Dekker, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [c.1606-1607] (Annals) history; allegory · Prince Henry's Men T55 Fairies, fairy queens and enchanted desi typicality 0.86 · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T55: fairy, fairies, oberon, mopsus, queen, land, grace, babylon, mab, thestylis.
The splendour of your glories, which a far Shines (as they say, and justly say) as brightly As here at hand, hither them draws, protesting All faith and service to you, and requesting That they the tribute of their loves may pay, At your most sacred feet. Allow them entrance. They in a Fairy mask, the argument Of this their duty, gladly would present. As best them please. Your painted cheeks being off, your own discovers, You are no Fairies. No: but wounded lovers. How! lovers! what! would you deflower my bed, And strike off a poor maidenhead? We know you not: what are you? and from whence? The a land of whom the sun so enamoured is, He lends them his complexion, gives me birth, The Indian and his gold are both my slaves, Upon my sword (as on the Axle tree) A world of kingdoms move: and yet I write Non sufficit. that lusty son of Ioue That twelve times showed himself more than a man, Reared up two pillars for me, on whose Capitals I stand (Colossus-like) striding o'er seas, And with my head knock at the roof of Heaven: Hence come I, this I am, (O most divine) All that I am is yours, be you but mine. The country a at whose breast, hundreds of Kings Have royally been fed, is nurse to me: The god of grapes is mine, whose bounteous hand In clusters deals his gifts to every land: My Empire bears for greatness, policy, State, skill in Arts and Arms, sole sovereignty Of this Globe universal. All her Princes Are warriors borne: whose battles to be told, Would make the hearer's soldiers: 'tis a land Of breath so sweet, and of aspect so fair, That to behold her, and to conquer her, (In amorous combats,) great king Oberon, Your awful father, oft has thither come, Like to a bridegroom, or a Reveller, And gone again in goodly triumphs home. From hence I spring, (fairest and most divine) All that this is, is yours, be you but mine. Be you but mine, and doubly will I treble Their glories, and their greatness: like to thunder My voice far off, shakes kingdoms; whilst mine own Stands on Seven (b) hills, whose towers, and pinnacles, And reverend Monuments, hold in them such worth, And are so sacred, Emperors and Kings (Like barefoot pilgrims) at her feet do fall, Bowing to her triple crown imperial. The language which she speaks, goes through the world, To prove that all the world should stoop to her, And (save yourself) they do; you think you leave A rich inheritance, if to your sons, Our fluent tongue you leave, (nor need they more) Who speak and spend it well, cannot be poor: On many nations necks, a foot to t, If it be glorious, then may you be great. We are all pleased, so please you be the bride, Of three, we care not which two be denied.
seed 43: T50 · seed 44: T47 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
The splendor of your glories, which a farre Shines (as they say, and iustly say) as brightly As here at hand, hither them drawes, protesting All faith and seruice to you, and requesting That they the tribute of their loues may pay, At your most sacred feet. Allow them entrance. They in a Fairie maske, the argument Of this their dutie, gladly would present. As best them please. Your painted cheeks beeing off, your owne discouers, You are no Fairies. No: but wounded louers. How! louers! what! would you deflower my bed, And strike off a poore maiden-head? We know you not: what are you? and from whence? The land of whom the sunne so enamor'd is, He lends them his complexion, giues me birth, The Indian and his gold are both my slaues, Vpon my sword (as on the Axell tree) A world of kingdomes mooue: and yet I write Non sufficit. that lustie sonne of Ioue That twelue times shewed himselfe more then a man, Reard vp two pillars for me, on whose Capitals I stand (Colossus-like) striding ore seas, And with my head knock at the roofe of Heauen: Hence come I, this I am, (O most diuine) All that I am is yours, be you but mine. The country at whose breast, hundreds of Kings Haue royally bin fed, is nurce to me: The god of grapes is mine, whose bounteous hand In clusters deales his gifts to euery land: My Empire beares for greatnes, pollicy, State, skill in Arts and Armes, sole soueraigntie Of this Globe vniuersall. All her Princes Are warriours borne: whose battels to be told, Would make the hearers souldiers: t'is a land Of breath so sweet, and of aspect so faire, That to behold her, and to conquer her, (In amorous combats,) great king Oberon, Your awefull father, oft ha's thither come, Like to a bridegrome, or a Reueller, And gone agen in goodly triumphs home. From hence I spring, (fairest and most diuine) All that this is, is yours, be you but mine. Be you but mine, and doubly will I treble Their glories, and their greatnesse: like to thunder My voyce farre off, shakes kingdomes; whilst mine owne Stands on Seauen (b) hills, whose towers, and pinnacles, And renrend Monuments, hold in them such worth, And are so sacred, Emperours and Kings (Like barefoote pilgrims) at her feet doe fall, Bowing to her trible crowne imperiall. The language which shee speakes, goes through the world, To proue that all the world should stoope to her, And (saue your selfe) they doe; you thinke you leaue A rich inheritance, if to your sonnes, Ou fluent tongue you leaue, (nor need they more) Who speake and spend it well, cannot be poore: On many nations necks, a foot to t, If it be glorious, then may you be great. We are all pleasd, so please you be the bride, Of three, we care not which two be deni'd.