The Brazen Age (The Age of Brass) · chunk 15 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 · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
Defend us heaven, what sudden ecstasy Or unexpected torture hath disturbed His health and mirth? Worse than my torment, That I must die thus, thus, that the Boar had slain me, Happy Anceus and Adonis blessed, You died with fame, and honour crowns your rest; My flame increaseth still, oh father Oeneus And you Althaea, whom I would call mother But that my genius prompts me thouart unkind, And yet farewell, Atlanta beauteous maid, I cannot speak my thoughts for torture, death, Anguish and pains, all that Promethean fire Was stolen from heaven, the Thief left in my bosom. The Sun hath cast his element on me, And in my entrails hath he fixed his Sphere, His pointed beams he hath darted through my heart, And I am still on flame. So, now 'tis done, The brand consumed, his vital thread quite spun. Now 'gins my fire waste, and my natural heat To change to Ice, and my scorched blood to freeze. Farewell, since his black ensign death displays, I die, cut off thus in my best of days. Dead is the flower and pride of Calidon. Who would displease the Gods? Diana's wrath Hath stretched even to the death, and tragic ruin Of this fair hopeful Prince, here stay thy vengeance Goddess of chastity, and let it hang No longer o'er the house of Calidon: Since thou hast cropped the young, spare these old branches That yet survive. She shall not, Iason no, She shall not. Do you wonder Lords of Greece, To see this Prince lie dead? why that's no novel, All men must die, thou, he, and every one, Yea I myself must: but I'll tell you that Shall stiff your hair, your eyes start from heads, Print fixed amazement in your wondering fronts, Yea and astonish all: This was my son, Borne with sick throws, nursed from my tender breast Brought up with femine care, cherished with love: His youth, my pride; his honour all my wishes, So dear, that little less he was then life. But will you know the wonder ('las) too true, Him (all my sons) this my enraged hand slew, This hand, that Diane's quenchless rage to fill, Shall with the slain sons sword the mother kill. The Queen hath slain herself: who'll bear these news to the sad King? That labour may be spared: The King no sooner heard of his sons death, (wrought by his mother in the fatal brand) But he sunk dead: sorrow so changed his weakness, And without word or motion he expired. we'll see them (ere we part from Calidon) Interred with honour: But we sojourn long In this cursed Clime; oh let us not incur Diana's fury, our next expedition Shall be for Colchos, and the golden Fleece, Unto which (Princes) we invite you all. Our stately Argo we have rigged and trimmed, And in it we will bear the best of Greece, Styled from our ship by name of Argonauts. Great Hercules will with his company, Grace our adventure, and renown all Greece, By the rich purchase of the Colchian Fleece.
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)
Defend vs heauen, what fuddaine extasy Or vnexpected torture hath disturb'd His health and mirth? Worse then my torment, That I must die thus, thus, that the Boare had slaine me, Happy Anceus and Adonis blest, You died with fame, and honour crownes your rest; My flame increaseth still, oh father Oeneus And you Althea, whom I would call mother But that my genius prompts me th'art vnkind, And yet farewell, Atlanta beauteous maide, I cannot speake my thoughts for torture, death, Anguish and paines, all that Promethean fire Was stolne from heauen, the Thiefe left in my bosome. The Sunne hath cast his element on me, And in my entralls hath he fixt his Spheare, His pointed beames he hath darted through my heart, And I am still on flame. So, now'tis done, The brand consum'd, his vitall threed quite spun. Now'gins my fire waste, and my naturall heat To change to Ice, and my scortch't blood to freeze. Farewell, since his blacke ensigne death displayes, I dye, cut off thus in my best of dayes. Dead is the flower and pride of Calidon. Who would displease the Gods? Diana's wrath Hath stretch't euen to the death, and tragicke ruine Of this faire hopefull Prince, here stay thy vengeance Goddesse of chastity, and let it hang No longer ore the house of Calidon: Since thou hast cropt the yong, spare these old branches That yet suruiue. She shall not, Iason no, She shall not. Do you wonder Lords of Greece, To see this Prince lye dead? why that's no nouell, All men must dye, thou, he, and euery one, Yea I my selfe must: but Il'e tell you that Shall stiffe your haire, your eyes start from heads, Print fixt amazement in your wondring fronts, Yea and astonish all: This was my sonne, Borne with sick throws, nurst from my tender brest Brought vp with femine care, cherisht with loue: His youth, my pride; his honour all my wishes, So deere, that little lesse he was then life. But will you know the wonder ('lasse) too true, Him (all my sonnes) this my inrag'd hand slue, This hand, that Dians quenchlesse rage to fill, Shall with the slaine sonnes sword the mother kill. The Queene hath slaine herselfe: who'l beare these newes to the sad King? That labour may be spar'd: The King no sooner heard of his sonnes death, (wrought by his mother in the fatall brand) But he sunke dead: sorrow so chang'd his weakenesse, And without word or motion he expir'd. Wee'l see them (ere we part from Calidon) Inter'd with honour: But we soiourne long In this curst Clime; oh let vs not incurro Diana's fury, our next expedition Shall be for Colchos, and the golden Fleece, Vnto which (Princes) we inuite you all. Our stately Argoe we haue rig'd and trim'd, And in it we will beare the best of Greece, Stil'd from our ship by name of Argonauts. Great Hercules will with his company, Grace our aduenture, and renowne all Greece, By the rich purchase of the Colchian Fleece.