Marlowe, Christopher · published 1590 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1588] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T3 Sickness, physic and doctors · 469 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Sit still my gracious Lord, this grief will cease, And cannot last, it is so violent. Not last techelles, no, for I shall die, See where my slave, the ugly monster death Shaking and quivering, pale and wan for fear, Stands aiming at me with his murdering dart, Who flies away at every glance I give, And when I look away, comes stealing on: Villain away, and hie thee to the field, I and mine army come to load thy bark With souls of thousand mangled carcases, Look where he goes, but see, he comes again Because I stay, techelles let us march, And weary Death with bearing souls to hell. Pleaseth your Majesty to drink this potion. Which will abate the fury of your fit, And cause some milder spirits govern you. Tell me, what think you of my sickness now? I viewed your urine, and the Hipostates Thick and obscure doth make your danger great, Your veins are full of accidental heat, Whereby the moisture of your blood is dried, The Humidum and Calor, which some hold Is not a parcel of the Elements, But of a substance more divine and pure, Is almost clean extinguished and spent. Which being the cause of life, imports your death. Besides my Lord, this day is Critical, Dangerous to those, whose crisis is as yours: Your arteries which alongst the veins convey The lively spirits which the heart engenders Are parched and void of spirit that the soul Wanting those organons by which it moves, Can not endure by argument of art. Yet if your majesty may escape this day, No doubt, but you shall soon recover all. Then will I comfort all my vital parts, And live in spite of death above a day. My Lord, young Callapine that lately fled from your majesty, hath now gathered a fresh Army, and hearing your absence in the field, offers to set upon us presently. See my Physicians now, how Ioue hath sent, A present medicine to recure my pain: My looks shall make them fly, and might I follow, There should not one of all the villains power Live to give offer of another fight. I joy my Lord, your highness is so strong, That can endure so well your royal presence, Which only will dismay the enemy. I know it will Casane: draw you slaves, In spite of death I will go show my face. Thus are the villains, cowards fled for fear, Like Summer's vapours, vanished by the Sun. And could I but a while pursue the field, That Callapine should be my slave again. But I perceive my martial strength is spent, In vain I strive and rail against those powers, That mean t'invest me in a higher throne, As much too high for this disdainful earth.
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)
Sit stil my gratious Lord, this griefe wil cease, And cannot last, it is so violent. Not last techelles, no, for I shall die, See where my slaue, the vglie monster death Shaking and quiuering, pale and wan for feare, Stands aiming at me with his murthering dart, Who flies away at euery glance I giue, And when I look away, comes stealing on: Villaine away, and hie thee to the field, I and myne armie come to lode thy barke With soules of thousand mangled carkasses, Looke where he goes, but see, he comes againe Because I stay, techelles let vs march, And weary Death with bearing soules to hell. Pleaseth your Maiesty to drink this potion. Which wil abate the furie of your fit, And cause some milder spirits gouerne you. Tel me, what think you of my sicknes now? I view'd your vrine, and the Hipostates Thick and obscure doth make your danger great, Your vaines are full of accidentall heat, Whereby the moisture of your blood is dried, The Humidum and Calor, which some holde Is not a parcell of the Elements, But of a substance more diuine and pure, Is almost cleane extinguished and spent. Which being the cause of life, imports your death. Besides my Lord, this day is Criticall, Dangerous to those, whose Chrisis is as yours: Your Artiers which alongst the vaines conuey The liuely spirits which the heart ingenders Are partcht and void of spirit that the soule Wanting those Organnons by which it mooues, Can not indure by argument of art. Yet if your maiesty may escape this day, No doubt, but you shal soone recouer all. Then will I comfort all my vital parts, And liue in spight of death aboue a day. My Lord, yong Callapine that lately fled from your maiesty, hath nowe gathered a fresh Armie, and hearing your absence in the field, offers to set vpon vs presently. See my Phisitions now, how Ioue hath sent, A present medicince to recure my paine: My looks shall make them flie, and might I follow, There should not one of all the villaines power Liue to giue offer of another fight. I ioy my Lord, your highnesse is so strong, That can endure so well your royall presence, Which onely will dismay the enemy. I know it wil Casane: draw you slaues, In spight of death I will goe show my face. Thus are the villaines, cowards fled for feare, Like Summers vapours, vanisht by the Sun. And could I but a while pursue the field, That Callapine should be my slaue againe. But I perceiue my martial strength is spent, In vaine I striue and raile against those powers, That meane t'inuest me in a higher throne, As much too high for this disdainfull earth.