Lingua, or The Combat of the Tongue and the Five Senses for Superiority · chunk 45 of 51
Tomkis, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 [1602-1607] (Annals) comedy; allegory T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma typicality 0.75 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Thanks gentle Somnus, I'll go seek them out, And bring then to you soon as possible. Dispatch it quickly, lest I fall a sleep for want of work. Stand still, stand still? Visus I think comes yonder. If you think good, begin and bind him first: For he made fast, the rest will soon be quiet. Sage Telemus, I now too late admire, Thy deep foresight and skill in Prophecy, Who whilom toldst me, that in time to come Ulysses should deprive me of my sight. And now the slave that marched in Outis name, Is proved Vesses, and by this device, Hath scaped my hands, and fled away by Sea, Leaving me desolate in eternal night. Ah wretched Polypheme, where's all thy hope, And longing for thy beauteous Galatea? She scorned thee once, but now she will detest, And loath to look upon thy darkened face: Ay me most miserable Polphemus. But as for 〈◊〉, heaven and earth Send vengeance ever on thy damned head. In just revenge of my great injury. Who is he that dares to touch me? Cyclops come? Come all ye Cyclops help to rescue me. There rest thyself and let thy quiet sleep, Restore thy weak imaginations. Ha, ha, ha: oh how my spleen is tickled with this sport. The madding Senses make about the woods, It cheers my soul and makes my body fat: To laugh at their mischances, ha, ha▪ ha, ha, Heigh ho, the stitch hath caught me, oh my heart! Would I had one to hold my sides a while, That I might laugh a fresh: oh how they run, And chafe, and swear, and threaten one another, Ay me, out alas, ay me help, help, who's this that binds me? Help Mendatio, Mendatio help, here's one will ravish me. Lingua content yourself you must be bound. What a spite's this? are my nails pared so near? Can I not scratch his eyes out? What have I done? what? do you mean to kill me? murder, murder, murder, Who cries out murder! What a woman slain? My Lady Lingua dead? oh heavens injust Can you behold this fact, this bloody fact! And shower not fire upon the murderer? Ah peerless Lingua mistress of heavenly words, Sweet tongue of eloquence, the life of fame, Heart's dear enchantress▪ what disaster fates Have reft this jewel from our commonwealth. Gustus the ruby that adorns thy ring, Lo here defect, how shalt thou lead thy days, Wanting the sweet Companion of thy life. But in dark sorrow and dull melancholy, But stay? whose this? inhuman wretch: blood-thirsty miscreant, is this thy handy work? To kill a woman, a harmless Lady? Villain prepare thyself draw, or i'll sheathe my falchion in thy sides. There take the guerdon fit for murderers. here's such a stir I never knew the Senses in such disorder. Ha, ha, ha; Mendacio, Mendicio? See how Visus hath broke his forehead against the oak yonder, ha, ha, ha, ha.
seed 43: T12 · seed 44: T11 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thankes gentle Somnus, Ile go seeke them out, And bring then to you soone as possible. Dispatch it quickly, least I fall a sleep for want of worke. Stand still, stand still? Visus I thinke comes yonder. If you thinke good, begin and bind him first: For he made fast, the rest will soone be quiet. Sage Telemus, I now too late admire, Thy deepe fore-sight and skill in Prophecie, Who whilome toldst me, that in time to come Vlisses should depriue me of my sight. And now the slaue that marcht in Outis name, Is prou'd Vsses, and by this deuice, Hath scapt my hands, and fled away by Sea, Leauing me desolate in eternall night. Ah wretched Polypheme, where's all thy hope, And longing for thy beautious Galatea? Shee scornd thee once, but now she will detest, And loath to looke vpon thy darkned face: Aye me most miserable Polphemus. But as for , heauen and earth Send vengeance euer on thy damned head. In iust reenge of my great iniurie. Who is he that dares to touch me? Cyclops come? Come all yee Cyclop's helpe to rescue me. There rest thy selfe and let thy quiet sleepe, Restore thy weake immaginations. Ha, ha, ha: oh how my splene is tickled with this sporte. The madding Senses make about the woods, It cheeres my soule and makes my bodie fat: To laugh at their mischances, ha, ha▪ ha, ha, Heigh ho, the stitch hath caught me, oh my heart! Would I had one to hold my sides a while, That I might laugh a fresh: oh how they runne, And chafe, and sweare, and threaten one another, Ay me, out alas, ay me help, help, who's this that bind's me? Helpe Mendatio, Mendatio helpe, heres one will rauish me. Lingua content your selfe you must be bound. What a spight's this? are my nailes par'd so neere? Can I not scratch his eies out? What haue I done? what? doe you meane to kill me? murder, murder, murder, Who cries out murder! What a woman slaine? My Ladie inga dead? oh Heauens iniust Can you behold this fact, this bloudie fact! And shower not fire vpon the murderer? Ah peerelesse Lingua mistresse of heauenly words, Sweete tongue of eloquence, the life of fame, Heart's deae enchauntresse▪ what disaster fates Haue reft this Iewell from our common-wealth. Gustus the rubie that adornes thy ringe, Loe heere defect, how shalt thou lead thy daies, Wanting the sweete Companion of thy life. But in darke sorrowe and dull melancholie, But taie? whose this? inhumane wretch: Blou-histie miscreant, is this thy handie worke? To kill a woman, a harmelesse Ladie? Villaine prepare thy selfe drawe, or ile sheath my faucheon in thy sides. There take the guerdon fit sor murderers. Heer's such a stirre I neuer knewe the Senses in such disorder. Ha, ha, ha; Mndcio, Mendicio? See how Visus hath broke his fore-head against the oake yonder, ha, ha, ha, ha.