The Brazen Age (The Age of Brass) · chunk 11 of 40
Heywood, Thomas · published 1613 · first performed or written 1611 [1610-1611] (Annals) classical legend or myth · Queen Anne's Men unassigned nearest T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
And ere that monster on Atlanta pray, This point of steel shall through his heart make way. Adonis, thou that makest Venus a Huntress, Leave Paphos, Gnidon, Eryx, Erecine, And Amathon, with precious metals big, Mayst thou this day live bucklered in our wing, And shadowed in the amorous power of love: My swans I have unyoked, and from their necks ta'en of their bridles made of twisted silk. And from my chariot stuck with Doves white plumes Lighted upon this verdure, where the Boar Hath in his fury snowed his scattered foam. What cry was that? It was Adonis sure. That perceant shriek shrilled through the musical pipes Of his sweet voices organs, thou Diana If thou hast sent this fiend to ruin love, Or print the least scar in my Adon's flesh Thy chastity I will abandon quite, And with my looseness, blast thy Cinthian light. There lie most beauteous of the youths of Greece, Whose death I will not mourn, ere I revenge. I'll second thee, thou pride of Greece adieu, Whom too much valour in thy prime o'erthrew. You're not mine eyes, for they to fee him dead Would from their soft beds drop upon the earth: Or in their own warm liquid moisture drown Their native brightness: thouart not Venus' heart, For were't thou mine, at this sad spectacle thoudst break these ribs though they were made of brass, And leap out of my bosom instantly. My sorrows like a populous throng, all striving At once to pass through some enforced breach, In stead of winning passage stop the way, And so the greatest haste, breeds the most stay. Oh me! my multiplicity of sorrows, Makes me almost forget to grieve at all. Speak, speak, my Adon, thou whom death hath fed on Ere thou wast yet full ripe; and this thy beauty's Devoured ere tasted. Eye, where's now thy brightness? Or hand thy warmth? Oh that such lovely parts Should be by death thus made unserviceable. That (livest than) had the power to entrance Ioue: Ravish, amaze, and surfeit, all these pleasures Venus hath lost by thy untimely fall. And therefore for thy death eternally Venus shall mourn; Earth shall thy trunk devour, But thy lives blood I'll turn into a flower, And every Month in solemn rights deplore, This beauteous Greek slain by Diana's Boar. Thus lies the terror that but once today Awed all the boldest hearts of Calidon Wallowing and weltering in his native blood, Transfixed by us, but bravely seconded, By noble Iason, Theseus, Peleus, Telamon, Nestor, the Tyndarides, And our bold uncles, all our boar-spears stained And gory hands laved in his reeking blood, To whom belongs this brave victorious spoil? To Meleager Prince of Calidon. Is that your general suffrage? Let not Greece Suffer such merit unregarded pass, Or valour live unguerdoned, that fall Swine Whom yet, even dead, th'amazed people fear, And dare not touch but with astonishment Fell by thy hand.
seed 43: T17 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And ere that monster on Atlanta pray, This point of steele shal through his hart make way. Adonis, thou that makest Venus a Huntresse, Leaue Paphos, Gnidon, Eryx, Erecine, And Amathon, with precious mettals bigge, Mayst thou this day liue bucklerd in our wing, And shadowed in the amorous power of loue: My swannes I haue vnyoakt, and from their necks Tane of their bridles made of twisted silke. And from my chariot stucke with Doues white plumes Lighted vpon this verdure, where the Boare Hath in his fury snow'd his scattered foame. What cry was that? It was Adonis sure. That piercesant shrike shrild through the musicall pipes Of his sweete voyces organs, thou Diana If thou hast sent this fiende to ruin loue, Or print the least skarre in my Adons flesh Thy chastity I will abandon quite, And with my loosenesse, blast thy Cinthian light. There lie most beauteous of the youths of Greece, Whoe death I will not mourne, ere I reuenge. I'le second thee, thou pride of Greece adiew, Whom too much valor in thy prime ore-threw. Y'are not mine eyes, for they to fee him dead Would from their soft beds drop vpon the earth: Or in their owne warme liquid moisture drowne Their natiue brightnesse: th'art not Venus heart, For wer't thou mine, at this sad spectacle Th'dst breake these ribs though they were made of brasse, And leap out of my bosome instantly. My sorrowes like a populous throng, all striuing At once to passe through some inforced breach, In stead of winning passage stop the way, And so the greatest hast, breeds the most stay. Oh mee! my multiplicity of sorrowes, Makes me almost forget to grieue at all. Speake, speake, my Adon, thou whom death hath fed on Ere thou wast yet full ripe; and this thy beautie's Deuour'd ere tasted. Eye, where's now thy brightnesse? Or hand thy warmth? Oh that such louely parts Should be by death thus made vnseruiceable. That (liuest then) had the power to intrance Ioue: Rauish, amaze, and surfet, all these pleasures Venus hath lost by thy vntimely fall. And therefore for thy death eternally Venus shall mourne; Earth shall thy trunke deuoure, But thy liues bloud I'le turne into a flower, And euery Month in sollemne rights deplore, This beauteous Greeke slaine by Dianaes Boare. Thus lies the terror that but once to day Aw'd all the boldest hearts of Calidon Wallowing and weltering in his natiue bloud, Transfixt by vs, but brauely seconded, By noble Iason, Theseus, Peleus, Telamon, Nestor, the Tyndarides, And our bold vnkles, al our bore-speares stain'd And gory hands lau'd in his reeking bloud, To whom belongs this braue victorious spoile? To Meleager Prince of Calidon. Is that your generall suffrage? Let not Greece Suffer such merite vnregarded passe, Or valour liue vnguerdon'd, that fel Swine Whom yet, euen dead, th'amazed people feare, And dare not touch but with astonishent Fell by thy hand.