The Wars of Cyrus, King of Persia · chunk 26 of 26
Anonymous · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1594] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Chapel (first) (Oxford's Boys) unassigned nearest T17 Eastern conquest: Persians, Turks and so · 541 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
Mounted aloft his chariot armed with scythes, Beating the strong Egyptians down, A few of his familiar trusty friends, With dreadful race insist his chariot Wheels, While the other in the battle turning back, Abandoned him among the Egyptian pikes, Yet Abradates with the few remained, By force and virtue of his puissant hand, Sends thousand of the heathenish foes to hell, Till at the last dismounted from his seat, And round environed with his enemies, After so many mortal wounds received, He fell and yielded up his kingly ghost. The Egyptians as their barbarous custom is, when he was dead cut off his stout right hand, And left it lying by the breathless corpse. But with a band of Persian men at arms, we rescued him, and brought him to your grace, Here to receive such worthy funerals, As fits the honour of so great a Lord. Now Euphrates whose sad and hollow banks, Have sucked the sum of Abradates blood: which from his wounds did issue with his life, Now cease thy course of thy disdained tears, And let thy courage turn against the tide, Of mere remorse of wretched Panthea's plaints. Is this the hand that plighted faith to me, The hand, that aye hath managed kingly arms, And brought whole troops of mighty warriors down, Now 'scended from the body of my Lord, Clean void of feeling, sense and vital breath, So Gods and cruel destinies command, Malignant of poor Panthea's happiness. Live Cyrus. You Lords of Persia, Command my honour to posterity, That ages hence the world report may make, That Panthea died for Abradates sake. Gone is my Lady peerless Panthea. Slain with self grief for Abradates sake, Nicasia loathes to live when she is gone, The pride and Phoenix of Assyria, I'll not presume to touch the fatal steel, Wherein my lady's sacred blood do smoke, Receive me in thy bowels Euphrates, And let thy bottom be Nicasias grave. O Persians see if any breath remaineth. Cyrus alas all sense of feeling is gone, His senseless limbs with stiffness overgrown, No rubbing warming, aught availeth us, But pale death sits as conqueror over him. Mirror of honour and true Nobility, No age, no time shall ever raze thy fame, Whilst Euphrates doth keep his running stream. What Abradates, and chaste Panthea too, O Abradates worthy man at arms, O Panthea chaste virtuous and amiable, This office Cyrus to your wandering ghost, Reserves in store to grace your funerals, with monuments of fatal Ebony, Of Cedar, Marble, let, and during brass, That future worlds and infants yet unborn, May kiss your tombs wherein your bodies lie, And wonder at the virtues of your mind, Assyrian Lord, such honour thou shalt have, As never had Assyrian at his grave. Six hundred head of cattle shall be slain, And sacrificed upon the funerals day. twelve thousand horses being manned each one, Trapped all in black shall go before thy hearse, The towered battlements of Babylon, Bend in contempt of heaven and earth, and men, Those marks of pride shall be abated down, To make a show of mourning for thy death. Such honour as you both received in life, Such honour shall you both receive in death.
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)
Mounted aloft his chariot armed with ſithes, Beating the ſtrong Egyptians downe, A few of his familiar truſtie friends, With dreadfull race inſiſt his chariot Wheeles, While the other in the battaile turning backe, Abandoned him among the Egyptian pikes, Yet Abradates with the few remained, By force and vertue of his puiſſant hand, Sendes thouſand of the heathniſh foes to hell, Till at the laſt diſmounted from his ſeate, And round enuironed with his enemies, After ſo many mortall wounds receyued, He fell and yeelded vp his kingly ghoſt. The Egyptians as their barbarous cuſtome is, when he was dead cut off his ſtout right hand, And left it lying by the breathleſſe corps. But with a band of Perſian men at armes, we reſcued him, and brought him to your grace, Here to receiue ſuch worthie funerals, As fits the honour of ſo great a Lord. Now Euphrates whoſe ſad and hollow bankes, Haue ſuckt the ſumme of Abradates blood: which from his wounds did iſſue with his life, Now ceaſe thy courſe of thy diſdained teares, And let thy courage turne againſt the tide, Of mere remorſe of wretched Pantheas plaints. Is this the hand that plighted faith to me, The hand, that aye hath managde kingly armes, And brought whole troops of mightie warriors down, Now ſended from the bodie of my Lord, Cleane voide of feeling, ſenſe and vitall breath, So Gods and cruell deſtnies commaund, Malignant of poore Pantheas happineſſe. Liue Cyrus. You Lords of Perſia, Command my honour to poſteritie, That ages hence the world report may make, That Panthea died for Abradates ſake. Gone is my Ladie pearleſſe Panthea. Slaine with ſelfe griefe for Abradates ſake, Nicaſia loathes to liue when ſhe is gone, The pride and Phenix of Aſſyria, Ile not preſume to touch the fatall ſteele, Wherein my Ladies ſacred blood do ſmoake, Receiue me in thy bowels Euphrates, And let thy bottome be Nicaſias graue. O Perſians ſee if any breath remaineth. Cyrus alas all ſenſe of feeling is gone, His ſenſeleſſe lims with ſtiffeneſſe ouergrowne, No rubbing warming, ought auaileth vs, But pale death ſits as conquerour ouer him. Mirrour of honor and true Nobilitie, No age, no time ſhall euer race thy fame, Whileſt Euphrates doth keepe his running ſtreame. What Abradates, and chaſt Panthea too, O Abradates worthie man at armes, O Panthea chaſt vertuous and amiable, This office Cyrus to your wandring ghoſt, Reſerues in ſtore to grace your funerals, with monuments of fatall Elonie, Of Cedar, Marble, let, and during braſſe, That future worlds and infants yet vnborne, May kiſſe your tombes wherein your bodies lie, And wonder at the vertues of your minde, Aſſyrian Lord, ſuch honour thou ſhalt haue, As neuer had Aſſyrian at his graue. Six hundred head of cattell ſhall be ſlaine, And ſacrificed vpon the funerals day. Twelue thouſand horſes being manned each one, Trapt all in blacke ſhall goe before thy hearſe, The towred battlements of Babylon, Bend in contempt of heauen and earth, and men▪ Thoſe markes of pride ſhall be abated downe, To make a ſhew of mourning for thy death. Such honour as you both receyude in life, Such honour ſhall you both receiue in death.