Mercury Vindicated from the Alchemists at Court · chunk 5 of 5
Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1616 [Jan 1] (Annals) masque · before the Court unassigned nearest T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and · 562 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
THou art a scorner, Mercury, and out of the pride of thy protection here, mak'st it thy study, to reuile Art, but it will turne to thine owne contumely soone. Call forth the creatures of the first classe, and let them moue to the harmony of our heat, till the slanderer haue seal'd vp his owne lips, to his owne torment. LEt 'hem come, let 'hem come, I would not wish a greater punishment to thy impudence. ARt thou not asham'd, Vulcan, to offer in defence of thy fire and Art, against the excellence of the Sunne and Nature, creatures more imperfect, then the very flies and insects, that are her trespasses and scapes? Vanish with thy insolence, thou and thy Impostors, and all mention of you melt, before the Maiesty of this light, whose Mercury henceforth I professe to be, and neuer againe the Philosophers. Vanish, I say, that all who haue but their senses, may see and iudge the difference betweene thy ridiculous monsters, and his absolute features. HOw yong and fresh am I to night, To see't kept day, by so much light, And twelue my sonnes stand in their Makers sight? Helpe, wise Prometheus, something must be done, To shew they are the creatures of the Sunne, That each to other Is a brother, And Nature here no stepdame, but a mother. Come forth, come forth, proue all the numbers then, That make perfection vp, and may absolue you men. But shew thy winding wayes and artes, Thy risings, and thy timely startes Of stealing fire, from Ladies eyes and hearts. Those softer circles are the yong mans heauen, And there more orbes and Planets are then seuen, To know whose motion Were a Notion As worthy of youthes study, as deuotion. Come forth, come forth, proue all the time will gaine, For Nature bids the best, and neuer bad in vaine. HOw many, 'mongst these Ladies here, Wish now they such a mother were! Not one I feare, And read it in their laughters. Ther's more I guesse would wish to be my daughters. You thinke they would not be so old, for so much glory. I thinke that thought so told Is no false piece of story. 'Tis yet with them, but Beauties noone, They would not Grandames be too soone. Is that your Sexes humor? 'Tis then since Niobe was chang'd that they haue left that tumor. Moue, moue againe, in formes as heretofore. 'Tis forme allures. Then moue, the Ladies here are store. Nature is motions mother, as she is your's. The spring, whence order flowes, that all directs, And knits the causes with th'effects. WHat'ha you done So soone? And can you from such Beauty part? You'll doe a wonder more then I. I woman with her ills did flie, But you their good, and them denie. Sure each hath left his heart In pawne to come againe, or els he durst not start. THey are loth to goe I know, Or sure they are no sonnes of mine. There is no banquet, boyes like this, If you hope better, you will misse, Stay here, and take each one a kisse. Which if you can refine, The taste knowes no such cates, nor yet the pallate wine. No cause of tarrying shun, They are not worth his light, goe backward from the Sun.
seed 43: T49 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
THou art a scorner, Mercury, and out of the pride of thy protection here, mak'st it thy study, to reuile Art, but it will turne to thine owne contumely soone. Call forth the creatures of the first classe, and let them moue to the harmony of our heat, till the slanderer haue seal'd vp his owne lips, to his owne torment. LEt 'hem come, let 'hem come, I would not wish a greater punishment to thy impudence. ARt thou not asham'd, Vulcan, to offer in defence of thy fire and Art, against the excellence of the Sunne and Nature, creatures more imperfect, then the very flies and insects, that are her trespasses and scapes? Vanish with thy insolence, thou and thy Impostors, and all mention of you melt, before the Maiesty of this light, whose Mercury henceforth I professe to be, and neuer againe the Philosophers. Vanish, I say, that all who haue but their senses, may see and iudge the difference betweene thy ridiculous monsters, and his absolute features. HOw yong and fresh am I to night, To see't kept day, by so much light, And twelue my sonnes stand in their Makers sight? Helpe, wise Prometheus, something must be done, To shew they are the creatures of the Sunne, That each to other Is a brother, And Nature here no stepdame, but a mother. Come forth, come forth, proue all the numbers then, That make perfection vp, and may absolue you men. But shew thy winding wayes and artes, Thy risings, and thy timely startes Of stealing fire, from Ladies eyes and hearts. Those softer circles are the yong mans heauen, And there more orbes and Planets are then seuen, To know whose motion Were a Notion As worthy of youthes study, as deuotion. Come forth, come forth, proue all the time will gaine, For Nature bids the best, and neuer bad in vaine. HOw many, 'mongst these Ladies here, Wish now they such a mother were! Not one I feare, And read it in their laughters. Ther's more I guesse would wish to be my daughters. You thinke they would not be so old, for so much glory. I thinke that thought so told Is no false piece of story. 'Tis yet with them, but Beauties noone, They would not Grandames be too soone. Is that your Sexes humor? 'Tis then since Niobe was chang'd that they haue left that tumor. Moue, moue againe, in formes as heretofore. 'Tis forme allures. Then moue, the Ladies here are store. Nature is motions mother, as she is your's. The spring, whence order flowes, that all directs, And knits the causes with th'effects. WHat'ha you done So soone? And can you from such Beauty part? You'll doe a wonder more then I. I woman with her ills did flie, But you their good, and them denie. Sure each hath left his heart In pawne to come againe, or els he durst not start. THey are loth to goe I know, Or sure they are no sonnes of mine. There is no banquet, boyes like this, If you hope better, you will misse, Stay here, and take each one a kisse. Which if you can refine, The taste knowes no such cates, nor yet the pallate wine. No cause of tarrying shun, They are not worth his light, goe backward from the Sun.