Chapman, George · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) · Paul's T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho typicality 0.76 · 472 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
They come. Come all at once. Back coward murderers, back. Defend us heaven. Come ye not on? No, slave, nor goest thou off. Stand you so firm? Will it not enter here? You have a face yet: so in thy life's flame I burn the first rites to my mistress fame. Breath thee brave son against the other charge. O is it true then that my sense first told me? Is my kind father dead? He is my love. 'twas the Earl my husband in his weed that brought thee. That was a speeding sleight, and well resembled. Where is that angry Earl my Lord? Come forth And show your own face in your own affair; Take not into your noble veins the blood Of these base villains, nor the light reports Of blistered tongues, for clear and weighty truth: But me against the world, in pure defence Of your rare Lady, to whose spotless name I stand here as a bulwark, and project A life to her renown, that ever yet Hath been untainted even in envies eye, And where it would protect a sanctuary. Brave Earl come forth, and keep your scandal in: 'tis not our fault if you enforce the spot, Nor the wreak yours if you perform it not. Cowards, a fiend or spirit beat ye off? They are your own faint spirits that have forged The fearful shadows that your eyes deluded: The fiend was in you; cast him out then thus. Favour (my Lord) my love, o favour him. I will not touch him: Take your life, my Lord, And be appeased: O then the coward fates Have maimed themselves, and ever lost their honour. What have ye done slaves? irreligious Lord? Forbear them, father; 'tis enough for me That Guise and Monsieur, death and destiny Come behind D'Ambois: is my body then But penetrable flesh? And must my mind Follow my blood? Can my divine part add No aid to th'earthly in extremity? Then these divines are but for form, not fact: Man is of two sweet Courtly friends compact; A mistress and a servant: let my death Define life nothing but a courtier's breath. Nothing is made of nought, of all things made, Their abstract being a dream but of a shade. I'll not complain to earth yet, but to heaven, And (like a man) look upwards even in death. Prop me, true sword, as thou hast ever done: The equal thought I bear of life and death, Shall make me faint on no side; I am up Here like a Roman Statue; I will stand Till death hath made me marble: o my fame Live in despite of murder; take thy wings And haste thee where the grey-eyed morn perfines, Her Rosy chariot with Sabaean spices, Fly, where the evening from th'Iberian vales,
seed 43: T22 · seed 44: T13 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
They come. Come all at once. Backe coward murtherers, backe. Defend vs heauen. Come ye not on? No, slaue, nor goest thou off. Stand you so firme? Will it not enter heere? You haue a face yet: so in thy lifes flame I burne the first rites to my mistresse fame. Breath thee braue sonne against the other charge. O is it true then that my sense first told mee? Is my kinde father dead? He is my loue. Twas the Earle my husband in his weede that brought thee. That was a speeding sleight, and well resembled. Where is that angrie Earle my Lord? Come forth And shew your owne face in your owne affaire; Take not into your noble veines the blood Of these base villans, nor the light reports Of blister'd tongues, for cleere and weightie truth: But me against the world, in pure defence Of your rare Ladie, to whose spotlesse name I stand heere as a bulwarke, and proiect A life to her renowne, that euer yet Hath beene vntainted euen in enuies eie, And where it would protect a sanctuarie. Braue Earle come forth, and keepe your scandall in: Tis not our fault if you enforce the spot, Nor the wreake yours if you performe it not. Cowards, a fiend or spirit beat ye off? They are your owne faint spirits that haue forg'd The fearefull shadowes that your eies deluded: The fiend was in you; cast him out then thus. Fauour (my Lord) my loue, ô fauour him. I will not touch him: Take your life, my Lord, And be appeas'd: O then the coward fates Haue maim'd themselues, and euer lost their honour. What haue ye done slaues? irreligious Lord? Forbeare them, father; tis enough for me That Guise and Monsieur, death and destinie Come behinde D'Ambois: is my bodie then But penetrable flesh? And must my minde Follow my blood? Can my diuine part adde No aide to th'earthly in extremitie? Then these diuines are but for forme, not fact: Man is of two sweet Courtly friends compact; A mistresse and a seruant: let my death Define life nothing but a Courtiers breath. Nothing is made of nought, of all things made, Their abstract being a dreame but of a shade. Ile not complaine to earth yet, but to heauen, And (like a man) looke vpwards euen in death. Proppe me, true sword, as thou hast euer done: The equall thought I beare of life and death, Shall make me faint on no side; I am vp Heere like a Roman Statue; I will stand Till death hath made me marble: ô my fame Liue in despight of murther; take thy wings And haste thee where the gray-eyd morne perfines, Her Rosie chariot with Sabaean spices, Flie, where the euening from th'Iberean vales,