A Larum for London, or The Siege of Antwerp · chunk 24 of 25
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1599 [c.1594-1600] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
Guts, trouble me no more. The Lord preserve you sir, Surely you seem an honest Gentleman. Wilt thou leave off thy prating and be gone? With all my heart sir, and I thank you too. How like Leviathan, his clumsy limbs Walk not but tumble, that sad common wealth, nurseth such Drones to suck her honey up, In time of need shall find as small supply, As he hath been to Antwerp's wretchedness: But valiant Soldier, what is now to do? What, but to hunt the footsteps of pale death, Until we rouse him in his sooty cave, There, will no prospect of our Countries fall, Offend our eyesight; there no treachery Of haughty Spaniards tread a bloody March; Nor any base objection of ingrate, And thankless Citizens sit in our doors: But we shall quietly enjoy the peace, For which we breathe; there shall we be secure, There free from thought of this world's misery, And there indeed find true felicity: For there our travel shall be recompensed, Our love requited, and our wounds repaid With double merit. Haste then unto the place, Upon the earth is nothing but disgrace. I fly with thee true honourable mind, And we together will that Mansion find. See Captain, now I have it on my breast, The Honourable cognisance of death, This purple river, from this weeping fount, More glads and quickens my decayed spirit, Than ever christ all spring in heat of Summer: The weary traveler, his strength revives, To draw out tedious hours still on earth, But mine doth flourish to possess, anon The blessed haven of eternity. I trust I shall be there with as much speed, My passport (I do think) the Spaniards Has sealed as deeply, and my journey laid With no less easy travel to be there. See, if thy bleeding wounds can speak to me, Mine can as fast make answer unto thine. Let me embrace this sweet affinity, Like in our lives agreeing in our deaths: But what do I behold? thine eyelids faint, And the warm touch of thy desired cheek, Begins to freeze; wilt thou anticipate Those joys before me? gentle Captain slay, There's but a minute that divides our hopes: Oh he is dead, may his departing soul, Usher my spirit above those fleeting clouds: Death, why delayest thou? set thy lazy hand To the divorcement of my loathed flesh. I am prepared, my penitent sad thoughts, Have long ago washed my contagious sin: The blood that I have spilled (the Massacres Procured and practised by this hand of mine) Heaven lay not to my charge; for though my sword Was never drawn but in a rightful cause, Yet much misprision hath attended it; That, and all else, this sigh craves pardon for, Mine eyes were near accustomed to tears, Let it suffice, these wounds do weep for them: Antwerp farewell, if thou have done me wrong, This latest gasp, sends pardon from my tongue.
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)
Guts, trouble me no more. The Lord preserue you sir, Surely you seeme an honest Gentleman. Wilt thou leaue off thy prating and be gone? With all my heart sir, and I thanke you too. How like Leuiathan, his clumsie limbes Walke not but tumble, that sad common wealth, Nourceth such Droanes to sucke her honny vp, In time of need shall finde as small supply, As he hath been to Antwerpes wretchednes: But valliant Soldier, what is now to doe? What, but to hunt the foote-steps of pale death, Vntill we rouze him in his sooty caue, There, will no prospect of our Countries fall, Offend our eye-sight; there no treacherie Of haughty Spaniards treade a bloudy March; Nor any base obiection of ingrate, And thankelesse Cittizens sit in our doores: But we shall quietly inioy the peace, For which we breath; there shall we be secure, There free from thought of this worlds miserie, And there indeede finde true felicitie: For there our trauell shall be recompenc'd, Our loue requited, and our wounds repayde With double merrit. Haste then vnto the place, Vpon the earth is nothing but disgrace. I flye with thee true honourable minde, And we together will that Mancion finde. See Captaine, now I haue it on my brest, The Honourable cognisance of death, This purple riuer, from this weeping fount, More glads and quickens my decayed spirit, Than euer christ all spring in heate of Summer: The weary traueller, his strength reuiues, To draw out tedious houres still on earth, But mine doth florish to possesse, anon The blessed hauen of eternity. I trust I shall be there with as much speed, My pasport (I doe thinke) the Spaniards Has seal'd as deeply, and my iourney layde With no lesse easie trauell to be there. See, if thy bleeding woundes can speake to me, Mine can as fast make answere vnto thine. Let me imbrace this sweet affinity, Like in our liues agreeing in our deathes: But what doe I behold? thine eye-lids faint, And the warme touch of thy desired cheeke, Begins to freeze; wilt thou anticipate Those ioyes before me? gentle Captaine slay, There's but a minute that deuides our hopes: Oh he is dead, may his departing soule, Vsher my spirit aboue those fleeting clowdes: Death, why delayst thou? set thy lazy hand To the deuorcement of my loathed flesh. I am prepar'd, my penitent sad thoughts, Haue long agoe washt my contagious sinne: The bloud that I haue spilt (the Massacres Procur'd and practis'd by this hand of mine) Heauen lay not to my charge; for though my sword Was neuer drawne but in a rightfull cause, Yet much misprision hath attended it; That, and all else, this sigh craues pardon for, Mine eyes were nere accustomed to teares, Let it suffice, these woundes doe weepe for them: Antwerpe farewell, if thou haue done me wrong, This latest gaspe, sends pardon from my tung.