The Hector of Germany, or The Palsgrave, Prime Elector · chunk 7 of 31
Smith, William · published 1615 · first performed or written 1614 [c.1614-1615] (Annals) history; pseudo-history · Red Bull unassigned nearest T24 Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.
My Lord I will. The delian Lute is not more Musical Than thy sweet voice, Oh my Apollo speak, That with the rapture of thy words, my soul May be entranced, and wish no other joys: That by the discord of two Broken harps, (Old and unfit for lovers harmony) Our joys should suffer a distaste of fear; And in our most delights a qualm of grief Run like a vain of Lead through a Gold-mine. We grow too jealous of our prosperous days, Making an evil, where no ill is meant: Like hallowed ground, love sanctifies this place, And will not suffer danger to intrude. Here we are ringed in earthly Paradise, And may have all the heaven to ourselves: Be then Mistrust an exile from my breast, Where lives no jealousy, dwells present rest. But we'll disturb it, & your amorous joys. Our Father's present; Sweet, we are betrayed. Betrayed to death: why do you hold my Sword? There's greater fury kindled in my breast, Then can be quenched by any thing but blood: I shall turn frantic if you brand the Sea Of my displeasure in such narrow bounds, And with a Deluge, equal to the first, That overspread the world, swell up so high, Till not a Mountain overlook the stream, Nor heaven be seen for Rivers of the Land. If I could fear the waving of a Sword, Mine enemies had frighted me ere now; But I'm invaluable, like my mind, Not to be wounded but with darts of love; And I as little estimate a Father In these Pathaires, as he esteems my grief. There's no priority in loves high Court Granted unto the Father's' fore the Son; But like the purest government of all, Every man's mind is his own Monarchy: Where reason near set foot to make a law, Shall common sense keep one, that were absurd. Wouldst fight with me? Not if you will forbear me; But in a war defensive I will stand Against an Army of my Ancestors, Did their enfranchised souls break ope their tombs, And reassumed their bodies as they lived, In their full pride and youthful jollity. Let Ravens perch upon these blossomed trees, Night Owls their stations in this Garden keep, And every ominous portance draw near: For here I'll offer unto Hecate, A hellish sacrifice in a sons blood. I feel an Earthquake in my trembling flesh, And my well boding Gems bids me draw A sword of vengeance on this hasty Lord, Ere suffer him to be a parricide. Will the Lord Clynton buckler out my foe? No, but restrain you from a wilful murder. And like the best oblation for your wrath, Lo, I the subject of this variance fall prostrate on my knee, to suffer death, Ere such a rude act, most unfather-like, Be put in practice on so good a son. Good to deceive me. The deceit is yours.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My Lord I will. The delian Lute is not more Musicall Then thy sweere voyce, Oh my Apollo speake, That with the wrapture of thy words, my soule May be intranst, and wish no other ioyes: That by the discord of two Broken harps, (Old and vnfit for Louers harmony) Our ioyes should suffer a distate of feare; And in our most delights a qualme of griefe Runne like a vayne of Lead through a Gold-mine. We grow too iealous of our prosperous daies, Making an euill, where no ill is meant: Like hallowed ground, loue sanctifies this place, And will not suffer danger to intrude. Here we are ringd in earthly Paradise, And may haue all the heauen to our selues: Be then Mistrust an exile from my brest, Where liues no iealousie, dwells present rest. But wee'l disturbe it, & your amorous ioyes. Our Fathers present; Sweet, we are betraid. Betrayd to death: why doe you hold my Sword? There's greater fury kindled in my brest, Then can be quencht by any thing but blood: I shall turne frantique if you brand the Sea Of my displeasure in such narrow bounds, And with a Deluge, equall to the first, That ouer-spred the world, swell vp so high, Till not a Mountaine ouer-looke the streame, Nor heauen be seene for Riuers of the Land. If I could feare the wauing of a Sword, Mine enemies had frighted me ere now; But I'me invaluable, like my minde, Not to be wounded but with darts of loue; And I as little estimate a Father In these Pathaires, as he esteemes my griefe. There's no preoritie in loues high Court Graunted vnto the Fathers' fore the Sonne; But like the purest gouernment of all, Euery mans minde is his owne Monarchy: Where reason nere set foote to make a law, Shall common sense keepe one, that were absurd. Wouldst fight with me? Not if you will forbeare me; But in a warre defensiue I will stand Against an Army of my Auncestors, Did their enfranchiz'd soules break ope their tombes, And reassum'd their bodyes as they liu'd, In their full pride and youthfull iollity. Let Rauens perch vpon these blossomd trees, Night Owles their stations in this Garden keepe, And euery ominons portence draw neere: For here Ile offer vnto Hecare, A hellish sacrifice in a sonnes blood. I feele an Earth-quake in my trembling flesh, And my well boding Gemms bids me draw A sword of vengeance on this hastie Lord, Ere suffer him to be a pariside. Will the Lord Clynton buckler out my foe? No, but restraine you from a wilfull murther. And like the best oblation for your wrath, Loe, I the subiect of this variance fall prostrate on my knee, to suffer death, Ere such a rude act, most vnfather-like, Be put in practice on so good a sonne. Good to deceiue me. The deceit is yours.