Marlowe, Christopher · published 1590 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1588] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men T17 Eastern conquest: Persians, Turks and so typicality 0.81 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
Bridle them, and let me to my coach. See now my Lord how brave the Captain hangs. 'tis brave indeed my boy, well done, Shoot first my Lord, and then the rest shall follow. Then have at him to begin withal. Yet save my life, and let this wound appease The mortal fury of great Tamburlaine. No, though Asphaltis lake were liquid gold, And offered me as ransom for thy life, Yet shouldst thou die, shoot at him all at once. So now he hangs like Bagdad's Governor, Having as many bullets in his flesh, As there be breaches in her battered wall. Go now and bind the burgher's hand and foot, And cast them headlong in the City's lake: Tartars and Persians shall inhabit there, And to command the city, I will build A citadel, that all Africa Which hath been subject to the persian king, Shall pay me tribute for, in Babylon. What shall be done with their wives and children my Lord. Techelles, Drown them all, man, woman, and child, Leave not a Babylonian in the town. I will about it straight, come Soldiers. Now Casane, where's the Turkish Alcaron, And all the heaps of superstitious books, Found in the Temples of that Mahomet? Whom I have thought a God, they shall be burnt. Here they are my Lord. Well said, let there be a fire presently, In vain I see men worship Mahomet, My sword hath sent millions of Turks to hell. Slew all his Priests, his kinsmen, and his friends, And yet I live untouched by Mahomet: There is a God full of revenging wrath, From whom the thunder and the lightning breaks, Whose Scourge I am, and him will I obey. So Casane, fling them in the fire. Now Mahomet, if thou have any power, Come down thyself and work a miracle, Thou art not worthy to be worshipped, That suffers flames of fire to burn the writ Wherein the sum of thy religion rests. Why send'st thou not a furious whirlwind down, To blow thy Alcaron up to thy throne, Where men report, thou sittest by God himself, Or vengeance on the head of Tamburlaine, That shakes his sword against thy majesty. And spurns the Abstracts of thy foolish laws. Well soldiers, Mahomet remains in hell, He cannot hear the voice of Tamburlaine, Seek out another Godhead to adore, The God that sits in heaven, if any God, For he is God alone, and none but he. I have fulfilled your highness will, my Lord, Thousands of men drowned in Asphaltis Lake, Have made the water swell above the banks, And fishes feed by human carcases, Amazed, swim up and down upon the waves, As when they swallow Assafoetida, Which makes them fleet aloft and gasp for air, Well then my friendly Lords what now remains But that we leave sufficient garrison And presently depart to Persia, To triumph after all our victories.
seed 43: T18 · seed 44: T18 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Bridle them, and let me to my coach. See now my Lord how braue the Captaine hangs. Tis braue indeed my boy, wel done, Shoot first my Lord, and then the rest shall follow. Then haue at him to begin withall. Yet saue my life, and let this wound appease The mortall furie of great Tamburlain. No, though Asphaltis lake were liquid gold, And offer'd me as ransome for thy life, Yet shouldst thou die, shoot at him all at once. So now he hangs like Bagdets Gouernour, Hauing as many bullets in his flesh, As there be breaches in her battered wall. Goe now and bind the Burghers hand and foot, And cast them headlong in the cities lake: Tartars and Perseans shall inhabit there, And to command the citie, I will build A Cytadell, that all Affrica Which hath bene subiect to the Persean king, Shall pay me tribute for, in Babylon. What shal be done with their wiues and children my Lord. Techelles, Drowne them all, man, woman, and child, Leaue not a Babylonian in the towne. I will about it straight, come Souldiers. Now Casane, wher's the Turkish Alcaron, And all the heapes of supersticious bookes, Found in the Temples of that Mahomet? Whom I haue thought a God, they shal be burnt. Here they are my Lord. Wel said, let there be a fire presently, In vaine I see men worship Mahomet, My sword hath sent millions of Turks to hell. Slew all his Priests, his kinsmen, and his friends, And yet I liue vntoucht by Mahomet: There is a God full of reuenging wrath, From whom the thunder and the lightning breaks, Whose Scourge I am, and him will I obey. So Casane, fling them in the fire. Now Mahomet, if thou haue any power, Come downe thy selfe and worke a myracle, Thou art not woorthy to be worshipped, That suffers flames of fire to burne the writ Wherein the sum of thy religion rests. Why send 'st thou not a furious whyrlwind downe, To blow thy Alcaron vp to thy throne, Where men report, thou sitt'st by God himselfe, Or vengeance on the head of Tamburlain, That shakes his sword against thy maiesty. And spurns the Abstracts of thy foolish lawes. Wel souldiers, Mahomet remaines in hell, He cannot heare the voice of Tamburlain, Seeke out another Godhead to adore, The God that sits in heauen, if any God, For he is God alone, and none but he. I haue fulfil'd your highnes wil, my Lord, Thousands of men drown'd in Asphalis Lake, Haue made the water swell abore the bankes, And fishes feed by humaine carkasses, Amasde, swim vp and downe vpon the waues, As when they swallow Assafitida, Which makes them fleet aloft and gaspe for aire, Wel then my friendly Lordes what now remaines But that we leaue sufficient garrison And presently depart to Persea, To triumph after all our victories.