The Spanish Tragedy (Hieronimo is Mad Again) · chunk 1 of 41
Kyd, Thomas · published 1592 · first performed or written 1587 [1585-1589; revised c.1597(?) and 1601-2] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T59 Spanish courts: war, honour and courtshi · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
WHen this eternal substance of my soul, Did live imprisoned in my wanton flesh: Each in their function serving others need, I was a Courtier in the Spanish Court. My name was Don Andrea, my descent Though not ignoble, yet inferior far To gracious fortunes of my tender youth: For there in prime and pride of all my years, By duteous service and deserving love, In secret I possessed a worthy dame, Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name. But in the harvest of my summer joys, Death's winter nipped the blossoms of my bliss, Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me. For in the late conflict with Portingale, My valour drew me into danger's mouth, Till life to death made passage through my wounds. When I was slain, my soul descended straight, To pass the flowing stream of Acheron: But churlish Charon only boatman there, Said that my rites of burial not performed, I might not sit amongst his passengers. Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis lap, And slaked his smoking Chariot in her cloud: By Don Horatio our knight Marshal's son, My funerals and obsequies were done. Then was the ferryman of hell content, To pass me over to the slimy strand, That leads to fell Auernus ugly waves: There pleasing Cerberus with honeyed speech, I passed the perils of the foremost porch. Not far from hence amidst ten thousand souls, Sat Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamant, To whom no sooner 'gan I make approach, To crave a passport for my wandering Ghost: But Minos engraven leaves of Lottery, Drew forth the manner of my life and death. This knight (quoth he) both lived and died in love: And for his love tried fortune of the wars, And by wars fortune lost both love and life. Why then said Aeacus, convey him hence, To walk with lovers in our fields of love: And spend the course of everlasting time, Under green myrtle trees and Cypress shades. No, no, said Rhadamant, it were not well, With loving souls to place a Martialist, He died in war, and must to martial fields: Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain, And Achilles Myrmidons do scour the plain. Then Minos mildest censor of the three, Made this device to end the difference. Send him (quoth he) to our infernal King: To doom him as best seems his Majesty: To this effect my passport straight was drawn. In keeping on my way to Pluto's Court, Through dreadful shades of ever glooming night: I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell, Or pens can write, or mortal hearts can think. Three ways there were, that on the right hand side, Was ready way unto the foresaid fields, Where lovers live, and bloody Martialists, But either sort contained within his bounds. The left hand path declining fearfully, Was ready downfall to the deepest hell. Where bloody furies shakes their whips of steel, And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel. Where Usurers are choked with melting gold, And wantons are embraced with ugly snakes:
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)
WHen this eternall substance of my soule, Did ue imprisond in my wanton lesh: Ech in their unction seruing others need, I was a Courtier in the Spanish Court. My name was Don Andrea, my discent Though not ignoble, yet inferiour far To gratious fortunes of my tender youth: For there in prime and pride of all my yeeres, By duteous seruice and deseruing loue, In secret I posest a worhy dame, Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name. But in the haruest of my sommer ioyes, Deaths winter nipt the blossomes of my blisse, Forcing diuorce betwixt my loue and me. For in the late conflict with Portingale, My valour drew me into dangers mouth, Till life to death made passage through my wounds. When I was slaine, my soule descended straight, To passe the flowing streame of Acheron: But churlish Charon only boatman there, Said that my rites of buriall not performde, I might not sit amongst his passengers. Ere Sol had slept three nights in Theis lap, And slakte his smoaking Charriot in her loud: By Don Horaio our knight Marshals sonne, My funerals and obsequies were done. Then was the Feriman of hell content, To passe me ouer to the slimie strond, That leades to fell Auernus ougly waues: There pleasing Cerberus with honied speech, I past the perils of the formost porch. Not farre from hence amidst ten thousand soules, Sate Minos, Eacus, and Rhadamant, To whome no sooner gan I make approch, To craue a pasport for my wandring Ghost: But Minos ingrauen leaues of Lotterie, Drew forth the manner of my life and death. This knight (quoth he) both liu'd and died in loue: And for his loue tried fortune of the warres, And by warres fortune lost both loue and lif. Why then said Eacus, conuay him hence, To walke with louers in our fields of loue: And spend the course of euerlasting time, Vnder greene mirtle trees and Cipresse shades. No, no, said Rhadamant, it were not well, With louing soules to place a Martialist, He died in warre, and must to martiall fields: Where wounded Hector liues in lasting paine, And Achilles mermedons do scoure the plaine. Then Minos mildest censor of the three, Made this deuice to end the difference. Send him (quoth he) to our infernall King: To dome him as best seemes his Maiestie: To this effect my pasport straight was drawne. In keeping on my way to Plutos Court, Through dreadfull shades of euer glooming night: I saw more sights then thousand tongues can tell, Or pennes can write, or mortall harts can think. Three waies there were, that on the right hand side, Was ready way vnto the foresaid fields, Where louers liue, and bloudie Marialists, But either sort containd within his bounds. The left hand path declining fearfully, Was ready downfall to the deepest hell. Where bloudie furies shakes their whips of steele, And poore Ixion turnes an endles wheele. Where Vsurers are choakt with melting golde, And wantons are imbraste with ougly snakes: