Dekker, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [Nov 9-30, payment] (Annals) romance · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men · before the Court T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions typicality 0.80 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
Thou art no son of Fortune, but her slave: Thy Cedar hath aspired to his full height. Thy Sun like glory hath advanced herself Into the top of pride's Meridian, And down amain it comes. From beggary I plumed thee like an Ostrich, like that Ostrich Thou hast eaten Metals, and abused my gifts, Hast played the Ruffian, wasted that in riots, Which as a blessing I bestowed on thee. Forgive me, I will be more provident. No, endless follies follow endless wealth. Thou hadst thy fancy, I must have thy fate, Which is, to die when th' art most fortunate. This inky thread thy ugly sins have spun, Black life, black death: faster that it were done. Oh, let me live, but till I can redeem. The destinies deny thee longer life. I am but now lifted to happiness. And now take I must pride to cast thee down. Hadst thou chosen wisdom, this black had been white, And deaths stern brow could not thy soul affright. Take this again; give wisdom to my sons. No, fool, 'tis now too late; as death strikes thee, So shall their ends sudden and wretched be. Ioves daughters (righteous destinies) make haste, His life hath wasteful been, and let it waste. Why the pox dost thou sweat so? For anger to see any of God's Creatures have such filthy faces as these sempsters had that went hence. sempsters? why, you ass, they are destinies. Indeed, if it be ones destiny to have a filthy face, I know no remedy but to go masked and cry, Woe worth the Fates. Why droops my father? these are only shadows, Razed by the malice of some enemy, To fright your life, o'er which they have no power. Shadows? I defy their kindred. O Ampedo, I faint; help me, my sons. Shadow, I pray thee run and call more help. If that desperate Don Dego death hath ta'en up the Cudgels once, here's never a Fencer in Cyprus dare take my old master's part. Run, villain, call more help. Bid him thank the destinies for this. Let him shrink down, & die between your arms, Help comes in vain. No hand can conquer Fate, This instant is the last of my life's date. This Goddess (if at least she be a goddess) Names herself Fortune: wandering in a wood, Half famished, her I met. I have, quoth she, six gifts to spend upon mortality, Wisdom, strength health, beauty, long life and riches, Out of my bounty one of these is thine. What benefit did from your choice arise? Listen, my sons: In this small compass lies, Infinite treasure: this she gave to me, And gave to this, this virtue, Take (quoth she) So often as from hence thou drawst thy hand, Ten golden pieces of that kingdoms coin, Where ere thou liv'st, which plenteous sure shall last, After thy death, till thy sons lives do waste.
seed 43: T13 · seed 44: T16 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thou art no sonnne of Fortune, but her slave: Thy Cedar hath aspir'd to his full height. Thy Sunne like glorie hath advaunc'd herselfe Into the top of prides Meridian, And downe amaine it comes. From beggerie I plum'd thee like an Estrich, like that Estrich Thou hast eaten Metals, and abusde my giftes, Hast plaid the Ruffian, wasted that in ryots, Which as a blessing I bestowed on thee. Forgive me, I will be more provident. No, endlesse follies follow endlesse wealth. Thou hadst thy fancie, I must have thy fate, Which is, to die when th' art most fortunate. This inckie thread thy ugly sinnes have spun, Black life, black death: faster that it were don. Oh, let me live, but till I can redeeme. The destinies denie thee longer life. I am but now lifted to happiness. And now take I must pride to cast thee downe. Hadst thou chosen wisedome, this blacke had been white, And deaths sterne browe could not thy soul afright. Take this againe; give wisedome to my sonnes. No, foole, 'tis now too late; as death strikes thee, So shall their ends sudden and wxetched bee. Ioves daughters (righteous destinies) make haste, His life hath wastefull beene, and let it waste. Why the pox doest thou sweat so? For anger to see any of Gods Creatures have such filthie faces as these Semsters had that went hence. Semsters? why, you asse, they are destinies. Indeede, if it be ones destinie to have a filthie face, I know no remedie but to goe maskt and crie, Woe worth the Fates. Why droopes my father? these are onely shadowes, Raiz'd by the malice of some enemie, To fright your life, o're which they have no power. Shaddowes? I defie their kinred. O Ampedo, I faint▪ helpe me, my sonnes. Shaddow, I pray thee runne and call more helpe. If that desperate Don Dego death hath tane vp the Cudgels once, heres neuer a Fencer in Cyprus dare take my old masters part. Runne, villaine, call more helpe. Bid him thanke the destinies for this. Let him shrincke downe, & die betweene your armes, Helpe comes in vaine. No hand can conquer Fate, This instant is the last of my lifes date. This Goddesse (if at least shee be a goddesse) Names her selfe Fortune: wandring in a wood, Halfe famisht, her I met. I haue, quoth shee, Sixe gifts to spend vpon mortalitie, Wisedome, strength health, beautie, long life and riches, Out of my bountie one of these is thine. What benefit did from your choyce arise? Listen, my sonnes: In this small compasse lies, Infinite treasure: this shee gaue to mee, And gaue to this, this vertue, Take (quoth shee) So often as from hence thou drawst thy hand, Ten golden peeces of that kingdomes coyne, Where er'e thou liu'st, which plenteous sure shall last, After thy death, till thy sonnes liues doe waste.