The Valiant Welshman (Caradoc the Great) · chunk 21 of 32
A., R. · published 1615 · first performed or written 1612 [1610-1615] (Annals) history · Prince Henry's Men T56 Magic, spells and conjuring typicality 0.83 · 493 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T56: magic, faustus, charms, charm, conjure, spirits, skill, ho, power, spells.
Good Angels guide thy dangerous enterprise, And bring thee back, with conquest to thy friends. Some powerful Spirit hover over the head Of my dear Lord, and guard him from the rage Of that fell Monster. Come, Princes, let's away. A woman's fears can hardly stint or stay. I have not seen a beauty more divine, A gate more like to Iunoes, Queen of heaven. I cannot tell; but if there be a Cupid, Arrows and flames, that from the sacred fires Of love and passion, that fond men inspires With desperate thoughts, kindles our vain desires: Then in this breast their local place must be. Oh Love, how powerful is thy Deity, That binds the understanding, blinds the eye! Yet here's an object for the eye so rare, Deceit can ne'er beguile, it is so fair. This chase I'll keep, and either win the game, Or lose the golden Fleece unto my shame. Now, shepherd, are we yet within the ken Of this fell monster? Not yet, my Lord: and yet, me thinks, this place should not be far. Then here we'll stay: it may be, being hungry, The dreadful monster now will seek his prey, And range towards vs. Come, let's walk about. Stay venturous Prince, and from an old man's hand, receive the means, that sacred heavens decree, To rid thy Land from this perplexity. No force of sword can conquer hellish fiends, By black enchantments made to take thy life: Thou mayst with greater ease cleave rocks asunder, Or with thy hands break Adamants in twain, Which nought but blood of Goats can mollify, Then pierce the scales of this infernal Monster. About thee take this precious sovereign herb, That Mercury to wise Ulysses gave, To keep him from the rage of Circe's charms. This precious herb, maugre the force of hell, From blackest sorcery keeps sound and well. Farewell, great Prince. Thanks, gentle Father. And see, the Serpent comes. Now Caradoc, pursue this hellish Fiend. Cursed impostor, damned Engineer of plots, As black in cursed purposes, as night, When by your hellish charms, she mourns in black And sable vestments; tell me, thou son of darkness, Where that Inventor of mischievous ills Gloster remains. There in that cave: but he is fled from thence, And being frantic with the horrid sight Of fearful apparitions, in despair Runs up and down these solitary Groves, Where shortly Furies, with their devilish haunts, Will lead him to a sad and violent death. Wert thou the author? tell upon thy life. No, Prince: for in this horrid Cave There lives my aged mother, deep in skill Of Magic Exorcisms, as the art itself Exceeds the boundless depth of human wit. With her the Earl conspired, to draw you hither By this invention. Rise, come forth, thou ugly Hag, from thy dark Cell. Cousin Morgan, throw her into the flames Of the burning Temple. I warrant her. By shesu, 'tis a hot whore.
nodes 1170–1234 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 21 of 32 in this edition
Length
493 words · 679 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T56 — Magic, spells and conjuringcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.834 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T45 · seed 44: T51 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Good Angels guide thy dangerous enterprise, And bring thee backe, with conquest to thy friends. Some powerfull Spirit houer ouer the head Of my deare Lord, and gard him from the rage Of that fell Monster. Come, Princes, let's away. A womans feares can hardly stint or stay. I haue not seene a beauty more diuine, A gate more like to Iunoes, Queene of heauen. I cannot tell; but if there be a Cupid, Arrowes and flames, that from the sacred fires Of loue and passion, that fond men inspires With desperate thoughts, kindles our vain desires: Then in this brest their locall place must be. Oh Loue, how powerfull is thy Deity, That binds the vnderstanding, blinds the eye! Yet here's an obiect for the eye so rare, Deceyt can ne're beguile, it is so fayre. This chase Ile keepe, and eyther winne the game, Or lose the golden Fleece vnto my shame. Now, shepheard, are we yet within the ken Of this fell monster? Not yet, my Lord: and yet, me thinks, this place should not be farre. Then here weele stay: it may be, being hungry, The dreadfull monster now vvill seeke his prey, And range towards vs. Come, let's walke about. Stay ventrous Prince, and from an old mans hand, Receyue the meanes, that sacred heauens decree, To rid thy Land from this perplexity. No force of sword can conquer hellish fiends, By blacke inchantments made to take thy life: Thou maist with greater ease cleaue rocks asunder, Or with thy hands breake Adamants in twayn, Which nought but bloud of Goates can mollifie, Then pierce the skales of this infernall Monster. About thee take this precious soueraigne herbe, That Mercury to wise Vlisses gaue, To keepe him from the rage of Cyrces charmes. This precious herbe, maugre the force of hell, From blackest sorcery keepes sound and well. Farewell, great Prince. Thanks, gentle Father. And see, the Serpent comes. Now Caradoc, pursue this hellish Fiend. Cursed Imposter, damn'd Inginer of plots, As blacke in cursed purposes, as night, When by your hellish charmes, she mournes in blacke And sable vestments; tell me, thou sonne of darkenesse, Where that Inuentor of mischieuous ills Gloster remaynes. There in that caue: but he is fled from thence, And being frantike with the horrid sight Of fearefull apparitions, in despayre Runnes vp and downe these solitary Groues, Where shortly Furies, with their diuelish haunts, Will leade him to a sad and violent death. Wert thou the authour? tell vpon thy life. No, Prince: for in this horrid Caue There liues my aged mother, deepe in skill Of Magicke Exorcismes, as the art it selfe Exceeds the boundlesse depth of humane wit. With her the Earle conspirde, to draw you hither By this inuention. Rise, come forth, thou vgly Hagge, from thy darke Cell. Cousin Morgan, throw her into the flames Of the burning Temple. I warrant her. By shesu, tis a hote whore.