The Golden Age, or The Lives of Jupiter and Saturn · chunk 5 of 36
Heywood, Thomas · published 1611 · first performed or written 1610 [1609-1611] (Annals) classical legend or myth · Queen Anne's Men · Red Bull T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and typicality 0.76 · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
He is. Admit him: now what doth the Oracle Speak by the Delphian Priest. Thus mighty Saturn. After our Ceremonious Rites performed, And Sacrifice ended with reverence, A murmuring thunder hurried through the Temple. When fell a pleasant shower, whose silver drops. filled all the Altar with a roseate dew. In this amazement, thus the Delphian God, Spoke from the incensed Altar: Lord of Crete, Thus say to Saturn: Sibyl his fair wife, Is great with a young Prince of Noble hopes, That shall his father's virtues much excel, Cease on his Crown, and drive him down to Hell. The Gods (if there be any 'bove ourself) Envy our greatness, and of one that seeks To bear himself 'bove man, makes me more wretched Than the most slavish bruit. What shall my Sibyl Bring me a son; that shall depose me then? He shall not; I will cross the Deities, I'll tomb th'usurper in his Infant blood, I'll keep my oath; Prince Titan shall succeed, Maugre the envious Gods, the brat shall bleed. Way for the dowager Queen, How fares our mother? How is't with fair Sibilla, our dear Queen? Your queen's delivered. Of some female birth, You Deities I beg: make me oh Heavens, No more inhuman in the tragic slaughter Of princely Infants, fill my decreed number With Virgins, though in them I lose my name And kingdom, either make her barren ever Or else all generative power and appetite Deprive me: lest my purple sin be styled Many degrees 'bove murder. What's her birth? she's the sad mother of a second son. Be ever dumb, let everlasting silence tongue-tie the world, all human voice henceforth, Turn to confused, and undistinguished found, Of barking Hounds, hoarse bears, & howling wolves, To stop all rumour that may fill the world With Saturn's tyrannies against his sons. Ah, did but Saturn see you smiling babe, he'd give it life, and break ten thousand oaths Rather than suffer the sweet infant die, His very look would beg a quick reprieve Even of the tyrant Titan saw the uncle With what a graceful look the Infant smiles, he'd give it life, although he purchased it with loss of a great Kingdom. Then spare the lad: I did offend too much To kill the first, tell Sibyl he shall live, I'll be no more so monstrous in my rigor, Nor with the blood of Princes buy my Crown. No more their Cradles shall be made their Tombs, Nor their soft swaths become their winding sheets: How can my subjects think I'll spare their lives, That to my own can be so tyrannous? Tell Sibyl he shall live. Vesta will be that joyful messenger. Stay, let me first reward the Oracle, It told me Sibyl should produce a son, That should his Father's virtues much excel, Cease on my Crown, and drive me down to Hell. Must I then give an Infant-traitor life, To sting me to the heart? the brat shall bleed.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T22 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
He is. Admit him: now what doth the Oracle Speake by the Delphian Priest. Thus mighty Saturne. After our Ceremonious Rites perform'd, And Sacrifice ended with reuerence, A murmuring thunder hurried through the Temple. When fell a pleasant shower, whose siluer drops. Fil'd all the Altar with a roseate dew. In this amazement, thus the Delphian God, Spake from the Incenst Altar: Lord of Creete, Thus say to Saturne: Sibill his faire wife, Is great with a yong Prince of Noble hopes, That shall his fathers vertues much excell, Ceaze on his Crowne, and driue him downe to Hell. The Gods (if there be any boue our selfe) Enuy our greatnesse, and of one that seekes To beare himselfe boue man, makes me more wretched Then the most slauish bruit. What shall my Sibill Bring me a sonne; that shall depose me then? He shall not; I will crosse the Deities, I'le toombe th'usurper in his Infant bloud, I'le keepe my oath; Prince Tytan shall succeed, Maugre the enuious Gods, the brat shall bleed. Way for the dowager Queene, How fares ourmother? How i'st with faire Sibilla, our deere Queene? Your Queenes deliuered. Of some female birth, You Deities I begge: make me oh Heauens, No more inhumane in the tragicke slaughter Of princely Infants, fill my decreed number With Virgins, though in them I loose my name And kingdome, either make her barren euer Or else all generatiue power and appetite Depriue me: lest my purple sinne be stil'd Many degrees boue murder. What's her birth? Shee's the sad mother of a second sonne. Be euer dumbe, let euerlasting silence Tong-tye the world, all humane voyce henceforth, Turne to confus'd, and vndistinguisht found, Of barking Hounds, hoarse beares, & howling wolues, To stop all rumour that may sil the world With Saturnes tyranies against his sonnes. Ah, did but Saturne see you smiling babe, Hee'd giue it life, and breake ten thousand oathes Rather then suffer the sweet infant dye, His very looke would begge a quicke reprieue Euen of the tyrant Tytan saw the vnkle With what a gracefull looke the Infant smiles, Hee'd giue it life, although he purchas'd it with losse of a great Kingdome. Then spare the lad: I did offend too much To kill the first, tell Sibill he shall liue, I'le be no more so monstrous in my rigor, Nor with the bloud of Princes buy my Crowne. No more their Cradles shall be made their Tombes, Nor their soft swathes become their winding sheetes: How can my subiects thinke Il'e spare their liues, That to my owne can be so tyranous? Tell Sibill he shall liue. Vesta will be that ioyfull messenger. Stay, let me first reward the Oracle, It told me Sibill should produce a sonne, That should his Fathers vertues much excell, Cease on my Crowne, and driue me downe to Hell. Must I then giue an Infant-traitor life, To sting me to the heart? the brat shall bleed.