A Looking Glass for London and England · chunk 34 of 39
Lodge, Thomas / Greene, Robert · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1588] (Annals) biblical play; moral · Derby's (Strange's) Men T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation typicality 0.81 · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
My soul is buried in the hell of thoughts. Ah Aluida, I look on thee with shame. My Lords on sudden fix their eyes on ground, As if dismayed to look upon the heavens. Hence Magi, who have flattered me in sin. Horror of mind, disturbance of my soul, Makes me aghast, for Niniuies mishap. Lords see proclaimed, yea see it strait proclaimed, That man and beast, the woman and her child, For forty days in sack and ashes fast, Perhaps the Lord will yield and pity us. Bear hence these wretched blandishments of sin, And bring me sackcloth to attire your King. Away with pomp, my soul is full of woe: In pity look on Niniveh, O God. Assailed with shame, with horror overborne, To sorrows sold, all guilty of our sin. Come Ladies come, let us prepare to pray. Alas, how dare we look on heavenly light, That have despised the maker of the same? How may we hope for mercy from above, That still despise the warnings from above? Woes me, my conscience is a heavy foe. O patron of the poor oppressed with sin, Look, look on me, that now for pity crave, Assailed with shame, with horror overborne, To sorrow sold, all guilty of our sin. Come Ladies come, let us prepare to pray. Groaning in conscience, burdened with my crimes, The hell of sorrow haunts me up and down. Tread where I list, mée-thinkes the bleeding ghosts Of those whom my corruption brought to noughts, Do serve for stumbling blocks before my steps. The fatherless and widow wronged by me. The poor oppressed by my usury, Mée-thinkes I see their hands reared up to heaven, To cry for vengeance of my covetousness. Where so I walk, I'll sigh and shun my way. Thus am I made a monster of the world, Hell gapes for me, heaven will not hold my soul. You mountains shroud me from the God of truth. Methinks I see him sit to judge the earth. See how he blots me out of the book of life. Oh burden more than Atna that I bear. Cover me hills, and shroud me from the Lord. Swallow me Licas, shield me from the Lord. In life no peace: each murmuring that I hear, Mée-thinkes the sentence of damnation sounds, Die reprobate, and hie thee hence to hell. What fiend is this that tempts me to the death? What is my death the harbour of my rest? Then let me die: what second charge is this? Mée-things I hear a voice amidst mine ears, That bids me stay: and tells me that the Lord Is merciful to those that do repent. May I repent? oh thou my doubtful soul? Thou mayst repent, the judge is merciful. Hence tools of wrath, stales of temptation, For I will pray and sigh unto the Lord. In sackcloth will I sigh, and fasting pray: O Lord in rigour look not on my sins.
seed 43: T4 · seed 44: T5 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My soule is buried in the hell of thoughts. Ah Aluida, I looke on thée with shame. My Lords on sodeine fixe their eyes on ground, As if dismayd to looke vpon the heauens. Hence Magi, who haue flattered me in sinne. Horror of minde, disturbance of my soule, Makes me agast, for Niniuies mishap. Lords sée proclaim'd, yea sée it straight proclaim'd, That man and beast, the woman and her childe, For fortie daies in sacke and ashes fast, Perhaps the Lord will yéeld and pittie vs. Beare hence these wretched blandishments of sinne, And bring me sackcloth to attire your King. Away with pompe, my soule is full of woe: In pittie looke on Niniuie, O God. Assaild with shame, with horror ouerborne, To sorrowes sold, all guiltie of our sinne. Come Ladies come, let vs prepare to pray. Ah-lasse, how dare we looke on heauenly light, That haue dispisde the maker of the same? How may we hope for mercie from aboue, That still dispise the warnings from aboue? Woes me, my conscience is a heauie foe. O patron of the poore opprest with sinne, Looke, looke on me, that now for pittie craue, Assaild with shame, with horror ouerborne, To sorrow sold, all guiltie of our sinne. Come Ladies come, let vs prepare to pray. Groning in conscience, burdened with my crimes, The hell of sorrow hauntes me vp and downe. Tread where I list, mée-thinkes the bléeding ghostes Of those whom my corruption brought to noughts, Do serue for stumbling blocks before my steppes. The fatherlesse and widow wrongd by me. The poore oppressed by my vsurie, Mée-thinkes I sée their hands reard vp to heauen, To crie for vengeance of my couetousnesse. Where so I walke, Ile sigh and shunne my way. Thus am I made a monster of the world, Hell gapes for me, heauen will not hold my soule. You mountaines shroude me from the God of truth. Mee-thinkes I sée him sit to iudge the earth. Sée how he blots me out of the booke of life. Oh burthen more then Atna that I beare. Couer me hilles, and shroude me from the Lord. Swallow me Licas, shield me from the Lord. In life no peace: each murmuring that I heare, Mée-thinkes the sentence of damnation soundes, Die reprobate, and hie thée hence to hell. What fiend is this that temptes me to the death? What is my death the harbour of my rest? Then let me die: what second charge is this? Mée-things I heare a voice amidst mine eares, That bids me staie: and tels me that the Lord Is mercifull to those that do repent. May I repent? oh thou my doubtfull soule? Thou maist repent, the Iudge is mercifull. Hence tooles of wrath, stales of temptation, For I will pray and sigh vnto the Lord. In sackcloth will I sigh, and fasting pray: O Lord in rigor looke not on my sinnes.