Dekker, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [Nov 9-30, payment] (Annals) romance · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men · before the Court unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
The day grows old, & what remains unspent, Shall be consumed in banquets, Agrippine, Leave us a while, if Andelocia please, Go bear our beauteous daughter company. Fortune I thank thee: now thou smil'st on me. This Cipriot bears a gallant princely mind. My Lord, of what birth is your countryman? Think not, sweet Prince, that I propound this question, To wrong you in your love to Agrippine: Our favours grace him to another end. Nor let the wings of your affection droop, Because she seems to shun loves gentle lure. Believe it on our word, her beauty's prize Only shall yield a conquest to your eyes. But tell me what's this Fortunatus' son? Of honourable blood, and more renowned In foreign kingdoms (whither his proud spirit, Plumed with ambitious feathers, carries him) Then in his native Country. but last day, The father and the sons were through their riots, Poor and disdained of all, but now they glister, More bright than Midas: if some damned fiend Fed not his bags, this golden pride would end. His pride we'll somewhat tame, & curb the head Of his rebellious prodigality: He hath invited us, and all our Peers, To feast with him tomorrow, his provision, I understand may entertain three kings. But Lincoln, let our Subjects secretly Be charged on pain of life that not a man Sell any kind of Fuel to his servants. This policy shall clip his golden wings, And teach his pride what 'tis to strive with kings. Withdraw a while: None filled his hands with Gold, for we set spies, To watch who fed his prodigality: He hung the Marble bosom of our Court, As thick with glistering Spangles of pure gold, As ere the spring hath stuck the earth with flowers. Unless he melt himself to liquid gold, Or be some God, some devil, or can transport A mint about him, (by enchanted power) He cannot rain such showers: with his own hands He threw more wealth abroad in every street, Then could be thrust into a Chariot: he's a Magician sure, and to some fiend, His soul (by infernal covenants) has he sold, Always to swim up to the chin in gold. Be what he can be, if those doting fires, Wherein he burns for Agrippina's love, Want power to melt from him this endless Mine, Then (like a slave) we'll chain him in our Tower, Where tortures shall compel his sweating hands To cast rich heaps into our treasury. I have found the sacred spring that never ebbs. Leave us: But i'll not show't your majesty, Till you have sworn by England's royal crown, To let me keep it. By my Crown I swear, None but fair Agrippine the gem shall wear. Then is this mine: see, Father, here's the fire, Whose gilded beams still burn, this is the Sun, That ever shines, the tree that never dies, Here grows the Garden of Hesperides, The outside mocks you, makes you think 'tis poor, But entering it, you find eternal store.
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)
The day growes old, & what remaines vnspent, Shall be consum'd in banquets, Agripyne, Leaue vs a while, if Andelocia please, Goe beare our beautious daughter companie. Fortune I thanke thée: now thou smil'st on me. This Cipriot beares a gallāt princely mind. My Lord, of what birth is your country-man? Thinke not, swéete Prince, that I propound this question, To wrong you in your loue to Agripyne: Our fauours grace him to an other end. Nor let the wings of your affection droope, Because shée séemes to shun loues gentle lure. Belieue it on our word, her beauties prize Onely shall yéeld a conquest to your eyes. But tell me whats this Fortunatus sonne? Of honourable bloud, and more renownd In forreine kingdomes (whither his proud spirit, Plum'd with ambitious fethers, caries him) Then in his natiue Countrie. but last day, The father and the sonnes were through their riots, Poore and disdainde of all, but now they glister, More bright than Midas: if some damned fiend Fed not his bags, this golden pride would end. His pride wéele somewhat tame, & curb the head Of his rebellious prodigalitie: He hath inuited vs, and all our Péeres, To feast with him tomorrow, his prouision, I vnderstand may entertaine thrée kings. But Lincolne, let our Subiects secretly Be chargde on paine of life that not a man Sell any kind of Fewell to his seruants. This pollicy shall clip his golden wings, And teach his pride what tis to striue with kings. Withdraw a while: None fild his hands with Gold, for we set spies, To watch who fed his prodigalitie: He hung the Marble bosome of our Court, As thicke with glistring Spangles of pure gold, As ere the spring hath slucke the earth with flowers. Unlesse he melt himselfe to liquid gold, Or be some God, some diuell, or can transport A mint about him, (by inchanted power) He cannot raine such shewers: with his owne hands He threw more wealth abroad in euery stréete, Then could be thrust into a Chariot: Hées a Magician sure, and to some fiend, His soule (by infernall couenants) has he sold, Alwaies to swimme vp to the chin in gold. Be what he can be, if those doting fires, Wherein he burnes for Agripinaes loue, Want power to melt from him this endlesse Myne, Then (like a slaue) wéele chaine him in our Tower, Where tortures shall compell his sweating hands To cast rich heapes into our treasorie. I haue found the sacred spring that neuer ebs. Leaue vs: But ile not shew't your maiestie, Till you haue sworne by Englands royall crowne, To let me kéepe it. By my Crowne I sweare, None but faire Agripyne the Iem shall weare. Then is this mine: sée, Father, here's the fire, Whose gilded beames still burne, this is the Sunne, That euer shines, the tree that neuer dies, Here growes the Garden of Hesperides, The out-side mockes you, makes you thinke tis poore, But entring it, you find eternall store.