The Wonder of Women, or Sophonisba · chunk 12 of 26
Marston, John · published 1606 · first performed or written 1605 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Vile? good plot, my good plot Asdrubal. I forced our army beat a running march, But Massinissa struck his spurs apace Upon his speedy horse, leaves slaughtering All fly to Scipio who with open ranks In view receives them: All I could effect Was but to gain him. Die. Do what thou can, Thou canst but kill a weak old honest man. scipio and Massinissa's by this strike Their clasped palms, then vow an endless love, straight a joint shout they raise, then turn they breasts Direct on us march strongly toward our camp As if they dared us fight, O Asdrubal. I fear they'll force our camp. Break up and fly, This was your plot. But 'twas thy shame to choose it. He that forbids not offence he does it. The curse of women's words go with you: fly, You are no villains, Gods and men, which way? Advise vile things. Vile? I. Not? you did all Did you not plot? Yielded not Asdrubal? But you enticed me. How? With hope of place. He that for wealth leaves faith is abject. base Do not provoke my sword, I live. More shame. T'outlive thy virtue and thy once great name. upbraid ye me? Hold. Know that only thou Art treacherous: thou shouldst have had a crown. Thou didst all, all he for whom mischiefs done He does it. Broad scorn open feigned powers Make good the camp, no, fly, yes, what? wild rage, To be a prosperous villain yet some heat some hold, But to burn temples and yet freeze, O cold, Give me some health, now your blood sinks: thus deeds Ill nourished rot, without love nought succeeds. Must we entreat? sue to such squeamish ears, Know Syphax has no knees, his eyes no tears, Enraged love is senseless of remorse, Thou shalt, thou must. king's glory is their force. Thou art in Cirta, in my Palace Fool Dost think he pitieth tears, that knows to rule. For all thy scornful eyes thy proud disdain, And late contempt of us now we'll revenge, Break stubborn silence: look I'll tack thy head To the low earth, whilst strength of too black knaves, Thy limbs all wide shall strain: prayer fitteth slaves. Our courtship be our force: rest calm as sleep, Else at this quake, hark, hark, we cannot weep. Can Sophonisba be enforced? Can? see. Thou mayest enforce my body but not me. Not? No. No? No off with thy loathed arms That lie more heavy on me then the chains, That wear deep wrinkles in the captives limbs I do beseech thee. What? Be but a beast, Be but a beast. Do not offend a power Can make thee more than wretched: yield to him To whom fate yields: Know Massinissa's dead, dead? dead. To Gods of goodmen shame Help vangue my strong blood boil. O save thine own (yet) fame. All appetite is deaf, I will I must. Achilles armour could not bear out lust.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T30 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Vile? good plot, my good plot Asdruball. I forcd our army beat a running march, But Massinissa strooke his spurs apace Vpon his speedy horse, leaues slaughtering All flye to Scipio who with open rankes In view receaues them: Al I could effect Was but to gaine him. Dye. Do what thou can, Thou canst but kill a weake old honest man. scipio and Massinissas by this strike Their clasped palmes, then vow an endles loue, straight a ioynt shoute they raise, then turne they breastes Direct on vs march strongly toward our campe As if they darde vs fight, O Asdruball. I feare theile force our campe▪ Breake vp and flye, This was your plot. But t'was thy shame to choose it. He that forbids not offence he dos it. The curse of womens wordes go vvith you: fly, You are no villaines, Gods and men, vvhich vvay? Aduise vile thinges. Vile? I. Not? you did al Did you not plot? Yeelded not Asdruball? But you intic'd me. Hovv? With hope of place. He that for vvealth leaues faith is abiect. base Do not prouoke my svvord, I liue. More shame. T'out liue thy virtue and thy once great name. Vp braide yee me? Hold. Knovv that only thou Art treacherous: thou shouldst haue had a crovvne. Thou didst all, all he for vvhome mischiefes don He dos it. —Brode skorne oppen faind povvers Make good the campe, no, fly, yes, vvhat? vvild rage, To be a prosperous villane yet some heate some hold, But to burne temples and yet freese, O cold, Giue me some health, now your bloud sinkes: thus deedes Ill nourisht rot, without I oue naught succeedes. Must wee intreat? sue to such squeamish eares, Know Syphax has no knees, his eyes no teares, Inraged loue is senseles of remorce, Thou shalt, thou must. Kings glory is their force. Thou art in Cirta, in my Pallace Foole Dost thinke he pittieth teares, that knowes to rule. For all thy scornefull eyes thy proud disdaine, And late contempt of vs now weele reuenge, Breake stubborne scilence: looke Ile tack thy head To the low earth, whilst strēgth of too black knaues, Thy limbes all wide shall straine: praier fitteth slaues. Our courtship bee our force: rest calme as sleepe, Els at this quake, harke, harke, wee cannot weepe. Can Sophonisba bee inforc'd? Can? see. Thou maiest inforce my body but not mee. Not? No. No? No off with thy loathed armes That lye more heauy on me then the chaines, That weare deepe wrinckles in the captiues limbes I do beseech thee. What? Be but a beast, Be but a beast. Do not offend a power Can make thee more then wretched: yeelde to him To whome fate yeeldes: Know Massinissas dead, dead? dead. To Gods of goodmen shame Help vangue my strong blood boiles. O saue thine owne (yet) fame. All appetite is deafe, I will I must. Achilles armour could not beare out lust.