The Tragedy of Charles Duke of Byron · chunk 24 of 37
Chapman, George · published 1608 · first performed or written 1608 [1607-1608] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Queen's Revels T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.74 · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
One of them, (Which is the Count D'Auvergne) hath merry spirits, Eats well, and sleeps: and never can imagine, That any place where he is, is a prison; Where on the other part, the Duke Byron, Entered his prison, as into his grave, Rejects all food, sleeps not, nor once lies down: Fury hath armed his thoughts so thick with thorns, That rest can have no entry: he disdains To grace the prison with the slenderest show, Of any patience, least men should conceive, He thought his sufferance in the best sort fit; And holds his bands so worthless of his worth, That he impairs it, to vouchsafe to them, The best part of the peace, that freedom owes it: That patience therein, is a willing slavery. And (like the Camel) stoops to take the load: So still he walks: or rather as a Bird, Entered a Closet, which unwares is made, His desperate prison (being pursued) amazed, And wrathful beats his breast from wall to wall, Assaults the light strikes down himself, not our, And being taken, struggles, gaps, and bites, Takes all his takers strokings, to be strokes, Abhorreth food, and with a savage will, Frets, pines, and dies, for former liberty. So fares the wrathful Duke; and when the strength Of these dumb rages, break out into sounds, He breathes defiance, to the world, and bids us, Make ourselves drunk, with the remaining blood Of five and thirty wounds received in fight, For us and ours; for we shall never brag, That we have made his spirits check at death: This rage in walks and words; but in his looks He cements all: and prints a world of books, Let others learn by him to curb their spleens, Before they be curbed; and to cease their grudges: Now I am settled in my Sun of height, The circular splendour, and full Sphere of State. Take all place up from envy: as the sun, At height, and passive o'er the crowns of men, His beams diffused, and downright poured on them, Cast but a little or no shade at all, So he that is advanced above the heads, Of all his Emulators, with high light, Prevents their envies, and deprives them quite, I wonder at the prisoners so long stay, I think it may be made a question, If his impatience will let him come. Yes, he is now well stayed: Time and his judgement, Have cast his passion and his fever of. His fever may be passed, but for his passions, I fear me we shall find it spiced to hotly, With his old powder. He is sure come forth; The Carosse of the Marquis of Rhosny Conducted him along to th' Arsenal, Close to the Riverside: and there I saw him, Enter a barge covered with Tapestry, In which the king's guards waited and received him. Stand by there clear the place,
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One of them, (Which is the Count D'Avuergne) hath merry spirits, Eates well, and sleepes: and neuer can imagine, That any place where he is, is a prison; Where on the other part, the Duke Byron, Enterd his prison, as into his graue, Reiects all food, sleepes not, nor once lyes downe: Furie hath arm'd his thoughts so thick with thornes, That rest can haue no entry: he disdaines To grace the prison with the slendrest show, Of any patience, least men should conceiue, He thought his sufferance in the best sort fit; And holds his bands so worthlesse of his worth, That he empaires it, to vouchsafe to them, The best part of the peace, that freedom owes it: That patience therein, is a willing slauerie. And (like the Cammell) stoopes to take the load: So still he walkes: or rather as a Byrde, Enterd a Closet, which vnwares is made, His desperate prison (being pursude) amazd, And wrathfull beates his bret from wall to wall, Assaults the light strikes downe himselfe, not our, And being taken, struggles, gaspes, and bites, Takes all his takers strokings, to be strokes, Abhorreth food, and with a sauadge will, Frets, pines, and dyes, for former libertie. So fares the wrathfull Duke; and when the strength Of these dumbe rages, breake out nto sounds, He breaths defiance▪ to the world, and bids vs, Make our selues drunke, with the remaining bloud Of fiue and thirty wounds receiud in fight, For v and ours; for we shall neuer brag, That we haue made his spirits check at death: This rage in walkes and words; but in his lookes He cements all: and prints a world of bookes, Let others learne by him to curb their spleenes, Before they be curbd; and to cease their grudges: Now I am setled in my Sunne of height, The circulae splendor, and full Sphere of State. Take all place vp from enuy: as the sunne, At height, and passiue ore the crownes of men, His beames diffusd, and downe-right pourd on them, Cast but a little or no shade at all, So he that is aduanc'd aboue the heads, Of all his Emulators, with high light, Preuents their enuies, and depriues them quite, I wonder at the prisoners so long stay, I thinke it may be made a question, If his impacience will let him come. Yes, he is now well stayd: Time and his Iudgment, Haue cast his passion and his feuer of. His feuer may be past, but for his passions, I feare me we shall find it spic'd to hotly, With his ould poulder. He is sure come forth; The Carosse of the Marquis of Rhosny Conducted him along to th' Arcenall, Close to the Riuer-side: and there I saw him, Enter a barge couered with Tapistry, In which the kings gards waited and receiued him. Stand by there cleere the place,