Day, John · published 1608 · first performed or written 1608 [1607-1608] (Annals) comedy · Children of the King's Revels unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 536 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
sons, hopeful buds of fruitful Italy, Having banished war which like a prodigal Kept wasteful revels with our subjects blood: Since proud Anthonio our arch-enemy Is in his journey towards th'underworld, Or hovers in the shade of banishment; Let us in peace smile at our victory, And every breast pass his opinion What pastime best becomes a conqueror. What sport but conquest for a conqueror, Then with our wounds vndrest▪ our steeds still nd, Branded with steel ere we wipe off the blood Of conquered foes, let's with our shriller bugles Summon the surly Landlord of the forest, The Kingly Lion to a bloody parley, Combat the Heart, the Leopard or the Boar, In single and adventurous hardiment: The spirit of mirth in manly action rests, Having quelled men let's now go conquer beasts. Manly resolved; Hippolito's advise. Rather like soldiers, and Octavio's sons, Let's throw a general challenge through the world, For a proud tourney, at the which ourselves Consorted with a hundred of our knights, Accoutred like so many Gods of war, Will keep the lists 'gainst all adventurers, Which like the suns light figured in a star, Should be a brief Epitome of war. Noble and royal, your opinion daughter. Faith I shall anger soldiers, I would pour Spirit of life, Aurum Potabile Into the jaws of chap-fallen scholarship, That have since amorous Quid was exiled, lain in a swoon, y' ave many holds for war, I would once view a garrison for wit: 'twere heavenly sport to see a train of scholars Like old trained soldiers skirmish in the schools, Traverse their Ergoes and discharge their jests Like peals of smallshot, were this motion granted myself would be free woman of their hall, And sit as sister at their festival. Have we not Padua Yes, but the commanders Deal with our graduates, as the general Doth with his soldier, gives him place for favour, Not for deserving, look into't yourself, You have Courts for tennis, and methinks 'twere meet, Learning should not stand bawling in the street For want of houseroom: oh 'tis much unfit Courtiers should be all pleasure and small wit. All that you speak is but what we command But officer's father cannot understand Their Lords at first: wert not a gallant sight, To see wits army royal come from fight? Some crowned with gold, others with wreath of bays, And whilst they hold their solemn holidays, Music should like a lover court the skies, And from the world wrest ringing plaudities. My sister would make a rare beggar. True, she's parcel Poet, parcel fiddler already, and they commonly sing three parts in one. Wrong neither art nor music, they are twins Borne and begot in heat, your thought of both. I think my Lord that music is divine, Whose sacred strains have power to combine The soul and body; and it reason bears, For it is said that the Celestial spheres, Dance to Apollo's lyre whose sprightly fires Have tamed rude beasts and charmed men's wild desires: The author was immortal, the first strings, Made by a King, therefore an art for Kings: The world's a body, every liberal art A needful member, music the soul and heart.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
SOnnes, hopefull buddes of fruitfull Italy, Hauing baniſht war which like a prodigall▪ Kept waſtfull reuells with our ſubiects blond: Since proude Anthonio our arch-enemy Is in his iourney towards th'vnderworld, Or houers in the ſhade of baniſhment; Let vs in peace ſmile at our victory▪ And euery breſt paſſe his opinion What paſtime beſt becomes a conqueror. What ſport but conqueſt for a conqueror, Then with our wounds vndreſt▪ our ſteeds ſtill nd, Branded with ſteele ere we wipe of the bloud Of conquerd foes, lets with our ſhriller bugles Summon the ſurly Landlord of the forreſt, The Kingly Lyon to a bloudy parle, Combat the Hart, the Leopard or the Bore, In ſingle and aduenturous hardyment: The ſpirit of mirth in manly action reſts, Hauing queld men lets now go concuer beaſts. Manly reſolu'd; Hippolitoes aduiſe▪ Rather like ſouldiers, and Octanioes ſonnes, Lets throw a generall challenge through the world, For a proud turney, at the which our ſelues Conſorted with a hundred of our knights, Accoutred like ſo many Gods of warre, VVill keepe the liſts gainſt all aduenturers, VVhich like the ſuns light ſigurd in a ſtar, Should be a briefe Epitome of war. Noble and royall, your opinion daughter. Faith I ſhall anger ſouldiers, I woulde poure Spirit of life▪ Aurum Potabile Into the iawes of chap-falne ſchollerſhip, That haue ſince amorous Quid was exild, Lyen in a ſowne, y aue many holds for war, I would once view a garriſon for witte: Twere heauenly ſport to ſee a traine of ſchollers Like old traind ſoldiers fkitiſh in the ſchooles▪ Trauerſe their Ergoes and diſcharge their ieſts Like peales of ſmall-ſhot, were this motion granted My ſelfe would be free woman of their hall, And ſit as ſiſter at their feſtiual. Haue we not Padua Yes, but the commaunders Deale with our graduates, as the generall Doth with his ſouldier, giues him place for fauoure, Not for deſeruing, looke intoo't your ſelfe, You haue Courts for tennis, and me thinkes t'were meet, Learning ſhould not ſtand balling in the ſtreet For want of houſeroome: oh tis much vnfit Courtiers ſhould be all pleaſure and ſmall wit. All that you ſpeake is but what we command But Officers fother cannot vnderſtand Their Lords at firſt: wert not a gallant ſight, To ſee wits army royall come from fight? Some crownd with gold, others with wreath of bayes, And whilſt they hold their ſolemn holydaies, Muſick ſhould like a louer court the ſkies, And from the world wreſt ringing plaudities. My ſiſter would make a rare beggar. True, ſhee's parcell Poet, parcell fidler already, and they commonly ſing three parts in one. Wrong neither art nor muſicke, they are twins Borne and begot in heate, your thought of both. I thinke my Lord that muſick is diuine, Whoſe ſacred ſtraines haue power to combine The ſoule and body; and it reaſon beares, For it is ſaid that the Celeſtiall ſpheres, Dance to Apolloes lyre whoſe ſprightly fires Haue tamd rude beaſts and charmd mens wild deſires: The author was immortall, the firſt ſtrings, Made by a King, therefore an art for Kings: The world's a body, euery liberall art A needfull member, muſick the ſoule and hart.