Jonson, Ben · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) · Blackfriars T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.72 · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
LIght, I salute thee; but with wounded nerves: Wishing thy golden splendour, pitchy darkness. What's here? Th'arraignment? I: This, this is it, That our sunk eyes have waked for, all this while: Here will be subject for my Snakes and me. Cling to my neck and wrists my loving Worms; And cast you round, in soft, and amorous folds, Till I do bid, uncurle: Then, break your knots; Shoot out yourselves at length, as your forced stings Would hide themselves within his maliced sides, To whom I shall apply you. Stay: the shine Of this assembly here offends my sight, I'll darken that first, and outface their grace. Wonder not if I stare: These fifteen weeks (So long as since the Plot was but an embryon) Have I, with burning lights, mixed vigilant thoughts, In expectation of this hated Play: To which (at last) I am arrived as Prologue. Nor would I, you should look for other looks, Gesture, or complement from me, than what Th' infected bulk of Envy can afford: For I am risse here with a covetous Hope, To blast your pleasures, and destroy your sports, With wrest, Comments, applications, Spy-like suggestions, privy whisperings, And thousand such promoting sleights as these. Mark, how I will begin: The Scene is, ha? Rome? Rome? and Rome? Crack eystrings, and your balls Drop into earth; let me be ever blind. I am prevented; All my hopes are crossed, Checked, and abated; fie, a freezing sweat Flows forth at all my Pores, my Entrails burn: What should I do? Rome: Rome? O my vexed soul, How might I force this to the present state? Are there no Players here? no Poet-Apes, That come with Basilisks eyes, whose forked tongues Are steeped in venom, as their hearts in gall? Either of these would help me; they could wrest, Pervert, and poison all they hear, or see, With senseless glosses, and allusions. Now if you be good Devils, fly me not. You know what dear, and ample faculties I have endowed you with: I'll lend you more. Here, take my Snakes among you; come, and eat, And while the squeeze device flows in your black jaws, Help me to damn the Author: Spit it forth Upon his lines, and show your rusty teeth At every word, or accent: or else choose Out of my longest vipers, to stick down In your deep throats; and let the heads come forth At your rank mouths; that he may see you armed With triple malice, to hiss, sting, and tear His work, and him: to forge, and then declaim, Traduce, corrupt, apply, inform, suggest; O, these are gifts wherein your souls are blessed. What? do you hide yourselves? will none appear? None answer? What, doth this calm troop affright you? Nay then I do despair: Down, sink again. This travail is all lost with my dead hopes. If in such bosoms, Spite have left to dwell, Envy is not on earth, nor scarce in hell,
seed 43: T1 · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
LIght, I ſalute thee; but with wounded nerues: Wiſhing thy golden ſplendor, pitchy darkneſſe. Whats here? Th'arraignment? I: This, this is it, That our ſunke eyes haue wak't for, all this while: Here will be ſubiect for my Snakes and me. Cling to my necke and wriſts my louing Wormes; And caſt you round, in ſoft, and amorous foulds, Till I doe bid, vncurle: Then, breake your knots; Shoote out your ſelues at length, as your forc't ſtings Would hide them ſelues within his malic't ſides, To whom I ſhall apply you. Stay: the ſhine Of this aſſembly here offends my ſight, Ile darken that firſt, and out-face their grace. Wonder not if I ſtare: Theſe fifteene weekes (So long as ſince the Plot was but an Embrion) Haue I, with burning lights, mixt vigilant thoughts, In expectation of this hated Play: To which (at laſt) I am arriu'd as Prologue. Nor would I, you ſhould looke for other lookes, Geſture, or complement from me, then what Th' infected bulke of Enuie can afford: For I am riſſe here with a couetous Hope, To blaſt your pleaſures, and deſtroy your ſports, With wreſtings, Comments, applications, Spie-like ſuggeſtions, priuy whiſperings, And thouſand ſuch promooting ſleights as theſe. Marke, how I will begin: The Scene is, ha? Rome? Rome? and Rome? Cracke eyſtrings, and your balls Drop into earth; let me be euer blind. I am preuented; All my hopes are croſt, Checkt, and abated; fie, a freezing ſweate Flowes foorth at all my Pores, my Entrailes burne: What ſhould I doe? Rome: Rome? O my vext ſoule, How might I force this to the preſent ſtate? Are there no Players here? no Poet-Apes, That come with Baſiliſkes eyes, whoſe forked tongues Are ſteept in venome, as their harts in gall? Either of theſe would helpe me; they could wreſt, Peruert, and poyſon all they heare, or ſee, With ſenſeleſſe gloſſes, and alluſions. Now if you be good Diuels, fly me not. You know what deare, and ample faculties I haue endowed you with: Ile lend you more. Here, take my Snakes among you; come, and eate, And while the ſqueez diuice flowes in your blacke iawes, Helpe me to damne the Author: Spit it foorth Vpon his lines, and ſhew your ruſtie teeth At euery word, or accent: or elſe chooſe Out of my longeſt vipers, to ſticke downe In your deepe throates; and let the heads come foorth At your ranke mouthes; that he may ſee you armd With triple malice, to hiſſe, ſting, and teare His worke, and him: to forge, and then declame, Traduce, corrupt, apply, enforme, ſuggeſt; O, theſe are gifts wherein your ſoules are bleſt. What? doe you hide your ſelues? will none appeare? None anſwere? What, doth this calme troupe affright you? Nay then I doe deſpaire: Downe, ſinke againe. This trauaile is all loſt with my dead hopes. If in ſuch boſomes, Spight haue left to dwell, Enuie is not on earth, nor ſcarſe in hell,