The Wounds of Civil War, or Marius and Scilla · chunk 18 of 38
Lodge, Thomas · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1586-1591] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 549 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Fie foolish men, why fly you happiness, Desire you still to lead a servile life. Dare you not buy delights with little pains. Well, for thy father's sake Arcathius, I will prefer thy triumphs with the rest. Go take them hence, and when we meet in hell, Then tell me Princes if I did not well. Lucullus, thus these mighty foes are down, Now strive thou for the king of Pontus' crown. I will to Rome, go thou, and with thy train, Pursue Mithridates till he be slain. With fortune's help, go calm thy country's woes Whilst I with these seek out our mighty foes. Thou that hast walked with troops of flocking friends, Now wanderest midst the labyrinth of woes, Thy best repast with many sighing ends, And none but fortune all these mischiefs knows. Like to these stretching mountains clad with snow, No sunshine of content my thoughts approacheth: High spire their tops, my hopes no height do know, But mount so high as time their tract reproacheth: They find their spring, where winter wrongs my mind: They weep their brooks, I waste my cheeks with tears. Oh foolish fate, too froward and unkind, Mountains have peace, where mournful be my years: Yet high as they my thoughts some hopes would borrow, But when I count the evening end with sorrow. Death in Minturnum threatened Marius' head, Hunger in these Numidian mountains dwells: Thus with prevention having mischief fled, Old Marius finds a world of many hells. Such as poor simple wits have oft repined, But I will quell by virtues of the mind. Long years misspent in many luckless chances, Thoughts full of wrath, yet little worth succeeding, These are the means for those whom fate advances: But I, whose wounds are fresh, my heart still bleeding, Lives to entreat this blessed boon from fate, That I might die with grief to live in state. six hundredth sons with solitary walks, I still have sought for to delude my pain, And friendly Echo answering to my talks, Rebounds the accent of my ruth again: She (courteous Nymph) the woeful Roman pleaseth, Else no consorts but beasts my pains appeaseth. Each day she answers, in yond neighbouring mountain, I do expect reporting of my sorrow, Whilst lifting up her locks from out the fountain, She answereth to my questions even and morrow: Whose sweet rebounds my sorrows to remove, To please my thoughts I mean for to approve. Sweet Nymph draw near thou kind & gentle Echo. Echo. What help to ease my weary pains have I? I. What comfort in distress to calm my griefs? griefs. Sweet Nymph these griefs are grown before I thought so? I thought so. Thus Marius lives disdained of all the Gods. Oads. With deep despair late overtaken wholly. Oly. And will the heavens be never well appeased? appeased. What mean have they left me to cure my smart? art. Nought better fits old Marius' mind then war, than war. Then full of hope say Echo, shall I go? go. Is any better fortune than at hand, at hand. Then farewell Echo, gentle Nymph farewell. farewell. Oh pleasing folly to a pensive man. Well I will rest fast by this shady tree. Waiting the end that fate alotteth me. sit down.
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)
Fie foolish men, why flie you happines, Desire you still to lead a seruile life. Dare you not buy delights with little paines. VVell, for thy fathers sake Arcathius, I will preferre thy triumphs with the rest. Goe take them hence, and when we meete in hell, Then tell me Princes if I did not well. Lucullus, thus these mightie foes are downe, Now striue thou for the king of Pontus crowne. I will to Rome, goe thou, and with thy traine, Pursue Mithridates till he be slaine. VVith fortunes help, go calme thy countries woes VVhilst I with these seeke out our mightie foes. Thou that hast walkt with troops of flocking frends, Now wandrest midst the laborynth of woes, Thy best repast with manie sighing ends, And none but fortune all these mischiefes knowes. Like to these stretching mountaines clad with snow, No sun-shine of content my thoughts approcheth: High spyre their tops, my hopes no height do know, But mount so high as time their tract reprocheth: They finde their spring, where winter wrongs my minde: They weepe their brookes, I wast my cheekes with teares. Oh foolish fate, too froward and vnkinde, Mountaines haue peace, where mournfull be my yeres: Yet high as they my thoughts some hopes would borrow, But when I count the euening end with sorrow. Death in Minturnum threatned Marius head, Hunger in these Numidian mountaines dwells: Thus with preuention hauing mischiefe fled, Old Marius findes a world of manie hells. Such as poore simple wits haue oft repinde, But I will quell by vertues of the minde. Long yeres misspent in manie luckles chances, Thoughts full of wroth, yet little worth succeeding, These are the meanes for those whom fate aduances: But I, whose wounds are fresh, my hart still bleeding, Liues to intreate this blessed boone from fate, That I might die with griefe to liue in state. Sixe hundreth sonnes with solitarie walkes, I still haue sought for to delude my paine, And frendly Eccho answering to my talkes, Rebounds the accent of my ruth againe: She (curteous Nymph) the wofull Romane pleaseth, Els no consorts but beasts my paines appeaseth. Each day she answeres, in yond neighbring mountaine, I doo expect reporting of my sorrow, Whilst lifting vp her lockes from out the fountaine, She answereth to my questions euen and morrow: Whose sweete rebounds my sorrowes to remoue, To please my thoughts I meane for to approue. Sweet Nymph draw nere thou kind & gentle Eccho. Eccho. VVhat help to ease my wearie paines haue I? I. VVhat comfort in distres to calme my griefes? griefes. Sweet Nymph these griefes are growne before I thought so? I thought so. Thus Marius liues disdaind of all the Gods. Oads. VVith deepe dispaire late ouertaken wholy. Oly. And wil the heavns be neuer wel appeased? appeased. VVhat meane haue they left me to cure my smart? art. Nought better fits old Marius mind then war, then war. Then full of hope say Eccho, shall I goe? goe. Is anie better fortune then at hand, at hand. Then farewell Eccho, gentle Nymph farewel. farewell. Oh pleasing folly to a pensiue man. VVell I will rest fast by this shadie tree. VVaiting the end that fte allotteth mee. sit downe.