A Larum for London, or The Siege of Antwerp · chunk 20 of 25
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1599 [c.1594-1600] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Nothing but this poor miserable life, Which I would gladly were surrendered too. They for that thou hadst, did torture thee, I see that thou hast not: here we'll put A period to thy days. Hang him outright, And so speed all, whose naked indigence, Have not to feed Verdugo for expense. My destiny, was to die this shameful death, Which I accept with thanks to him that gives it, And England now and London both farewell, Let after times of Spanish rigour tell. Thus will I feast myself with Antwerp's spoil, And glut my pining soul with tragic Acts, Say pampered Froe, where is thy treasure hid? Speak truth, or breathe thy last upon this steel, The bloody tempered torment of this town. I'll batter down your pride from whence it came, And with your ornaments adorn vast hell. Spare me Van End I am a harmless woman, Astonished unto death with frighting words, Refrain thy deeds, and let the stronger sort, Be miserable patients of thy wrath Pity prevails not, treasure is the fee, That bribes the terror of my threatening breast; And therefore speak, else hast thou spoke thy last. Within that vault lies all my wretched wealth, My gold my plate, my jewels all are there. Then, there that heap of glory lies for me, Which is the way? That is the cursed way, Go thou accursed into that shade of hell, The Image of that everlasting night, Where thy damned ghost must dwell exempt from light. What stir is here? what discontented rumor Sends second message to my dull struck days, Accustomed to the screeching yell of death? Lady, what grievance? what is there to do? Oh gentle Soldier, heaven hath got me triumph, Over that hellborn fury, damned Van End, That sold the beauty of this famous town: And ravished Antwerp of her Maiden joy. For God's sake let me come plague the dog, I'll stone the Iew to death, and paint this Vault With the unhallowed blood of wicked treason: Here, wear this weighty jewel in thy hat, The town hath sent it for a token slave; I bought this with the goat you gave me sir; soldier's must loathe despised ingratitude. This woman for her ransom sends you this; Give these two unto Charon for your passing. And with this last, present grim Belzebub. So sleep thy soul with princely Lucifer, And take such fare as treason will afford. Come Lady, thus you see good friends must part, Lament not for his loss his time was come, And friends from friends, must either go or run. You see that all is lost, all spoiled and sacked, What think you the best course to get away? Is there no place of strength, nor hope of safety: No hope but death for three days being passed Since the first entered; now being in cold blood, The Spaniard is as hot in execution, As the first hour he entered on the town.
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)
Nothing but this poore miserable life, Which I would gladly were surrendred too. They for that thou hadst, did torture thee, I see that thou hast not: heere wee'll put A period to thy daies. Hang him out-right, And so speed all, whose naked indigence, Haue not to feede Verdugo for expence. My destiny, was to dye this shamefull death, Which I accept with thankes to him that giues it, And England now and London both farewell, Let after times of Spanish rygor tell. Thus will I feast my selfe with Antwerpes spoile, And glut my pyning soule with tragicke Actes, Say pamperd Froe, where is thy treasure hid? Speake truth, or breath thy last vpon this steele, The bloudy temper'd torment of this towne. Ile batter downe your pride from whence it came, And with your ornaments adorne vast hell. Spare me Van End I am a harmeles woman, Astonisht vnto death with frighting wordes, Refraine thy deedes, and let the stronger sort, Be miserable patients of thy wrath Pittie preuailes not, treasure is the fee, That bribes the terror of my threatning brest; And therefore speake, else hast thou spoke thy last. Within that vault lyes all my wretched wealth, My golde my plate, my Iewels all are there. Then, there that heape of glorie lyes for me, Which is the way? That is the cursed way, Goe thou accurst into that shade of hell, The Image of that euerlasting night, Where thy damn'd ghoast must dwel exempt from light. What stirre is heere? what discontented rumor Sendes second message to my dull strucke dayes, Accustom'd to the screeching yell of death? Lady, what grieuance? what is there to doe? Oh gentle Soldier, heauen hath got me triumph, Ouer that hell-borne furie, damn'd Van End, That solde the beautie of this famos towne: And rauisht Antwerpe of her Maiden ioy. For Gods sake let me come plague the dog, Ile stone the Iew to death, and paint this Vault With the vnhallowed bloud of wicked treason: Heere, weare this waightie Iewell in thy hat, The towne hath sent it for a token slaue; I bought this with the goate you gaue me sir; Soldiers must loath despis'd dingratitude. This woman for her ransome sends you this; Giue these two vnto Charon for your passing. And with this last, present grim Belzebub. So sleepe thy soule with princely Lucifer, And take such fare as treason will affoord. Come Lady, thus you see good friends must part, Lament not for his losse his tyme was come, And friendes from friends, must eyther goe or run. You see that all is lost, all spoilde and sackt, What thinke you the best course to get away? Is there no place of strength, nor hope of safetie▪ No hope but death for three daies being past Since the first entred; now being in colde bloud, The Spaniard is as hot in execution, As the first houre he entred on the towne.