Siderothriambos, or Steel and Iron Triumphing · chunk 1 of 2
Munday, Anthony · published 1618 · first performed or written 1618 [Oct 29] (Annals) civic play; pageant unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 401 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Where are you Mate? Here Sir, at hand, To do what ere the Master shall command. This goodly Canon, forged for this day In Lemnos, where great Mulciber bears sway, He and his Cyclops using all their skill, To frame it in best form, and for good will They bear unto that ancient Company, For whom their Hammers walk continually, Still to supply them from their plenteous Mine With Steel and Iron: which as they refine From the earth's Oar; So to all Lands they send, And all Arts else do bounteously befriend. Because, where Steel and Iron go to wrack: Those Lands do feel a lamentable lack. Now Mate, thou seest, this is a jovial day, And every Trade triumphs as best it may, (By yearly custom) gladly to express, Their free affection, in full cheerfulness. Be not we idle then, Seeing to our charge, This Cannon is committed: But at large Declare our diligence. Our Gunner's Art, In this Triumphal day must bear a part. Fall to thy pains. Master, with all my heart. And no men shall deliver (more than we) How much we honour this days dignity. First then, I'll Sponge her, as she ought to be, Then Lad her, to Report her lustily. Next Ram her. Now this Bullet passeth in, Which Ramd again, louder Report shall win. And shooting not Point blank, but out at length: I'll mount her higher on her Carriage strength. Now I have done Sir. Then will I give Fire; And may all speed no worse than we desire. BLithe and bonny been ye awe, And meckle blissing still be faw Upon so fair and gudly meany, As thilk like, near saw I any. A British Bard, that long hath slept, And in his Grave would still ha' kept: But that the spirit of Poesy (Which haudeth highest Sovereignty) Hath raised me from my silent rest, To make e'en in this jovial Feast. Aw for your seek, most worthy man, (Lowting as lowly as I can) To creve your favour, that I may, For your Society somewhat say, Of thilk their buxom love to you, Which they present but as your due. As often they have done before, To mickle of their brethren mere. Among wha was your Feather one, Which this high charge did undergone. O, let me say it to your fece, It is a sign of special greece,
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)
Where are you Mate? Here Sir, at hand, To doe what ere the Maiſter ſhall command. This goodly Canon, forged for this day In Lemnos, where great Mulciber beares ſway, Hee and his Cyclops vſing all their skill, To frame it in beſt forme, and for good will They beare vnto that ancient Company, For whom their Hammers walke continually, Still to ſupply them from their plenteous Myne With Steele and Iron: which as they refine From the earths Oare; So to all Lands they ſend, And all Artes elſe do bounteouſly befrend. Becauſe, where Steele and Iron goe to wrack: Thoſe Lands doe feele a lamentable lack. Now Mate, thou ſeeſt, this is a Iouiall day, And euery Trade triumphes as beſt it may, (By yearly cuſtome) gladly to expreſſe, Their free affection, in full chearfulneſſe. Be not we idle then, Seeing to our charge, This Cannon is committed: But at large Declare our dilligence. Our Gunners Arte, In this Triumphall day muſt beare a part. Fall to thy paines. Maiſter, with all my heart. And no men ſhall deliuer (more then we) How much we honour this dayes dignity. Firſt then, Ile Spunge her, as ſhe ought to be, Then Lade her, to Report her luſtily. Next Ramme her. Now this Bullet paſſeth in, Which Ramd againe, lowder Report ſhall win. And ſhooting not Point blanck, but out at length: Ile mount her higher on her Carriage ſtrength. Now I haue done Sir. Then will I giue Fire; And may all ſpeed no worſe then we deſire. BLithe and bonny bin yee aw, And meckle bliſſings ſtill be faw Vpon ſo faire and gudly meany, As thilke like, nere ſawe I eny. A Brittiſh Barde, that long hath ſlept, And in his Graue would ſtill ha kept: But that the ſpirit of Poeſie (Which haudeth higheſt Soueraigntie) Hath raiſde me from my ſilent reſt, To make ene in this Iouiall Feaſte. Aw for your ſeke, moſt worthy man, (Lowting as lowly as I can) To creue your fauour, that I may, For your Society ſomewhat ſey, Of thilke their buxome looue to you▪ Which they preſent but as your due. As often they haue done befere, To mickle of their Bretheren mere. Among wha was your Fether one, Which this high charge did vndergone. O, let me ſey it to your fece, It is a ſigne of ſpeciall grece,