Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
HEART, wilt not break! & thou abhorred life Wilt thou still breath in my enraged blood? Veins, sinews, arteries, why crack ye not? Burst and divulsed, with anguish of my grief. Can man by no means creep out of himself, And leave the slough of viperous grief behind? Antonio, hast thou seen a fight at sea, As horrid as the hideous day of doom; Betwixt thy father, duke of Genoa, And proud Piero, the Venetian Prince? In which the sea hath swollen with Genoa's blood, And made spring tides with the warm reeking gore, That gushed from out our galleys scupper holes; In which, thy father, poor Andrugio, Lies sunk, or leapt into the arms of chance, Choked with the labouring Ocean's brackish foam; Who even, despite Piero's cankered hate, Would with an armed hand have seized thy love, And linked thee to the beauteous Mellida. Have I outlived the death of all these hopes? Have I felt anguish poured into my heart, Burning like Balsamum in tender wounds; And yet dost live! could not the fretting sea Have rolled me up in wrinkles of his brow? Is death grown coy? or grim confusion nice? That it will not accompany a wretch, But I must needs be cast on Venice shore? And try new fortunes with this strange disguise? To purchase my adored Mellida. Hark how Piero's triumphs beat the air, O rugged mischief how thou grat'st my heart! Take spirit, blood, disguise, be confident: Make a firm stand, here rests the hope of all, Lower than hell, there is no depth to fall. Victorious Fortune, with triumphant hand, Hurleth my glory 'bout this ball of earth, Whilst the Venetian Duke is heaved up On wings of fair success, to overlook The low cast ruins of his enemies, To see myself adored, and Genoa quake, My fate is firmer than mischance can shake. Stand, the ground trembleth. Hah? an earthquake? Oh, I smell a sound. Piero stay, for I descry a fume, Creeping from out the bosom of the deep, The breath of darkness, fatal when 'tis whist In greatness stomach: this same smoke, called pride, Take heed she'll lift thee to improvidence, And break thy neck from steep security, she'll make thee grudge to let Iehoua share In thy successful battles: O, she's ominous, Enticeth princes to devour heaven, Swallow omnipotence, outstare dread fate, Subdue Eternity in giant thought, Heaves up their hurt with swelling, puffed conceit, Till their souls burst with venomed Arrogance: Beware Piero, Rome itself hath tried, confusion's train blows up this Babel pride. Pish, Dimitto superos, summa votorum attigi. Alberto, hast thou yielded up our fixed decree Unto the Genoan Ambassador? Are they content if that their duke return, To send his, and his son Antonio's head, As pledges steeped in blood, to gain their peace? With most obsequious, sleek-browed entertain, They all embrace it as most gracious. Are Proclamations sent through Italy, That whosoever brings Andrugio's head, Or young Antonio's, shall be guerdoned With twenty thousand double Pistolets, And be endeared to Piero's love?
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)
HEART, wilt not break! & thou abhorred life Wilt thou still breath in my enraged bloud? Vaines, synewes, arteries, why crack yee not? Burst and diuul'st, with anguish of my griefe. Can man by no meanes creepe out of himselfe, And leaue the slough of viperous griefe behinde? Antonio, hast thou seene a fight at sea, As horrid as the hideous day of doome; Betwixt thy father, duke of Genoa, And proud Piero, the Venetian Prince? In which the sea hath swolne with Genoas bloud, And made spring tydes with the warme reeking gore, That gusht from out our Gallies scupper holes; In which, thy father, poore Andrugio, Lyes sunk, or leapt into the armes of chaunce, Choakt with the laboring Oceans brackish fome; Who euen, despite Pieros can cred hate, Would with an armed hand haue seiz'd thy loue, And linkt thee to the beautious Mellida. Haue I outliu'd the death of all these hopes? Haue I felt anguish pourd into my heart, Burning like Balsamum in tender wounds; And yet dost liue! could not the fretting sea Haue rowl'd me vp in wrinkles of his browe? Is death growen coy? or grim confusion nice? That it will not accompany a wretch, But I must needs be cast on Venice shoare? And try new fortunes with this strange disguise? To purchase my adored Mellida. Harke how Piero's triumphs beat the ayre, O rugged mischiefe how thou grat'st my heart! Take spirit, blood, disguise, be confident: Make a firme stand, here rests the hope of all, Lower then hell, there is no depth to fall. Victorious Fortune, with tryumphant hand, Hurleth my glory 'bout this ball of earth, Whil'st the Venetian Duke is heaued vp On wings of faire successe, to ouer-looke The low cast ruines of his enemies, To see my selfe ador'd, and Genoa quake, My fate is firmer then mischance can shake. Stand, the ground trembleth. Hah? an earthquake? Oh, I smell a sound. Piero stay, for I descry a fume, Creeping from out the bosome of the deepe, The breath of darkenesse, fatall when 'tis whist In greatnes stomacke: this same smoake, call'd pride, Take heede shee'le lift thee to improuidence, And breake thy necke from steepe securitie, Shee'le make thee grudge to let Iehoua share In thy successefull battailes: O, shee's ominous, Inticeth princes to deuour heauen, Swallow omnipotence, out-stare dread fate, Subdue Eternitie in giant thought, Heaues vp their hurt with swelling, puft conceit, Till their soules burst with venom'd Arrogance: Beware Piero, Rome it selfe hath tried, Confusions traine blowes vp this Babell pride. Pish, Dimitto superos, summa votorum attigi. Alberto, hast thou yeelded vp our fixt decree Vnto the Genoan Embassadour? Are they content if that their duke returne, To send his, and his sonne Antonios head, As pledges steept in bloud, to gaine their peace? With most obsequious, sleek-brow'd intertain, They all embrace it as most gratious. Are Proclamations sent through Italy, That whosoeuer brings Andrugios head, Oryoung Anthonios, shall be guerdoned With twentie thousand double Pistolets, And be indeened to Pieros loue?