A Larum for London, or The Siege of Antwerp · chunk 16 of 25
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1599 [c.1594-1600] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Give him the strappado; we will Out of your disjointed limbs other sums. The world doth know, my conscience and just heaven, That there is all (at this time) I possess. Save what is thrown into some hollow vault, Or sunk into some Well; or buried deep Within the earth: so hoist the peasant up, Now let him down; will ye confess as yet, Where we may find the treasure you have hid? That which (my Lord) is not, cannot be hid, And to say that I know not, will but wrong Your expectation, and deceive myself. Let him rest my Lord, it seems the wretch Argues the troth, and this is all he hath. Hence greedy beggar, hark (peeled sheep) Go hide thee in some bush, till waxing hours Give thee another fleece to clothe thee with. Yonder ariseth the bright morning Star. Whose rich resplendour gilds my happy thoughts, And opens mines of treasure to my soul; Welcome fair sweet, mine arms shall be thy throne, Where seated once, mock death, and laugh to scorn, The boisterous threats, of blood besprinkled war, Who whilst he shows wild Frisco's in the streets, And with his gambols, overthrows huge buildings, Mingle their tottered ruins, with the limbs And Clotted blood of many thousand souls: Shall as an Antic in thy sight appear, Yielding no more occasion to be feared, Than painted shapes of lions on a wall. Behold a Virgin, whose distilling tears Turn the dry dust to paste, where she doth kneel, Behold the Silver cognisance of age, Soiled with dissolving drops of sorrows rage: If me you touch with a lascivious hand, As from his eyes descends a flood of tears; So will you draw a river from his heart, Of his life's blood; both ways you shall obscure, The honour of your name: if Virgin I, Or aged he, misdo by tyranny. Let conquest satisfy, since in the strength Of your successful power, our City vails, And lies in prostrate duty at your feet: Or if not conquest, be appeased with gold, Which in abundance pleads for our release, Only refrain, our conscience to wound, With that, for which there is no physic found. I am impatient, she shall be my love, Of all the spoils are reaped by painful war, Blot beauty out, and what's our victory? But as a banquet without company. Arm you my Lord, and to the fight again, A crew of straggling Soldiers (lately vanquished) Have gathered head, and in the heat of rage, Give fresh assault: the leader to the rest, Is a lame fellow that doth want a leg, Who lays about him like a devil of hell. A troup of musket's guard this damsel hence, And to my lodging see her safely brought, Why stir ye not? environ her with shot, Whilst we extinguish (with a shower of blood) This late enkindled fire: be gone I say.
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)
Giue him the strippado; Out of your disioynted limmes other summes. The world doth know, my conscience and iust heauen, That there is all (at this time) I possesse. Saue what is throwne into some hollow vault, Or sunke into some Well; or buried deepe Within the earth: so hoise the peasant vp, Now let him downe; will ye confesse as yet, Where we may finde the treasure you haue hid? That which (my Lord) is not, cannot be hid, And to say that I know not, will but wrong Your expectation, and deceiue my selfe. Let him rest my Lord, it seemes the wretch Argues the troth, and this is all he hath. Hence greedy begger, harke (peeld sheepe) Goe hide thee in some bush, till waxing houres Giue thee another fleece to cloath thee with. Yonder ariseth the bright morning Starre. Whose rich resplendour gildes my happy thoughts, And opens mynes of treasure to my soule; Welcome faire sweet, mine armes shall be thy throane, Where seated once, mocke death, and laugh to scorne, The boysterous threates, of bloud be-sprinckled warre, Who whilst he shewes wilde Friscoes in the streetes, And with his Gamballes, ouerthrowes huge buildings, Mingle their totter'd ruynes, with the limmes And Clotted bloud of many thousand soules: Shall as an Anticke in thy sight appeare, Yeelding no more occasion to be fear'd, Than painted shapes of Lyons on a wall. Beholde a Virgin, whose distilling teares Turne the drye dust to paste, where she doth kneele, Beholde the Siluer cognisance of age, Soyl'd with dissoluing drops of sorrows rage: If me you touch with a lasciuious hand, As from his eyes descendes a floud of teares; So will you draw a riuer from his heart, Of his lifes bloud; both waies you shall obscure, The honor of your name: if Virgin I, Or aged he, misdoe by tyranie. Let conquest satisfie, since in the strength Of your succes-full power, our Cittie vailes, And lyes in prostrate duetie at your feete: Or if not conquest, be appeas'd with golde, Which in aboundance pleades for our release, Onely refraine, our conscience to wound, With that, for which there is no phisicke found. I am impatient, she shall be my loue, Of all the spoiles are reapt by painefull warre, Blot beautie out, and what's our victorie? But as a banquet without companie. Arme you my Lord, and to the fight againe, A crew of stragling Soldiers (lately vanquisht) Haue gathered head, and in the heate of rage, Giue fresh assault: the leader to the rest, Is a lame fellow that doth want a legge, Who layes about him like a deuill of hell. A troope of Muskets guarde this damsell hence, And to my lodging see her safely brought, Why stirre yee not? inuiron her with shot, Whilst we extinguish (with a shewer of bloud) This late inkindled fire: be gone I say.