The Tragedy of Charles Duke of Byron · chunk 33 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 0.81 · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
O real goodness if thou be a power! And not a word alone, in humane uses, Appear out of this angry conflagration, Where this great Captain (thy late Temple) burns, And turn his vicious fury to thy flame, From all earth's hopes mere guilded with thy fame: Let piety enter with her willing cross, And take him on it; open his breast and arms, To all the Storms, Necessity can breathe, And burst them all with his embraced death, Yet are the civil tumults of his spirits, Hot and outrageous: not resolved, alas, (Being but one man) render the kingdoms doom; He doubts storms, threatens, rues, complains, implores, Grief hath brought all his forces to his looks, And nought is left to strengthen him within, Nor lasts one habit of those grieved aspects: Blood expels paleness, paleness Blood doth chase, And sorrow errs through all forms in his face, So furious is he, that the Politic law, Is much to seek, how to enact her sentence: Authority backed with arms, (though he unarmed) Abhors his fury, and with doubtful eyes, Views on what ground it should sustain his ruins, And as a Savage Boar that (hunted long, Assailed and set up) with his only eyes, Swimming in fire keeps of the baying hounds, Though sunk himself, yet holds his anger up, And snows it forth in foam; holds firm his stand, Of Battalous Bristles: feeds his hate to die, And whets his tusks with wrathful majesty. So fares the furious Duke, and with his looks, Doth teach death horrors; makes the hangman learn New habits for his bloody impudence; Which now habitual horror from him drives, Who for his life shuns death, by which he lives, Will not your Lordship have the Duke distinguished From other prisoners? where the order is, To give up men condemned into the hands Of th' executioner; he would be the death, Of him that he should die by, ere he suffered, Such an abjection, But to bind his hands, I hold it passing needful, 'tis my Lord, And very dangerous to bring him lose. You will in all despair and fury plunge him, If you but offer it. My Lord by this, The prisoner's Spirit is something pacified, And 'tis a fear that th'offer of those bands, Would breed fresh furies in him, and disturb, The entry of his soul into her peace, I would not that, for any possible danger, That can be wrought, by his unarmed hands, And therefore in his own form bring him in, Where shall this weight fall? on what region, Must this declining prominent pour his load? I'll break my bloods high billows 'gainst my stars, Before this will be shook into a flat, All France shall feel an earthquake; with what murmur, This world shrinks into Chaos? Good my Lord, forego it willingly; and now resign, Your sensual powers entirely to your soul.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O reall goodnesse if thou be a power! And not a word alone, in humaine vses, Appere out of this angry conflagration, Where this great Captaine (thy late Temple) burns, And turne his vicious fury to thy flame, From all earths hopes mere guilded with thy fame: Let pietie enter with her willing crosse, And take him on it; ope his brest and armes, To all the Storms, Necessity can breath, And burst them all with his embraced death, Yet are the ciuille tumults of his spirits, Hot and outragiouse: not resolued, Ahlas, (Being but one man) render the kingdomes dome; He doubts stormes, threatens, rues, complains, impores, Griefe hath brought all his forces to his lookes, And nought is left to strengthen him within, Nor lats one habite of those greeu'd aspects: Blood expells palenesse, palenes Blood doth chace, And sorrow errs through all forms in his face, So furiouse is he, that the Politique law, Is much to seeke, how to enact her sentence: Authority backt with arms, (though he vnarmd) Abhorrs his furie, and with doubtfull eyes, Views on what ground it should sustaine his ruines, And as a Sauadge Bore that (hunted longe, Assayld and set vp) with his onely eyes, Swimming in fire keepes of the baying hounds, Though suncke himselfe, yet houlds his anger vp, And snowes it foth in foame; houlds firme his stand, Of Battaouse Bristles: feedes his hate to die, And whets his tuskes with wrathfull maiesty. So fares the furious Duke, and with his lookes, Doth teach death horrors; makes the hangman learne New habites for his bloody impudence; Which now habituall horror from him driues, Who for his life shunns death, by which he liues, Will not your Lordshippe haue the Duke distinguisht From other prisoners? where the order is, To giue vp men condemd into the hands Of th' executioner; he would be the death, Of him that he should die by, ere he sufferd, Such an abiection, But to bind his hands▪ I hold it passing needefull, Tis my Lord, And very dangerous to bring him loose. You will in all dispaire and fury plunge him, If you but offer it. My Lord by this, The prisoners Spirit is some-thing pacified, And tis a feare that th'offer of those bands, Woud breed fresh furies in him, and disturbe, The entry of his soule into her peace, I would not that, for any possible danger, That can be wrought, by his vnarmed hands, And therefore in his owne forme bring him in, Where shall this weight fall? on what rhegion, Must this declining prominent poure his lode? Ile breake my bloods high billows gainst my starrs, Before this ill be shooke into a flat, All France shall feele an earthquake; with what murmur, This world shrinkes into Chaos? Good my Lord, Forgoe it willingly; and now resigne, Your sensuall powers entirely to your soule.