The Golden Age, or The Lives of Jupiter and Saturn · chunk 17 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 0.82 · 548 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
None speak, let no harsh voice presume to jar In our distressed care, I am all sad, All horror and affrightment, since the slaughter And tragic murder of my first borne Ops, Continued in the unnatural massacre Of three young Princes: not a day hath left me Without distaste, no night but double darkened With terror and confused melancholy: No hour but hath had care and discontent Proportioned to his minutes not an instant: Without remorse and anguish. Oh you crowns, Why are you made, and metaled out of cares? I am overgrown with sorrow, circumvaled With multiplicity of distemperatures, And Saturn is a King of nothing else, But woes, vexations, sorrows, and laments. To add to these the threatenings of red war, As if the murder of my Princely babes Were not enough to plague an usurpation, But they must add the rage of sword and fire, To affright my people: these are miseries, Able to be comprised in no dimension. My father shall not macerate himself, I'll dare to interrupt his passions, Although I buy it dearly with his hate. My Lord you are a King of a great people, Your power sufficient to repulse a foe Greater than Titan. Though my brother's births Be crowned in blood, yet am I still reserved To be the hopeful comfort of your age. My dearest Iuno, beautiful remainder Of Saturn's royal issue, but for thee I had ere this with these my fingers torn A grave out of the rocks, to have entombed The wretched carcase of a caitiff King: And I will live, be't but to make thee Queen Of all the triumphs and the spoils I win. Speak, what's the project of their invasion? That the King of Crete, Hath not (according to his vows and oaths) Slain his male issue. Have I not their bloods Already quaffed to angry Nemesis? Have not these ruthless and remorseless eyes, (unfather-like) beheld their panting hearts Swimming in bowls of blood? Am I not sonless? Nay childless too, save Iuno whom I love: And dare they then? Come, our continued sorrow Shall into scarlet indignation turn, And my sons blood shall crown their guilty heads With purple vengeance. Valiant Lords, set on, And meet them to their last destruction. March forward. Stay, because we'll ground our wars On justice: Fair Sibilla, on thy life, I charge thee tell me, and dissemble not, By all the hopes in Saturn thou hast stored, Our nuptial pleasures, and affairs of love, As thou esteemest our grace, or vengeance fear'st, Resolve me truly. Hast thou sons alive? These tears, and that dejection on thy knee, Accompanied with dumbness, argue guilt. Arise and speak. Let Saturn know, I am a Woman then, And more, I am a Mother: would you have me A monster, to exceed in cruelty The savagest of Savages? bears, Tigers, Wolves, All feed their young: would Saturn have his Queen More fierce than these? Think you Sibilla dare Murder her young, whom cruel beasts would spare? Let me be held a mother, not a murderess: For Saturn, thou hast living three brave sons. But where? rather than to reveal to thee, That thou mayst send, their guiltless blood to spill, Here cease my life, for them thou shalt not kill.
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)
None speake, let no harsh voyce presume to iarr In our distressed care, I am all sad, All horrout and afrightment, since the slaughter And tragick murder of my first borne Ops, Continued in the vnnat urall massacre Of three yong Princes: not a day hath left me Without distast, no night but double darkned With terrour and confused melancholy: No houre but hath had care and discontent Proportion'd to his minutes not an instant: Without remorse and anguish. Oh you crownes, Why are you made, and mettald out of cares? I am ouergrowne with sorrow, circumuailed With multiplicity of distempratures, And Saturne is a King of nothing else, But woes, vexations, sorrowes, and laments. To adde to these the threatnings of red war, As if the murther of my Princely babes Were not enough to plague an vsurpation, But they must adde the rage of sword and fire, To affright my people: these are miseries, Able to be comprised in no dimension. My father shall not macerate himselfe, Ile dare to interrupt his passions, Although I buy it deerely with his hate. My Lord you are a King of a great people, Your power sufficient to repulse a foe Greater then Tytan. Though my brothers birthes Be crown'd in bloud, yet am I still reseru'd To be the hopefull comfort of your age. My dearest Iuno, beautifull remainder Of Saturnes royall issue, but for thee I had ere this with these my fingers torne A graue out of the rockes, to haue entomb'd The wretched carkasse of a caitife King: And I will liue, be't but to make thee Queene Of all the triumphes and the spoyles I winne. Speake, what's the proiect of their inuasion? That the King of Creet, Hath not (according to his vowes and oathes) Slaine his male issue. Haue I not their blouds Already quaft to angry Nemesis? Haue not these ruthlesse and remorslesse eyes, (Vn-father-like) beheld their panting hearts Swimming in bowles of bloud? Am I not sonne-lesse? Nay child-lesse too, saue Iuno whom I loue: And dare they then? Come, our continued sorrow Shall into scarlet indignation turne, And my sonnes bloud shall crowne their guilty heads With purple vengeance. Valiant Lords, set on, And meet them to their last destruction. March forward. Stay, because wee'l ground our warres On iustice: Faire Sibilla, on thy life, I charge thee tell me, and dissemble not, By all the hopes in Saturne thou hast stor'd, Our nuptiall pleasures, and affaires of loue, As thou esteem'st our grace, or vengeance fear'st, Resolue me truly. Hast thou sonnes aliue? These teares, and that deiection on thy knee, Accompanied with dumbnesse, argue guilt. Arise and speake. Let Saturne know, I am a Woman then, And more, I am a Mother: would you haue me A monster, to exceed in cruelty The sauadgest of Sauadges? Beares, Tygers, Wolues, All feed their yong: would Saturne haue his Queene More fierce then these? Thinke you Sibilla dare Murder her yong, whom cruell beasts would spare? Let me be held a mother, not a murdresse: For Saturne, thou hast liuing three braue sonncs. But where? rather then to reueale to thee, That thou may'st send, their guiltlesse bloud to spill, Here cease my life, for them thou shalt not kill.