Histriomastix, or The Player Whipped · chunk 19 of 25
Marston, John · published 1610 · first performed or written 1599 [1598-1599] (Annals) moral · Unknown unassigned nearest T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Let's be gone? Have patience worthy Lords, and calm your spirits. Peace prating Scholar: bid the Sea be still, When powerful winds doc toss the raging waves, Or stay the winged lightning in his course; When thou dost this, thy words shall charm me too. Till then preserve thy breath. Mavortius, dar'st thou maintain thy words? How? dare Philarchus? yes, I dare do more; In blood or fire; or where thou darest not come; In the numb fingers of cold death I dare. Swallow those words, or thou shalt eat my sword. He is no Ostrich sir he loves no iron. And yet methinks he should be by his plume. What are you playing with my feather too? O stay your rages, Let not Ambition captivate your blood, Make not your hate's objects for vulgar eyes. A pox upon this linguist, take him hence; Philarchus, I defy thee, and in scorn, Spit on thy bosom: vowing here by heaven, If either sword, or fire, or strength of men, Or any other steeled violence, Can bring to swift confusion what is thine, Upon this grateful soil; it shall be done. And when 'tis done, I will restore my wrongs Out of thy Forts, thy Castles and thy lands. My lands? ay, factious Lord, till then adieu, we'll shine like Comets in next interview. My soul is big in travail with revenge, And I could rip her womb up with a stab, To free th' imprisoned issue of my thought. O, how this vulture, (vile Ambition,) tears on the heart of greatness, and devours, Their bleeding honours, whilst their empty names, Lie chained unto the hill of infamy: Now is the time wherein a melting eye May spend itself in tears, and with salt drops, Write woe, and desolation in the dust, Upon the frighted bosom of our land, Pity and Piety are both exiled, Religion buried with our Father's bones, In the cold earth; and nothing but her face, Left to adorn these gross and impious times. Liberty, liberty, liberty. Nay but stay, stay, my Masters: we have not insulted yet who shall be our Captain. Mass that's true: faith let's all be Captains. Content, so we shall be sure to have no equality amongst us. O, it's best, for, (for mine own part) I scorn to have an equal. Well then: what exploit shall we do first? Marry I'll tell you: Let's pluck down the Church, and set up an Alehouse. O excellent, excellent, excellent, a rare exploit, a rare exploit. Good: this is for exploit: but then there's a thing called Action. O, that's going to Sea; that, we have nothing to do withal, No, we are all for the land, we. Land, I: we'll pluck down all the noble houses in the land, ere we have done. It were a most noble service, and most worthy of the Chronicle.
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)
Let's be gon? Haue patience worthy Lords, and calme your spirits. Peace prating Scholler: bid the Sea be still, When powerfull windes doc tosse the raging waues, Or stay the winged lightning in his course; When thou doost this, thy words shall charme me too. Till then preserue thy breath. Mauortius, dar'st thou maintaine thy words? How? dare Philarchus? yes, I dare doe more; In bloud or fire; or where thou darst not come; In the numme fingers of cold death I dare. Swallow those words, or thou shalt eate my sword. He is no Estrich sir he loues no yron. And yet me thinkes he should be by his plume. What are you playing with my feather too? O stay your rages, Let not Ambition captiuate your blood, Make not your hates obiects for vulgar eyes. A pox vpon this linguist, take him hence; Philarchus, I defie thee, and in scorne, Spit on thy bozome: vowing heere by heauen, If either sword, or fire, or strength of men, Or any other steeled violence, Can bring to swift confusion what is thine, Vpon this gratefull soyle; it shall be done. And when 'ts done, I will restore my wrongs Out of thy Forts, thy Castles and thy lands. My lands? I, factious Lord, till then adiew, Weele shine like Commets in next enter-view. My soule is bigge in trauaile with reuenge, And I could rip her wombe vp with a stabbe, To free th' imprisoned issue of my thought. O, how this vulture, (vile Ambition,) Tyers on the heart of greatnesse, and deuoures, Their bleeding honours, whil'st their empty names, Lye chain'd vnto the hill of infamie: Now is the time wherein a melting eye May spend it selfe in teares, and with salt drops, Write woe, and desolation in the dust, Vpon the frighted bosome of our land, Pitty and Piety are both exilde, Religion buried with our Fathers bones, In the cold earth; and nothing but her face, Left to adorne these grosse and impious times. Liberty, liberty, liberty. Nay but stay, stay, my Masters: we haue not insulted yet who shall be our Captaine. Masse that's true: faith let's all be Captaines. Content, so wee shall bee sure to haue no equalitie amongst vs. O, it's best, for, (for mine owne part) I scorne to haue an equall. Well then: what exploit shall we do first? Marry Ile tell you: Let's pluck downe the Church, and set vp an Ale-house. O excellent, excellent, excellent, a rare exploit, a rare exploite. Good: this is for exploite: but then there's a thing cal'd Action. O, that's going to Sea; that, we haue nothing to do withall, No, we are all for the land, wee. Land, I: weele pluck downe all the noble houses in the land, e're we haue done. It were a most noble seruice, and most worthy of the Chronicle.