Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 524 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
My thoughts are fixed in contemplation Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal, That eats her children, should not have eyes & ears. Philosophy maintains that nature's wise, And forms no useless or unperfect thing. Did Nature make the earth, or the earth Nature? For earthly dirt makes all things, makes the man, Moulds me up honour; and like a cunning Dutchman, Paints me a puppet even with seeming breath, And gives a sot appearance of a soul, Go to, go to; thou liest Philosophy. Nature forms things unperfect, useless, vain. Why made she not the earth with eyes and ears? That she might see desert, and hear men's plaints: That when a soul is split, sunk with grief, He might fall thus, upon the breast of earth; And in her ear, halloo his misery: Exclaiming thus. O thou all bearing earth, Which men do gape for, till thou cram'st their mouths, And chok'st their throats with dust: O chaune thy breast, And let me sink into thee. Look who knocks; Andrugio calls. But O, she's deaf and blind. A wretch, but lean relief on earth can find. Sweet Lord, abandon passion, and disarm. Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea, We are rolled up, upon the Venice marsh, Let's clip all fortune, lest more lowering fate More lowering fate? O Lucio, choke that breath. Now I defy chance. Fortune's brow hath frowned, Even to the utmost wrinkle it can bend: Her venom's spit. Alas, what country rests, What son, what comfort that she can deprive? Triumphs not Venice in my overthrow? Gapes not my native country for my blood? Lies not my son tombed in the swelling main? And yet more lowering fate? There's nothing left Unto Andrugio, but Andrugio: And that nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell can take. Fortune my fortunes, not my mind shall shake. Speak like yourself: but give me leave, my Lord, To wish your safety. If you are but seen, Your arms display you; therefore put them off, And take Wouldst thou have me go unarmed among my foes? Being besieged by passion, entering lists, To combat with despair and mighty grief: My soul beleaguered with the crushing strength Of sharp impatience. Ha Lucio, go unarmed? Come soul, resume the valour of thy birth; myself, myself will dare all opposites: I'll muster forces, an unvanquished power: Cornets of horse shall press th'ungrateful earth; This hollow wombed mass shall inly groan, And murmur to sustain the weight of arms: Ghastly amazement, with upstarted hair, Shall hurry on before, and usher us, Whilst trumpets clamour, with a sound of death. Peace, good my Lord, your speech is all too light. Alas, survey your fortunes, look what's left Of all your forces, and your utmost hopes? A weak old man, a Page, and your poor self. Andrugio lives, and a fair cause of arms, Why that's an army all invincible. He who hath that, hath a battalion Royal, armour of proof, huge troops of barbed steeds, Main squares of pikes, millions of harquebus. O, a fair cause stands firm, and will abide. Legions of Angels fight upon her side.
seed 43: T49 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My thoughts are fixt in contemplation Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal, That eates her children, should not haue eyes & ears. Philosophie maintaines that Natur's wise, And formes no vselesse or vnperfect thing. Did Nature make the earth, or the earth Nature? For earthly durt makes all things, makes the man, Moulds me vp honour; and like a cunning Dutchmā, Paints me a puppit euen with seeming breath, And giues a sot appearance of a soule, Goe to, goe to; thou liest Philosophy. Nature formes things vnperfect, vselesse, vaine. Why made she not the earth with eyes and eares? That she might see desert, and heare mens plaints: That when a soule is splitted, sunke with griefe, He might fall thus, vpon the breast of earth; And in her eare, halloo his misery: Exclaming thus. O thou all bearing earth, Which men doe gape for, till thou cramst their mouths, And choakst their throts with dust: O chaune thy brest, And let me sinke into thee. Looke who knocks; Andrugio cals. But O, she's deafe and blinde. A wretch, but leane reliefe on earth can finde. Sweet Lord, abandon passion, and disarme. Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea, We are rowl'd vp, vpon the Venice marsh, Lets clip all fortune, least more lowring fate More lowring fate? O Lucio, choak that breath. Now I defie chaunce. Fortunes browe hath frown'd, Euen to the vtmost wrinkle it can bend: Her venom's spit. Alas, what country rests, What sonne, what comfort that she can depriue? Tryumphes not Venice in my ouerthrow? Gapes not my natiue country for my blood? Lies not my sonne tomb'd in the swelling maine? And yet more lowring fate? There's nothing left Vnto Andrugio, but Andrugio: And that nor mischief, force, distresse, nor hel can take. Fortune my fortunes, not my minde shall shake. Speake like your selfe: but giue me leaue, my Lord, To wish your safetie. If you are but seene, Your armes display you; therefore put them off, And take Would'st thou haue me go vnarm'd among my foes? Being besieg'd by passion, entring lists, To combat with despaire and mightie griefe: My soule beleaguerd with the crushing strength Of sharpe impatience. Ha Lucio, goe vnarm'd? Come soule, resume the valour of thy brith; My selfe, my selfe will dare all opposits: Ile muster forces, an vnuanquisht power: Cornets of horse shall presse th'vngratefull earth; This hollow wombed masse shall inly grone, And murmur to sustaine the waight of armes: Gastly amazement, with vpstarted haire, Shall hurry on before, and vsher vs, Whil'st trumpets clamour, with a sound of death. Peace, good my Lord, your speach is al too light. Alas, suruey your fortunes, looke what's left Of all your forces, and your vtmost hopes? A weake old man, a Page, and your poore selfe. Andrugio liues, and a faire cause of armes, Why that's an armie all inuincible. He who hath that, hath a battalion Royal, armour of proofe, huge troups of barbed steeds, Maine squares of pikes, millions of harguebush. O, a faire cause stands firme, and will abide. Legions of Angels fight vpon her side.