Middleton, Thomas / Rowley, William · published 1620 · first performed or written 1620 (Annals) masque · Prince Charles's Men (first) T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and typicality 0.83 · 472 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
Divine Lady, there's yet a competence Which we come short off. That may as well be caused From your own negligence, as our slow blessings: But I'll prefer you to a greater power, Even Iupiter himself, Father and King of Gods, With whom I may well join in just complaint: These latter Ages have despoiled my Fame. Minerva's Altars are all ruined now. I had along adored Palladium. Offerings and Incense fuming on my shrine; Rome held me dear, and old Troy gave me worship, All Greece renowned me, till the Ida prize joined me with wrathful Iuno to destroy 'em, (For we are better ruined, then profaned.) Now let the latter ages count the gains They got by wanton Venus' sacrifice, But I'll invoke great Iupiter. Do, Goddess: And re-erect the ruins of thy Fame For Poesy can do it. Altitonant Imperial crowned, and thunder-armed Ioue, Unfold thy fiery Veil, the flaming Robe And superficies of thy better brightness, Descend from thine Orbicular Chariot, Listen the plaints of thy poor Votaries, 'Tis Pallas calls, thy Daughter, Iupiter, ta'en from thee by the Lemnian Mulciber, A Midwife god to the delivery Of thy most Sacred fertile teeming brain. Hark, these sounds proclaim his willing sweet descent, If not full blessings, expect some content. What would our Daughter? Just-judging Ioue, I meditate the suit of humble mortals, By whose large Sceptre all their Fates are swayed, Adverse or auspicious. 'tis more than Iupiter Can do to please 'em, unsatisfied man Has in his ends no end, not hell's Abyss Is deeper gulfed then greedy Avarice, Ambition finds no Mountain high enough, For his aspiring Foot to stand upon. One drinks out all his blessings into surfeits, Another throws 'em out as all were his, And the Gods bound for prodigal supply, What is he lives content in any kind? That long incensed nature is now ready To turn all back into the fruitless Chaos. These are two noble Virtues (my dread Sire) Both Arts and Arms wellwishers unto Pallas. How can it be, but they have both abused, And would (for their ills) make our justice guilty? Show them their shames, Minerva: what the young world In her unstable youth did then produce: She should grow graver now, more sage, more wise, Know Concord, and the harmony of goodness: But if her old age strike with harsher notes, We may then think she is too old, and dotes, Strike by white Art, a Theomantic power, Magic Divine, not the devil's horror, But the delicious Music of the Spheres, The thrice three Worthies summon back to life: There let 'em see what arts and Arms commixed (For they had both) did in the world's broad face Those that did propagate and beget their fames, And (for posterity) left lasting names. I shall, great Iupiter.
seed 43: T28 · seed 44: T22 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Diuine Lady, theres yet a competence Which we come short off. That may as well be caus'd From your owne negligence, as our slowe blessings: But I'le preferre you to a greater power, Euen Iupiter himselfe, Father and King of Gods, With whom I may well ioyne in iust complaint: These latter Ages haue dispoil'd my Fame. Minerua's Altars are all ruin'd now. I had along ador'd Paladium. Offerings and Incense fuming on my shrine; Rome held me deare, and old Troy gaue me worship, All Greece renown'd me, till the Ida prize Ioynd me with wrathfull Iuno to destroy 'vm, (For we are better ruin'd, then prophan'd.) Now let the latter ages count the gaines They got by wanton Venus sacrifice, But I'le inuoke great Iupiter. Doe, Goddesse▪ And re-erect the ruines of thy Fame For Poesie can doe it. Altitonant Imperiall crown'd, and thunder-armed Ioue, Vnfold thy fierie Vaile, the flaming Robe And superficies of thy better brightnesse, Descend from thine Orbicular Chariot, Listen the plaints of thy poore Votaries, 'Tis Pallas calls, thy Daughter, Iupiter, Tane from thee by the Lemnian Mulciber, A Midwife god to the deliuerie Of thy most Sacred fertill teeming braine. Harke, these sounds proclaime his willing sweet descent, If not full blessings, expect some content. What would our Daughter? Iust-iudging Ioue, I meditate the suite of humble mortals, By whose large Scepter all their Fates are swayd, Aduerse or auspicious. Tis more then Iupiter Can doe to please 'vm, vnsatisfied man Has in his ends no end, not hels Abysse Is deeper gulf'd then greedy Auarice, Ambition findes no Mountaine high enough, For his aspiring Foote to stand vpon. One drinkes out all his blessings into surfets, Another throwes vm out as all were his, And the Gods bound for prodigall supply, What is hee liues content in any kinde? That long incensed nature is now ready To turne all backe into the fruitlesse Chaos. These are two noble Vertues (my dread Syre) Both Arts and Armes well-wishers vnto Pallas. How can it be, but they haue both abus'd, And would (for their ills) make our Iustice guiltie? Shew them their shames, Minerua: what the yong world In her vnstable youth did then produce: She should grow grauer now, more sage, more wise, Know Concord, and the harmony of goodnesse: But if her old age strike with harsher notes, We may then thinke she is too old, and dotes, Strike by white Art, a Theomanticke power, Magick Diuine, not the Diuels horror, But the delicious Musique of the Spheares, The thrice three Worthies summon back to life: There let vm see what artes and Armes commixt (For they had both) did in the worlds broad face Those that did propagate and beget their fames, And (for posteritie) left lasting names. I shall, great Iupiter.