Histriomastix, or The Player Whipped · chunk 4 of 25
Marston, John · published 1610 · first performed or written 1599 [1598-1599] (Annals) moral · Unknown unassigned nearest T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and · 511 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
I apprehend not in my ablest powers, That once in every four and twenty hours, The Sun should rise and set; yet be a year In finishing his own designed course. Why that I will demonstrate to you, thus; Turn a huge wheel: contrary to the sway Place me a fly upon't: the fly (before It can arrive the point from whence it went) Shall sundry times be circumvolved about; Even so the Sun and the affinities: For if you wonder how at one self hour, Two of discordant natures may be borne, As one a King, another some base Swain, One valiant, and the other timorous, Let but two drops of ink or water fall Directly on so swift a turning wheel, And you shall find them both cast far in sunder. even so the heavenly Orbs, whirling so fast And so impetuously (project men's fates) Most full of change and contrariety. could faith these knowledges are very rare, And full of admiration; are they not? The mathematics are the strength of truth, A Magazine of all perfection. Shall we design some place for exercise, And every morning have a Lecture read. Content, (if so Chrisoganus stand pleased) His exhibition shall be competent: we'll all be Patrons. To make you Artists, answers my desire, Rather than hope or mercenary hire. Holiday, O blessed morn, This day Plenty hath been borne, Plenty is the child of Peace; To her birth the Gods do press, Full crowned Mazors Bacchus brings, With liquour which from grapes he wrings: holiday, O blessed morn; This day Plenty hath been borne, Holiday let's loudly cry, For joy of her nativity. Ceres with a bounteous hand, Doth at Plenties elbow stand: Binding mixed Coronets, Of wheat which on her head she sets. holiday, O blessed morn, This day Plenty hath been borne, holiday lets loudly cry, For joy of her nativity. Reach me the bowl with rich Autumnian juice, That I may drink a health to your new Queen. Time's winged hours (that pointed out my reign,) Are fled; I am no more your Sovereign. Wound Air with shrill tuned Canzonets, I rob myself to make my Daughter rich, Peace doth resign her pure imperial Crown, (Wrought by the Muses) in whose Circle grow All flowers that are to Phoebus consecrate. What heavenly sovereignty supports my state That Plenty reigns (as Princess) after Peace? Then if this powerful arm can turn the hour, It is my will, (and that shall stand for law) That all things on the earth be plentiful. I crush out bounty from the amber grape, And fill your barns with swelling sheaves of Corn, How can this, but engender blessed thought, Especially when Gods our good have sought? For thee, thy servants captivate the Earth, Her fruitfulness falls down at Plenty's feet. Bacchus will cheer her melancholy sense, With drops of Nectar from this Crimson juice. Her body shall sustain ten thousand wounds, And swarthy India be transformed to Sea, Disgorging golden choler to the waves, Before sweet Plenty find the least defect.
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)
I apprehend not in my ablest powers, That once in euery foure and twenty houres, The Sunne should rise and sette; yet bee a yeare In finishing his owne dessigned course. Why that I will demonstrate to you, thus; Turne a huge wheele: contrary to the sway Place mee a flye vppon't: the flye (before It can arriue the poynt from whence it went) Shall sundry times be circumuolu'd about; Euen so the Sunne and the affinities: For if you wonder how at one selfe houre, Two of discordant natures may be borne, As one a King, another some base Swaine, One valiant, and the other timerous, Let but two droppes of incke or water fall Directly on so swift a turning wheele, And you shall find them both cast farre in sunder. Euen so the heauenly Orbs, whirling so fast And so impetuously (proiect mens fates) Most full of change and contrariety. Cood faith these knowledges are very rare, And full of admiration; are they not? The Mathematicques are the strength of truth, A Magazine of all perfection. Shall wee designe some place for exercise, And euery morning haue a Lecture read. Content, (if soe Chrisoganus stand pleaz'd) His exhibition shall be competent: wee'le all be Patrons. To make you Artists, answeres my desire, Rather then hope or mercenary hire. Holyday, O blessed morne, This day Plenty hath beene borne, Plenty is the child of Peace; To her birth the Gods do prease, Full crown'd Mazors Bacchus brings, With liquor which from grapes hee wringes: Holliday, O blessed morne; This day Plenty hath bin borne, Holliday let's loudly cry, For ioy of her natiuity. Ceres with a bounteous hand, Doth at Plenties elbo stand: Binding mixed Coronets, Of wheat which on her head she sets. Holliday, O blessed morne, This day Plenty hath bin borne, Holliday lets loudly cry, For ioy of her natiuity. Reach me the bowle with rich Autumnian Iuice, That I may drinke a health to your new Queene. Times winged howers (that poynted out my raygne,) Are fled; I am no more your Soueraigne. Wound Ayre with shrill tun'd Canzonets, I robbe my selfe to make my Daughter rich, Peace doth resigne her pure imperiall Crowne, (Wrought by the Muses) in whose Circle grow All flowers that are to Phoebus consecrate. What heauenly soueraignty supports my state That Plenty raignes (as Princesse) after Peace? Then if this powerfull arme can turne the hower, It is my will, (and that shall stand for law) That all thinges on the earth bee plentifull. I crush out bounty from the amber grape, And fill your barnes with swelling sheaues of Corne, How can this, but engender blessed thought, Especially when Gods our good haue sought? For thee, thy seruants captiuate the Earth, Her fruitfulnes fals downe at Plentyes feete. Bachus will cheere her melancholly sence, With droppes of Nectar from this Crimson Iuyce. Her body shall sustaine ten thousand wounds, And swarthy India be transform'd to Sea, Disgorging golden choller to the waues, Before sweet Plenty find the least defect.