The Love of King David and Fair Bathsheba · chunk 1 of 30
Peele, George · published 1599 · first performed or written 1594 [1593-1594] (Annals) biblical play; history · Queen Elizabeth's Men (?) T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation typicality 0.55 · 543 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
OF Israel's sweetest singer now I sing, His holy style and happy victories, Whose Muse was dipped in that inspiring dew, Archangels stilled from the breath of Ioue, Decking her temples with the glorious flowers, Heavens rained on tops of Zion and Mount Sinai, Upon the bosom of his ivory Lute, The Cherubins and Angels laid their breasts, And when his consecrated fingers struck The golden wires of his ravishing harp, He gave alarum to the host of heaven, That winged with lightning, broke the clouds and cast Their crystal armour, at his conquering feet. Of this sweet Poet Ioues Musician, And of bis beauteous son I press to sing. Then help divine Adonay to conduct, Upon the wings of my well tempered verse, The hearers minds above the towers of Heaven, And guide them so in this thrice haughty flight, Their mounting feathers scorch not with the fire, That none can temper but thy holy hand: To thee for succour flies my feeble muse, And at thy feet her iron Pendoth use. HOt sun, cool fire, tempered with sweet air, Black shade, fair nurse, shadow my white hair Shine sun, burn fire, breath air, and ease me, Black shade, fair nurse, shroud me and please me Shadow (my sweet nurse) keep me from burning Make not my glad cause, cause of mourning. Let not my beauty's fire, Inflame unstaid desire, Nor pierce any bright eye, That wandereth lightly. Come gentle Zephire tricked with those perfumes That erst in Eden sweetened Adam's love, And stroke my bosom with the silken fan: This shade (sun proof) is yet no proof for thee, Thy body smother than this waveless spring, And purer than the substance of the same, Can creep through that his lances cannot pierce. Thou and thy sister soft and sacred air, Goddess of life, and governess of health, Keeps every fountain fresh and arbour sweet, No brazen gate, her passage can repulse, Nor bushy thicket, bar thy subtle breath, Then deck thee with thy loose delightsome robes, And on thy wings bring delicate perfumes, To play the wantons with us through the leaves, What tunes, what words, what looks, what wonders pierce My soul, incensed with a sudden fire, What tree, what shade, what spring, what paradise Enjoys the beauty of so fair a dame? Faite Eva placed in perfect happiness, Lending her praise-notes to the liberal heavens, Struck with the accents of archangels tunes, Wrought not more pleasure to her husband's thoughts, Than this fair woman's words and notes to mine. May that sweet plain that bears her pleasant weight, Be still enameled with discoloured flowers, That precious fount, bear sand of purest gold, And for the Pebble, let the silver streams That pierce earth's bowels to maintain the source, Play upon Rubies, sapphires, chrysolites, The brims let be embraced with golden curls Of moss that sleeps with sound the waters make, For joy to feed the fount with their recourse, Let all the grass that beautifies her bower, Bear Manna every morn instead of dew, Or let the dew be sweeter far than that That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill, Or balm which trickled from old Aaron's beard. Cusay, come up and serve thy lord the King.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T5 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
OF Israels sweetest singer now I sing, His holy stile and happie victories, Whose Muse was dipt in that inspiring deaw, Arch-angels stilled from the breath of Ioue, Decking her temples with the glorious flowers, Heauens raind on tops of Syon and Mount Synai, Vpon the bosome of his yuorie Lute, The Cherubins and Angels laid their brests, And when his consecrated fingers strooke The golden wiers of his rauishing harpe, He gaue alarum to the host of heauen, That wing'd with lightning, brake the clouds and cast Their christall armor, at his conquering feet. Of this sweet Poet Ioues Musition, And of bis beauteous sonne I prease to sing. Then helpe deuine Adonay to conduct, Vpon the wings of my well tempered verse, The hearers minds aboue the towers of Heauen, And guide them so in this thrice haughty flight, Their mounting feathers scorch not with the fire, That none can temper but thy holy hand: To thee for succour flies my feeble muse, And at thy feet her yron Pendoth vse. HOt sunne, coole fire, temperd with sweet aire, Black shade, fair nurse, shadow my white haire Shine sun, burne fire, breath aire, and ease mee, Black shade, fair nurse, shroud me and please me Shadow (my sweet nurse) keep me from burning Make not my glad cause, cause of mourning. Let not my beauties fire, Enflame vnstaied desire, Nor pierce any bright eye, That wandreth lightly. Come gentle Zephire trickt with those perfumes That erst in Eden sweetned Adams loue, And stroke my bosome with the silken fan: This shade (sun proofe) is yet no proofe for thee, Thy body smoother then this wauelesse spring, And purer then the substance of the same, Can creepe through that his launces cannot pierse. Thou and thy sister soft and sacred aire, Goddesse of life▪ and gouernesse of health, Keepes euery fountaine fresh and arbor sweet, No brasen gate, her passage can repulse, Nor bushly thicket, bar thy subtle breath, Then decke thee with thy loose delightsome robes, And on thy wings bring delicate perfumes, To play the wantons with vs through the leaues, What tunes, what words, what looks, what wonders pierce My soule, incensed with a suddain fire, What tree, what shade, what spring, what paradise Enioyes the beautie of so faire a dame? Faite Eua plac'd in perfect happinesse, Lending her praise-notes to the liberall heauens, Strooke with the accents of Arch-angels tunes, Wrought not more pleasure to her husbands thoughts, Then this faire womans words and notes to mine. May that sweet plaine that beares her pleasant weight, Be still enameld with discoloured flowers, That precious fount, beare sand of purest gold, And for the Peble, let the siluer streames That pierce earths bowels to mainteine the sorce, Play vpon Rubies, Saphires, Chrisolites, The brims let be imbrac'd with golden curles Of mosse that sleepes with sound the waters make, For ioy to feed the fount with their recourse, Let all the grasse that beautifies her bower, Beare Manna euery morne in steed of dew, Or let the dew be sweeter far then that That hangs like chaines of pearle on Hermon hill, Or balme which trickled from old Arons beard. Cusay, come vp and serue thy lord the King.