The Wounds of Civil War, or Marius and Scilla · chunk 14 of 38
Lodge, Thomas · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1586-1591] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 525 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
High Ioue himself hath done too much for thee, Else should this blade abate thy royalty. Well young Italian Citizens take heart, He is at hand that will maintain your right: That entering in these fatal gates of Rome, Shall make them tremble that disturb you now. You of Preneste and of Formiae, With other neighbouring Cities in Campania, Prepare to entertain and succour Marius. For him we live, for him we mean to die. Have these Minturnians then so cruelly, Presumed so great injustice 'gainst their friends? I Marius, all our Nobles have decreed To send thy head a present unto Rome. A Tantal's present it will prove my friend, Which with a little smarting stress will end Old Marius' life, when Rome itself at last, Shall rue my loss, and then revenge my death. But tell me jailer, couldst thou be content, In being Marius for to brook this wrong. The high estate your Lordship once did wield, The many friends that fawned when fortune smiled, Your great promotions, and your mighty wealth: These (were I Marius) would amate me so, As loss of them would vex me more than death. Is Lordship then so great a bliss my friend? No title may compare with princely rule. Are friends so faithful pledges of delight? What better comforts than are faithful friends? Is wealth a mean to lengthen lives content? Where great possessions bide, what care can touch? These stales of fortune are the common plagues That still mislead the thoughts of simple men. The shepherd swain that midst his country coat, Deludes his broken slumbers by his toil, Thinks Lordship sweet, where care with lordship dwelled The trustful man that builds on trothless vows, Whose simple thoughts are crossed with scornful nays, Together weeps the loss of wealth and friend: So Lordship, friends, wealth, spring and perish fast, Where death alone yields happy life at last. O gentle governor of my contents, Thou sacred chieftain of our Capitol, Who in thy crystal orbs with glorious gleams, Lendest looks of pity mixed with majesty, See woeful Marius' careful for his son, Careless of lordship, wealth or worldly means, Content to live, yet living still to die: Whose nerves and veins, whose sinews by the sword Must lose their workings through distempering stroke: But yet whose mind in spite of fate and all, Shall live by fame although the body fall. Why mourneth Marius this recureless chance? I pray thee jailer wouldst thou gladly die? If needs, I would. Yet were you loath to try. Why noble Lord, when goods, friends, fortune fail What more than death might woeful man avail? Who calls for death (my friend) for all his scorns, With Aesop's slave will leave his bush of thorns. But since these traitorous Lords will have my head, Their Lordships here upon this homely bed, Shall find me sleeping, breathing forth my breath; Till they their shame, and I my fame attain by death. Live gentle Marius to revenge my wrong, And sirrah see they stay not overlong. For he that erst hath conquered kingdoms many, Disdains in death to be subdued by any.
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)
High Ioue himselfe hath done too much for thee, Els should this blade abate thy royaltie. VVell yong Italian Citizens take hart, He is at hand that will maintaine your right: That entring in these fatall gates of Rome, Shall make them tremble that disturbe you now. You of Preneste and of Formiae, VVith other neighbring Cities in Campania, Prepare to entertaine and succor Marius. For him we liue, for him we meane to die. Haue these Minturnians then so cruelly, Presumd so great iniustice gainst their frends? I Marius, all our Nobles haue decreed To send thy head a present vnto Rome. A Tantals present it will proue my frend, VVhich with a little smarting stresse will end Old Marius life, when Rome it selfe at last, Shall rue my losse, and then reuenge my death. But tell me Iailer, couldst thou be content, In being Marius for to brooke this wrong. The high estate your Lordship once did wield, The manie frends that fawnd when fortune smild, Your great promotions, and your mightie welth: These (were I Marius) would amate me so, As losse of them would vexe me more than death. Is Lordship then so great a blisse my frend? No title may compare with princely rule. Are frends so faithfull pledges of delight? VVhat better comforts than are faithfull frends? Is welth a meane to lengthen liues content? VVhere great possessions bide, what care can tutch? These stales of fortune are the common plagues▪ That still mislead the thoughts of simple men. The shepheard swaine that midst his country cote, Deludes his broken slumbers by his toyle, Thinkes Lordship sweete, where care with lordship dwelt The trustfull man that builds on trothles vowes, VVhose simple thoughts are crost with scornfull nayes, Together weepes the losse of welth and frend: So Lordship, frends, welth, spring and perish fast, VVhere death alone yeelds happie life at last. O gentle gouernor of my contents, Thou sacred chieftaine of our Capitoll, VVho in thy christall orbes with glorious gleame, Lendst lookes of pitie mixt with maiestie, See wofull Marius carefull for his sonne, Carelesse of lordship, welth or worldly meanes, Content to liue, yet liuing still to die: VVhose nerues and veynes, whose sinewes by the sword Must loose their workings through distempering stroake: But yet whose minde in spight of fate and all, Shall liue by fame although the bodie fall. VVhy mourneth Marius this recurelesse chance? I pre thee Iailer wouldst thou gladly die? If needes, I would. Yet were you loath to trie. VVhy noble Lord, when goods, frends, fortune faile VVhat more than death might wofull man auaile? VVho calls for death (my frend) for all his scornes, VVith Aesops slaue will leaue his bush of thornes. But since these traitrous Lords will haue my head, Their Lordships here vpon this homely bed, Shall finde me sleeping, breathing forth my breath; Till they their shame, and I my fame attaine by death. Liue gentle Marius to reuenge my wrong, And sirrha see they stay not ouer-long. For he that earst hath conquered kingdomes many, Disdaines in death to be subdude by anie.