The Wounds of Civil War, or Marius and Scilla · chunk 27 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 0.79 · 524 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
My masters, let us follow this clown, for questionless this grave orator is in yonder farm house. But who cometh yonder? I wonder why my peasant stays so long, And with my wonder hasteth on my woe, And with my woe I am assailed with fear, And by my fear await with faintful breath The final period of my pains by death. Yond's the man we seek for (soldiers) unsheath your swords, and make a riddance of Marius' ancient enemy. Master fly, fly, or else you shall die: a plague on this wine hath made me so fine, and will you not be gone, then I'll leave you alone, and sleep upon your woe, with a lamentable heigh ho. Betrayed at last by witless oversight, Now Anthony, prepare thyself to die: Lo where the monstrous ministers of wrath Menace thy murder with their naked swords. Anthonie well met, the Consul Marius with other confederate Senators, have adjudged thee death, therefore prepare thyself, and think we favour thee in this little protraction. Immortal powers that know the painful cares, That weight upon my poor distressed heart, O bend your brows and level all your looks Of dreadful awe upon these daring men. And thou sweet niece of Atlas on whose lips And tender tongue, the pliant Muses sit, Let gentle course of sweet aspiring speech, Let honey flowing terms of weary woe, Let fruitful figures and delightful lines Enforce a spring of pity from their eyes, Amaze the murderous passions of their minds, That they may favour woeful Anthonie. Oh countrymen what shall become of Rome, When reverend duty droopeth through disgrace? Oh Countrymen, what shall become of Rome, When woeful nature widow of her joys, Weeps on our walls to see her laws depressed? Oh Romans hath not Anthony's discourse, Sealed up the Mouths of false seditious men, Assoiled the doubts and quaint controls of power; relieved the mournful matron with his pleas? And will you seek to murder Anthonie? The Lions brook with kindness their relief, The sheep reward the shepherd with their fleece: Yet Romans seek to murder Anthony. Why what enchanting terms of art are these? That force my heart to pity his distress. His action, speech, his favour, and his grace, My rancour rage and rigor doth deface. So sweet his words that now of late me seems His art doth draw my soul from out my lips. What envious eyes reflecting nought but rage, What barbarous heart refreshed with nought but blood, That rends not to behold the senseless trees In doaly season drooping without leaves? The shepherd sighs upon the barren hills To see his bleating lambs with faintful looks. Behold the valleys robbed of springing flowers, That whilom wont to yield them yearly food. even meanest things exchanged from former state, The virtuous mind with some remorse doth mate. Can then your eyes with thundering threats of rage, Cast furious gleams of anger upon age? Can then your hearts with furies mount so high, As they should harm the Roman Anthonie? I far more kind than senseless tree have left A kindly sap to our declining state,
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 masters, let vs follow this clowne, for questionles this graue orator is in yonder farme house. But who commeth yonder? I wonder why my peasant staies so long, And with my wonder hasteth on my woe, And with my woe I am assaild with feare, And by my feare await with faintful breath The final period of my paines by death. Yonds the man we seeke for (souldiers) vnsheath your swords, and make a riddance of Marius ancient enemie. Master flie, flie, or els you shall die: a plague on this wine hath made me so fine, and will you not be gone, then Ile leaue you alone, and sleepe vpon your woe, with a lamentable heigh ho. Betraid at last by witles ouersight, Now Anthony, prepare thy selfe to die: Loe where the monstrous ministers of wrath Menace thy murther with their naked swords. Anthonie well met, the Consull Marius with other confederate Senators, haue adiudged thee death, therfore prepare thy selfe, and thinke we fauor thee in this little protraction. Immortall powers that know the painefull cares, That waight vpon my poore distressed hart, O bend your browes and leuill all your lookes Of dreadfull awe vpon these daring men. And thou sweet neece of Atlas on whose lips And tender tongue, the pliant Muses sit, Let gentle course of sweet aspiring speech, Let honnie flowing tearmes of wearie woe, Let frutefull figures and delightfull lines Enforce a spring of pitie from their eyes, Amase the murthrous passions of their mindes, That they may fauour wofull Anthonie. Oh countrimen what shal become of Rome, VVhen reuerend dutie droopeth through disgrace? Oh Countrimen, what shal become of Rome, VVhen woful nature widdow of her ioyes, VVeepes on our wals to see her lawes deprest? Oh Romaines hath not Anthonies discourse, Seald vp the Mouthes of false seditious men, Assoild the doubts and queint controlls of powre; Releeud the mournfull matrone with his pleas? And will you seeke to murder Anthonie? The Lions brooke with kindnes their releefe, The sheep reward the shepheard with their fleece: Yet Romanes seeke to murder Anthony. Why what enchanting termes of arte are these? That force my hart to pitie his distresse. His action, speech, his fauor, and his grace, My rancor rage and rigor doth deface. So sweet his words that now of late me seemes His art doth draw my soule from out my lips. VVhat enuious eies reflecting nought but rage, VVhat barbarous hart refresht with nought but blood, That rents not to behold the sensles trees In doaly season drooping without leaues? The shepheard sighs vpon the barrain hills To see his bleating lambs with faintfull lookes. Behold the vallies robd of springing flowres, That whilom wont to yeeld them yerely food. Euen meanest things exchangd from former state, The vertuous minde with some remorse doth mate. Can then your eyes with thundering threats of rage, Cast furious gleames of anger vpon age? Can then your harts with furies mount so hie, As they should harme the Romane Anthonie? I farre more kinde than sensles tree haue let A kindly ap to our declining ,