A Looking Glass for London and England · chunk 27 of 39
Lodge, Thomas / Greene, Robert · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1588] (Annals) biblical play; moral · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Thou art Endymion, then no more, heigho for him I die. What ails the Centre of my happiness, Whereon depends the heaven of my delight? Thine eyes the motors to command my world, Thy hands the axier to maintain my world. Thy smiles, the prime and springtide of my world. Thy frowns, the winter to afflict the world. Thou Queen of me, I King of all the world. Ah feeble eyes lift up and look on him, Is Rasni here? then droop no more poor heart, Oh how I fainted when I wanted thee? How feign am I, now I may look on thee? How glorious is my Rasni? how divine? Eunuches play hymns, to praise his deity: He is my Ioue, and I his Iuno am. Sunbright, as is the eye of summers day, When as he suits Spenori all in gold, To woo his Leda in a swan-like shape. Seemly as Galbocia for thy white: Rose-coloured, lily, lovely, wanton, kind, Be thou the labyrinth to tangle love, Whilst I command the crown from Venus' crest: And pull Onoris girdle from his loins, Enchased with Carbunckles and Diamonds, To beautify fair Aluida my love. Play Eunuches, sing in honour of her name, Yet look not slaves upon her wooing eyen, For she is fair Lucina to your king, But fierce Medusa to your base eye. What if I slept, where should my pillow be? Within my bosom Nymph, not on my knee. Sleep like the smiling purity of heaven, When mildest wind is loath to blend the peace, Meanwhile thy balm shall from thy breath arise, And while these closures of thy lamps be shut, My soul may have his peace from fancy's war. This is my Morane, and I her Cephalus. Wake not too soon sweet Nymph, my love is won: Catnies why stay your strains, why tempt you me? All hail unto Th'assirian deity. Priests why presume you to disturb my peace? Rasni, the destinies disturb thy peace. Behold amidst the addittes of our Gods, Our mighty Gods the patrons of our war. The ghost of dead men howling walk about, Crying We, We, woe to this City woe. The statutes of our Gods are thrown down, And streams of blood our altars do distain. Alas my Lord what tidings do I hear? Shall I be slain? Who tempteth Aluida? Go break me up the brazen doors of dreams, And bind me cursed Morpheus in a chain, And fetter all the fancies of the night, Because they do disturb my Aluida. Behold dread Prince, a burning sword from heaven, Which by a threatening armeiss brandished. What am I threatened then amidst my throne? Sages? you Magi? speak: what meaneth this? These are but clammy exhalations, Or retro grave, conjunctions of the stars, Or oppositions of the greater lights. Or radiatrous finding matter fit, That in the starry Sphere kindled be, Matters betokening dangers to thy foes, But peace and honour to my Lord the King.
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)
Thou art Endimion, then no more, heigho for him I die. What ailes the Center of my happinesse, Whereon depends the heauen of my delight? Thine eyes the motors to command my world, Thy hands the axier to maintaine my world. Thy smiles, the prime and spring-tide of my world. Thy frownes, the winter to afflict the world. Thou Quéene of me, I King of all the world. Ah féeble eyes lift vp and looke on him, Is Rasni here? then droupe no more poore hart, Oh how I fainted when I wanted thée? How faine am I, now I may looke on thée? How glorious is my Rasni? how diuine? Eunukes play himmes, to praise his deitie: He is my Ioue, and I his Iuno am. Sun-bright, as is the eye of sommers day, When as he sutes Spenori all in gold, To wooe his Leda in a swanlike shape. Seemely as Galbocia for thy white: Rose-coloured, lilly, louely, wanton, kinde, Be thou the laborinth to tangle loue, Whilst I command the crowne from Venus crest: And pull Onoris girdle from his loines, Enchast with Carbunckles and Diamonds, To beautifie faire Aluida my loue. Play Eunukes, sing in honour of her name, Yet looke not slaues vpon her woing eyne, For she is faire Lucina to your king, But fierce Medusa to your baser eie. What if I slept, where should my pillow be? Within my bosome Nimph, not on my knée. Sléepe like the smiling puritie of heauen, When mildest wind is loath to blend the peace, Meane-while thy balme shall from thy breath arise, And while these closures of thy lampes be shut, My soule may haue his peace from fancies warre. This is my Morane, and I her Cephalus. Wake not too soone swéete Nimph, my loue is wonne: Catnies why staie your straines, why tempt you me? All haile vnto Th'assirian deitie. Priests why presume you to disturbe my peace? Rasni, the destinies disturbe thy peace. Behold amidst the addittes of our Gods, Our mightie Gods the patrons of our warre. The ghost of dead men howling walke about, Crying Ve, Ve, wo to this Citie woe. The statutes of our Gods are throwne downe, And streames of blood our altars do distaine. Ah-lasse my Lord what tidings do I hear? Shall I be slaine? Who tempteth Aluida? Go breake me vp the brazen doores of dreames, And binde me cursed Morpheus in a chaine, And fetter all the fancies of the night, Because they do disturbe my Aluida. Behold dread Prince, a burning sword from heauen, Which by a threatning armeis brandished. What am I threatned then amidst my throane? Sages? you Magi? speake: what meaneth this? These are but clammy exhalations, Or retro grade, coniunctions of the starres, Or oppositions of the greater lights. Or radiatrous finding matter fit, That in the starrie Spheare kindled be, Matters betokening dangers to thy foes, But peace and honour to my Lord the King.