 467 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Live still my Lord, O let my sovereign live, And sooner let the fiery Element Dissolve, and make your kingdom in the Sky, Than this base earth should shroud your majesty: For should I but suspect your death by mine, The comfort of my future happiness And hope to meet your highness in the heavens, Turned to despair, would break my wretched breast, And fury would confound my present rest. But let me die my Love, yet let me die, With love and patience let your true love die: Your grief and fury hurts my second life, Yet let me kiss my Lord before I die, And let me die with kissing of my Lord. But since my life is lengthened yet a while, Let me take leave of these my loving sons, And of my Lords whose true nobility Have merited my latest memory: Sweet sons farewell, in death resemble me, And in your lives your father's excellency. Some music, and my fit will cease my Lord. Proud fury and intolerable fit, That dares torment the body of my Love, And scourge the Scourge of the immortal God: Now are those Spheres where Cupid used to sit, Wounding the world with wonder and with love, Sadly supplied with pale and ghastly death: Whose darts do pierce the Centre of my soul, Her sacred beauty hath enchanted heaven, And had she lived before the siege of Troy, Helen, whose beauty summoned Greece to arms, And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos, Had not been named in Homer's Iliads: Her name had been in every line he wrote: Or had those wanton Poets, for whose birth Old Rome was proud, but gazed a while on her, Nor Lesbia, nor Corrinna had been named, zenocrate had been the argument Of every Epigram or elegy. What, is she dead? Techelles, draw thy sword, And wound the earth, that it may cleave in twain, And we descend into th'infernal vaults, To hail the fatal Sisters by the hair, And throw them in the triple more of Hell, For taking hence my fair zenocrate. Casane and theridamas to arms, Raise cavalieroes higher than the clouds: And with the cannon break the frame of heaven, Batter the shining palace of the Sun, And shiver all the starry firmament: For amorous Ioue hath snatched my love from hence, Meaning to make her stately Queen of heaven, What God soever holds thee in his arms, Giving thee Nectar and Ambrosia, Behold me here divine zenocrate, Raving, impatient, desperate and mad, Breaking my steeled lance, with which I burst The rusty beams of Ianus Temple doors, Letting out death and tyrannising war: To march with me under this bloody flag, And if thou pitiest Tamburlaine the great, Come down from heaven and live with me again.
seed 43: T53 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Liue still my Lord, O let my soueraigne liue, And sooner let the fiery Element Dissolue, and make your kingdome in the Sky, Than this base earth should shroud your maiesty: For should I but suspect your death by mine, The comfort of my future happinesse And hope to meet your highnesse in the heauens, Turn'd to dispaire, would break my wretched breast, And furie would confound my present rest. But let me die my Loue, yet let me die, With loue and patience let your true loue die: Your griefe and furie hurtes my second life, Yet let me kisse my Lord before I die, And let me die with kissing of my Lord. But since my life is lengthened yet a while, Let me take leaue of these my louing sonnes, And of my Lords whose true nobilitie Haue merited my latest memorie: Sweet sons farewell, in death resemble me, And in your liues your fathers excellency. Some musicke, and my fit wil cease my Lord. Proud furie and intollorable fit, That dares torment the body of my Loue, And scourge the Scourge of the immortall God: Now are those Spheares where Cupid vsde to sit, Wounding the world with woonder and with loue, Sadly supplied with pale and ghastly death: Whose darts do pierce the Center of my soule, Her sacred beauty hath enchaunted heauen, And had she liu'd before the siege of Troy, Hellen, whose beauty sommond Greece to armes, And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos, Had not bene nam'd in Homers Iliads: Her name had bene in euery line he wrote: Or had those wanton Poets, for whose byrth Olde Rome was proud, but gasde a while on her, Nor Lesbia, nor Corrinna had bene nam'd, zenocrate had bene the argument Of euery Epigram or Eligie. What, is she dead? Techelles, draw thy sword, And wound the earth, that it may cleaue in twaine, And we discend into th'infernall vaults, To haile the fatall Sisters by the haire, And throw them in the triple more of Hell, For taking hence my faire zenocrate. Casane and theridamas to armes, Raise Caualieros higher than the cloudes: And with the cannon breake the frame of heauen, Batter the shining pallace of the Sun, And shiuer all the starry strmament: For amdrous Ioue hath snatcht my loue from hence, Meaning to make her stately Queene of heauen, What God so euer holds thee in his armes, Giuing thee Nectar and Ambrosia, Behold me here diuine zenocrate, Rauing, impatient, desperate and mad, Breaking my steeled lance, with which I burst The rusty beames of Ianus Temple doores, Letting out death and tyrannising war: To martch with me vnder this bloody flag, And if thou pitiest Tamburlain the great, Come downe from heauen and liue with me againe.