The Golden Age, or The Lives of Jupiter and Saturn · chunk 6 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 0.77 · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
Sweet son. Dear sovereign. He that next replies, Mother or friend, by Saturn's fury dies. Away, fetch me his heart, brim me a bowl With his warm blood. Tyrant, my vow I'll keep, Life newly wakened, shall as newly sleep. Worse than a bruit, for bruits preserve their own Worse than the worst of things is Saturn grown. Command the child to death. Tyrant, I will. tigers would save whom Saturn means to kill, It is my son whom I command to death, A Prince that may succeed me in my Throne, And to posterity revive my name. Call Vesta back, and bid her save the Babe. I'll do't my Lord. Yet stay: the lad to kill I save my oath, and keep my kingdom still. Post after her and charge them on their lives, Send me the babe's blood in a cup of gold, A present which I'll offer to the Gods. Delay not, be't our mother, nay our wife, Forfeits her own to save the infant's life. I shall inform them so. Is this a deity, To be more wretched than the worst on earth, To be deprived, that comfort of my issue, Which even the basest of my land enjoy: I'll henceforth for my rigor hate myself, Pleasures despise, and joys abandon quite. The purest blood that runs within my veins, I'll dull with thick, and troubled melancholy, I'll war with comfort, be at odds with solace, And league with nothing but distemperature. Henceforth my unkempt locks shall knot in curls, Razor nor any edge shall kiss my cheek, Until my chin appear a wilderness, And make we wild in knowledge to the world. Perpetual care shall cabin in my heart, My tyranny I'll punish in myself, And save the Gods that labour— Saturn's disturbance to the world shall be, That planet that infuseth melancholy. Is not our mother Vesta yet returned, That made herself th'unwilling messenger, To bring the king news of his new-born son? Madam, not yet. Mother, of all that ever mothers were Most wretched. kiss thy sweet babe ere he die, That hath life only lent to suffer death. Sweet Lad, I would thy father saw thee smile, Thy beauty and thy pretty Infancy, Would mollify his heart were't hewed from flint, Or carved with Iron tools from the corsic rock, Thou laughest to think thou must be killed in jest. Oh if thou needs must die, I'll be thy murderess, And kill thee with my kisses (pretty knave) And canst thou laugh to see thy mother weep? Or art thou in thy cheerful smiles so free In scorn of thy rude father's tyranny? Madam, the King hath slain his first borne son, Whom had he seen alive, he'd not have given For ten such Kingdoms as he now enjoys, The death of such a fair and hopeful child, Is full as much as Titan can demand.
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)
Sweet sonne. Deere soueraigne. He that next replyes, Mother or friend, by Saturnes fury dyes. Away, fetch me his heart, brimme me a bowle With his warme bloud. Tyran, my vow I'le keep, Life newly wakend, shall as newly sleep. Worse then a bruit, for bruits preserue their own Worse then the worst of things is Saturne growne. Command the childe to death. Tyrant, I will. Tygers would saue whom Saturn means to kill, It is my sonne whom I command to death, A Prince that may succed me in my Throne, And to posterity reuiue my name. Call Vesta backe, and bid her saue the Babe. I'le do't my Lord. Yet stay: the lad to kill I saue my oath, and keep my kingdome still. Post after her and charge them on their liues, Send me the babes bloud in a cup of gold, A present which I'le offer to the Gods. Delay not, bee't our mother, nay our wife, Forfeits her owne to saue the Infants life. I shall informe them so. Is this a deity, To be more wretched then the worst on earth, To be depriu'd, that comfort of my issue, Which euen the basest of my land enioy: Il'e henceforth for my rigor hate my selfe, Pleasures despise, and ioyes abandon quite. The purest bloud that runnes within my veines, I'le dull with thicke, and troubled melancholy, Il'e warre with comfort, be at oddes with solace, And league with nothing but distemprature. Henceforth my vnkem'd lockes shall knot in curles, Rasor nor any edge shall kisse my cheeke, Vntill my chin appeare a wildernesse, And make we wild in knowledge to the world. Perpetuall care shall cabin in my heart, My tyranny I'le punish in my selfe, And saue the Gods that labour— Saturns disturbance to the world shall be, That planet that infuseth melancholy. Is not our mother Vesta yet return'd, That made herselfe th'unwilling messenger, To bring the king newes of his new-borne sonne? Madam, not yet. Mother, of all that euer mothers were Most wretched. kisse thy sweet babe ere he dye, That hath life onely lent to suffer death. Sweet Lad, I would thy father saw thee smile, Thy beauty and thy pretty Infancy, Would molifie his heart wer't hew'd from flint, Or caru'd with Iron tooles from the corsicke rocke, Thou laughest to thinke thou must be kild in iest. Oh if thou needs must dye, I'le bethy murdresse, And kill thee with my kisses (pretty knaue) And canst thou laugh to see thy mother weepe? Or art thou in thy cheerefull smiles so free In scorne of thy rude fathers tyranny? Madam, the King hath slaine his first borne son, Whom had hee seene aliue, hee'd not haue giuen For ten such Kingdomes as he now enioyes, The death of such a faire and hopefull child, Is full as much as Tytan can demand.