The Wonder of Women, or Sophonisba · chunk 21 of 26
Marston, John · published 1606 · first performed or written 1605 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm typicality 0.87 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Thou rotten scum of Hell— O my abhorred heat! O loathed delusion! Why fool of kings, could thy weak soul imagine That 'tis within the grasp of Heaven or Hell To enforce love? why know Love dotes the Fates Ioue groans beneath his weight: more ignorant thing, Know we Erichtho, with a thirsty womb Have coveted full threescore Suns for blood of kings, We that can make enraged Neptune toss His huge curled locks without one breath of wind: We that can make Heaven slide from Atlas' shoulder: We in the pride and height of covetous lust Have wished with woe man's greediness to fill Our longing arms with Syphax well strong limbs: And dost thou think if philtre or hell's charms Could have enforced thy use, we would ha' damned Brain sleights? no, no, Now are we full Of our dear wishes: thy proud heat well wasted Hath made our limbs grow young: our love farewell, Know he that would force love, thus seeks his Hell. Can we yet breath? is any plagued like me? Are we? let's think: O now contempt, my hate To thee, thy thunder, sulphur and scorned name. He whose life's loathed, and he who breathes to curse His very being; let him thus with me Fall fore an Altar sacred to black powers, And thus dare Heavens: O thou whose blasting flames Hurl barren droughts upon the patient earth, And thou gay God of riddles and strange tales Hot-brained Phoebus, all add if you can Something unto my misery; if aught Of plagues lurk in your deep trenched brows Which yet I know not: let them fall like bolts Which wrathful Ioue drives strong in into oh my bosom, If any chance of war, or news ill voiced, Mischief unthought of lurk, come gift us all, Heap curse on curse, we can no lower fall. Lower, lower, What damned air is formed Into that shape? speak, speak, we cannot quake, Our flesh knows not ignoble tremblings, speak, We dare thy terror: methinks Hell and fate Should dread a soul with woes made desperate. Know me the spirit of great Asdrubal Father to Sophonisba, whose bad heart Made justly most unfortunate: for know I turned unfaithful, after which the field Chanced to our loss, when of thy men there fell 6000 souls next fight of Lybeans ten. After which loss we unto Carthage flying, Th'Enraged people cried their army fell Through my base treason: straight my revengeful fury Makes them pursue me, I with resolute haste, Made to the grave of all our Ancestors Where poisoned, hoped my bones should have long rest. But see the violent multitude arrives Tear down our monument, and me now dead Deny a grave: hurl us among the rocks To staunch beasts hunger; therefore thus ungraved I seek slow rest: now dost thou know more woes And more must feel: Mortals O fear to sleight Your Gods and vows: Ioues arm is of dread might.
seed 43: T32 · seed 44: T26 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thou rotten scum of Hell— O my abhorred heat! O loath'd delusion! Why foole of kings, could thy weake soule imagin That t'is within the graspe of Heauen or Hell To inforce loue? why know Loue doates the Fates Ioue groanes beneath his waight: more ignorant thing, Know we Erichtho, with athirsty womb Haue coueted full threescore Suns for bloud of kings, We that can make inraged Neptune tosse His huge curld lockes without one breath of wind: We that can make Heauen slide from Atlas shoulder: We in the pride and haight of couetous lust Haue wisht with wo mans gredines to fill Our longing armes with Syphax well strong lims: And dost thou think if Philters or Hels charmes Could haue inforc'd thy vse, we would hau'dam'd Braine sleightes? no, no, Now are we full Of our deare wishes: thy proud heat well wasted Hath made our lims grow young: our loue farwell, Know he that would force loue, thus seekes his Hell. Can we yet breath? is any plagued like me? Are we? lets thinke: O now contempt, my hate To the, thy thunder, sulphure and scorn'd name. He whose lifes loath'd, and he who breathes to curse His very being; let him thus with me Fall fore an Aultar sacred to black powers, And thus dare Heauens: O thou whose blasting flames Hurle barren droughes vpon the patient earth, And thou gay God of riddles and strange tales Hot-brained Phebus, all adde if you can Something vnto my misery; if ought Of plagues lurk in your deepe trench'd browes Which yet I know not: let them fall like boltes Which wrathfull Ioue driues strong in ▪o my bosom, If any chance of war, or newes ill voyc'd, Mischeife vnthought of lurke, come gift vs all, Heape curse on curse, we can no lower fall. Lower, lower, What damn'd ayre is form'd Into that shape? speake, speake, we cannot quake, Our flesh knowes not ignoble tremblinges, speake, We dare thy terror: me thinkes Hell and fate Should dread a soule with woes made desperate. Know me the spirit of great Asdruball Father to Sophonisba, whose bad heart Made justly most vnfortunate: for know I turn'd vnfaithfull, after which the feeld Chanc'd to our losse, when of thy men there fell 6000 soules next fight of Lybeans ten. After which losse we vnto Carthage flying, Th'inraged people cride their army fell Through my base treason: straight my reuengefull fury Makes them persue me, I with resolute hast▪ Made to the graue of all our Auncestors Where poyson'd, hop'd my bones should haue long rest. But see the violent multitude arriues Teare downe our monument, and mee now dead Deny a graue: hurle vs among the rockes To stanch beasts hunger; therefore thus vngrau'd I seeke slow rest: now doest thou know more woes And more must feele: Mortals O feare to sleight Your Gods and vowes: Ioues arme is of dread might.