The Wounds of Civil War, or Marius and Scilla · chunk 19 of 38
Lodge, Thomas · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1586-1591] (Annals) tragedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.89 · 528 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
My countrymen and favourites of Rome, This melancholy desert where we meet, Resembleth well young Marius restless thoughts. Here dreadful silence, solitary caves, No chirping birds with solace singing sweetly, Are harboured for delight: but from the oak Leafless and sapless through decaying age, The screech-owl chants her fatal boding lays. Within my breast, care, danger, sorrow dwells, Hope and revenge sit hammering in my heart, The baleful babes of angry Nemesis Disperse their furious fires upon my soul. Fie Marius, are you discontented still, whenas occasion favoureth your desire? Are not these noble Romans come from Rome? Hath not the state recalled your father home? And what of this, what profit may I reap, That want my father to conduct us home. My Lord, take heart, no doubt this stormy flaw That Neptune sent to cast us on this shore. Shall end these discontentments at the last. Whom see mine eyes, what is not yond my son? what solitary father walketh there? It is my son, these are my friends I see: what have forepining cares, so changed me? Or are my looks; distempered through the pains And agonies that issue from my heart? Fie Marius, frolic man, thou must to Rome, There to revenge thy wrongs and weight thy tomb. Now fortune frown, & palter if thou please, Romans behold my father and your friend. Oh father. Marius thou art fitly met: Albinovanus and my other friends, What news at Rome? what fortune brought you hither? My Lord, the Consul Cinna hath restored The doubtful course of your betrayed state, And waits you present swift approach to Rome, Your foe man Sulla posteth very fast, With good success from Pontus to prevent Your speedy entrance into Italy. The neighbouring Cities are your very friends, Nought rests my Lord, but you depart from hence. How many desert ways hath Marius sought, How many Cities have I visited, To find my father, and relieve his wants? My son, I quite thy travels with my love, And Lords and Citizens we will to Rome, And join with Cinna have your shipping here? What are these soldiers bent to die with me? Content to pledge our lives for Marius. My Lord, here in the next adjoining port, Our ships are rigged and ready for to sail. Then let us sail unto Hetruria, And cause our friends the Germans to revolt, And get some Tuscans to increase our power. Deserts farewell come Romans let us go, A scourge for Rome that hath depressed us so, WHat helps my Lords to overhaul these cares? What means or motions may these mischief end? You see how Cinna that should succour Rome, Hath levied arms to bring a traitor in. O worthless traitor, woe to thine and thee, That thus disquieteth both Rome and us. Octavius these are scourges for our sins, These are but ministers to heap our plagues: These mutinies are gentle means and ways, Whereby the heavens our heavy errors charms, Then with content and humbled eyes, behold The crystal shining globe of glorious Ioue: And since we perish through our own misdeeds, Go let us flourish in our fruitful prayers.
seed 43: T1 · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My countrimen and fauorites of Rome, This melancholy desart where we meete, Resembleth well yong Marius restles thoughts. Here dreadfull silence, solitarie caues, No chirping birds with solace singing sweetlie, Are harbored for delight: but from the oake Leaueles and saples through decaying age, The sctch-owle chants her fatall boding layes. VVithin my brest, care, danger, sorrow dwells, Hope and reuenge sit hammering in my hart, The balefull babes of angrie Nemesis Dispearse their furious fires vpon my soule. Fie Marius, are you discontented still, VVhen as occasion fauoreth your desire? Are not these noble Romanes come from Rome? Hath not the state recald your father home? And what of this, what profit may I reape, That want my father to conduct vs home. My Lord, take hart, no doubt this stormie slawe That Neptune sent to cast vs on this shore. Shall end these discontentments at the last. VVhom see mine eyes, what is not yon my son? vvhat solitarie father walketh there? It is my sonne, these are my frends I see: vvhat haue forepining cares, so changed mee? Or are my lookes; distempred through the paines And agonies that issue from my hart? Fie Marius, frolicke man, thou must to Rome, There to reuenge thy wrongs and waight thy tombe. Now fortune frowne, & palter if thou please, Romanes behold my father and your frend. Oh father. Marius thou art fitly met: Albinouanus and my other frends, VVhat newes at Rome? what fortune brought you hither? My Lord, the Consull Cynna hath restord The doubtfull course of your betrayed state, And waits you prresent swift approch to Rome, Your foe man Scilla poasteth verie fast, VVith good successe from Pontus to preuent Your speedie entrance into Italy. The neighbring Cities are your verie frends, Nought rests my Lord, but you depart from hence. How manie desart waies hath Marius sought, How manie Cities haue I visited, To finde my father, and releeue his wants? My sonne, I quite thy trauells with my loue, And Lords and Citizens we will to Rome, And ioyne with Cynna haue your shipping here? VVhat are these souldiers bent to die with mee? Content to pledge our liues for Marius. My Lord, here in the next adioyning port, Our ships are rigd and readie for to saile. Then let vs saile vnto Hetruria, And cause our frends the Germanes to reuolt, And get some Tuscans to increase our power. Deserts farewell come Romanes let vs goe, A scourge for Rome that hath deprest vs so, WHat helpes my Lords to ouerhale these care? What meanes or motions may these mischiefe end? You see how Cynna that should succor Rome, Hath leuied armes to bring a traitor in. O worthlesse traitor, woe to thine and thee, That thus disquieteth both Rome and vs. Octauius these are scourges for our sinnes, These are but ministers to heape our plagues: These mutinies are gentle meanes and waies, VVhereby the heavns our heauie errors charmes, Then with content and humbled eyes, behold The christall shining globe of glorious Ioue: And since we perish through our owne misdeedes, Go let vs flourish in our frutefull praiers.