Mason, John · published 1610 · first performed or written 1607 [1607-1608] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the King's Revels unassigned nearest T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
To gain those ends I have proposed my aims Religion (thou that ridst the backs of Slaves Into weak minds insinuating fear And superstitious cowardness) thou robbest Man of his chief bliss by bewitching reason. Nature at these my brows bend: thy mysteries Wrought by thine own hands in our active brains, Give us the use of good: thou art my God, If what I have of thee, or wit or art, Or Serpent sliding through the minds of men, Cunning confusion of all obstacles, Be they my children's lives, my dearest friends May gain me what I wish, I stoop at thy renown And think als vacuum above a crown, For they that have the sovereignty of things, Do know no God at all, are none but Kings. Eternal substitute to the first that moved And gave the Chaos form. Thou at whose nod Whole Nations stooped, and hold thee still a God: Whose holy-customd-ceremonious rites, Live unprofaned in our posterity: Thou God of Mecha, mighty Mahomet, Thus Mulleasses at thy memory Descends: accept his prone humility, Great Prophet: let thy influence be free Unchecked by danger: mew not up my soul, In the pent room of conscience: Make me not moral Mahomet, cooped up And fettered in the fools philosophy, That points our actions unto honesty. Give my plots fortune: let my hope but touch The mark I aim at: then the gazing time Shall in the present hide my former ill Success like lethe to the souls in bliss Makes men forget things past and crowns our sins With name of valour, be we impious. A Scelus felix styles us virtuous. My honoured Lord: What devil interrupts m? My duty. Your duty is too diligent that dares Peer into my retreats: now should I kill thee. The Lord Protector Borgias my master— Age and diseases breed consumptions And rot him. What craves he? Your instant presence. I have instant business whose high import Detains my speed: know you the matter? A tumult 'mongst the fearful multitude, Caused by an ominous terror in the heavens, Is as I guess the reason of your want. What heavens? what terror? The Sun on sudden feels a dark eclipse And hides his silver face behind the moon, As loath to see some prodigies appear. Make that eclipse eternal Mahomet. Rise, rise ye misty-footed jades of night, Draw your dark mistress with her sable veil, Like a black Negro in an ebon chair, Athwart the world's eye: from your foggy breaths Hurl an Egyptian grossness through the air, That none may see my plots: Hast any greater news? The days eyes out, a thousand little stars Spread like so many torches, about the sky, Make the world show like Churches hung with black, And set with tapers at some funeral: Amongst these stars directly from the East, A fiery meteor points a burning rod At Florence.
seed 43: T18 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
To gaine those ends I haue proposd my aimes Religion (thou that ridst the backes of Slaues Into weake mindes insinuating feare And superstitious cowardnse) thou robst Man of his chiefe blisse by bewitching reason. Nature at these my browes bend: thy mysteries Wrought by thine owne hands in our actiue braines, Giue vs the vse of good: thou art my God, If what I haue of thee, or wit or art, Or Serpent sliding through the mindes of men, Cunning confusion of all obstacles, Be they my childrens liues, my deerest friends May gaine me what I wish, I stoope at thy renown And thinke al's vacuum aboue a crowne, For they that haue the soueraignty of things, Do know no God at all, are none but Kings. ETernall substitute to the first that mou'd And gaue the Chaos forme. Thou at whose nod Whole Nations stoopt, and hold thee still a God: Whose holy-customd-ceremonious rites, Liue vnprophan'd in our posterity: Thou God of Mecha, mighty Mahomet Thus Mulleasses at thy memory Discends: accept his prone humility, Great Prophet: let thy influence be free Vncheckt by danger: mew not vp my soule, In the pent roome of conscience: Make me not morall Mahomet, coopt vp And fettred in the fooles phylosophy, That points our actions vnto honesty. Giue my plots fortune: let my hope but touch The marke I aime at: then the gazing time Shall in the present hide my former ill Successe like Ithe to he soules in blisse Makes men forget things past and crownes our sins With name of valour, be we impious. A Scelus felix styles vs vertuous. My honourd Lord: What diuell interrupts m? My duty. Your duty is too dilligent that dares Pere into my retreats: now should I kill thee. The Lord Protector Borgias my maister— Age and diseases breed consumptions And rot him. What craues he? Your instant presence. I haue instant businesse whose high import Detaines my speed: know you the matter? A tumult 'mongst the fearefull multitude, Causd by an ominous terrour in the heauens, Is as I gesse the reason of your want. What heauens? what terror? The Sun on suddaine feeles a darke ecclipse And hides his siluer face behinde the moone, As loath to see some prodegies appeare. Make that ecclipse eternall Mahomet. Rise, rise ye mistie-footed Iades of night, Draw your darke mistresse with her sable vayle, Like a blacke Negro in an Ebone chaire, Athwart the wolds eie: from your foggy breaths Hurle an Egiptian grossenes through the ayre, That none may see my plots: Hast any greater newes? The daies eyes out, a thousand little starres Spread like so many torches, about the skye, Make the world shew like Churches hung with blacke, And set with tapers at some funerall: Amongst these starres directly from the East, A firy meteor points a burning rod At Florence.