Massinger, Philip · published 1623 · first performed or written 1621 [1621-1623] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
I am lost, In the discovery of this fatal secret. Cursed hope that flattered me, that wrongs could make her A stranger to her goodness; All my plots Turn back upon my self; But I am in, And must go on: And since I have put off From the Shore of Innocence, guilt be now my Pilot. Revenge first wrought me, murder's his Twin-brother, One deadly sin then help to cure another. The spoil, the spoil, 'tis that the soldier fights for; Our victory as yet affords us nothing, But wounds, and empty honour. We have passed The hazard of a dreadful day, and forced A passage with our Swords, through all the dangers, That Page like wait on the success of war; And now expect reward. Hell put it in The enemy's mind to be desperate, and hold out: Yieldings, and compositions will undo us; And what is that way given, for the most part, Comes to the emperor's Coffers, to defray The charge of the great action (as 'tis rumoured) When usually, some Thing in Grace (that ne'er heard The Canons roaring tongue, but at a Triumph) Puts in, and for his intercession shares, All that we fought for: The poor Soldier left To starve, or fill up Hospitals. But when We enter Towns by force, and carve ourselves, Pleasure with pillage, and the richest Wines, Open our shrunk-up veins, and pour into 'em New blood, and fervour. I long to be at it; To see these Chuffs, that every day may spend A soldier's entertainment for a year, Yet make a third meal of a bunch of raisins; These Sponges, that suck up a Kingdoms sat (battening like scarabs in the nung of Peace) To be squeezed out by the rough hand of war; And all that their whole lives have heaped together, By cozenage, perjury, or sordid thrift, With one gripe to be ravished. I would be tousing Their fair madonna's, that in little Dogs, monkeys, and paraquitoes consume thousands; Yet for the advancement of a noble action, Repine to part with a poor Piece of Eight: Wars plagues upon'em: I have seen'em stop Their scornful noses first, then seem to swoon At sight of a buff jerkin; if it were not Perfumed, and hid with Gold; Yet these nice wantons, (Spurred on by Lust, covered in some disguise, To meet some rough Court Stallion, and be leapt) Durst enter into any common Brothel, Though all varieties of stink contend there; Yet praise the entertainment. I may live, To see the tatteredst Rascals of my troop, Drag'em out of their Closets, with a vengeance: When neither threatning, flattering, kneeling, howling, Can ransom one poor jewel, or redeem Themselves, from their blunt wooing. My main hope is, To begin the sport at Milan: there's enough, And of all kinds of pleasure we can wish for, To satisfy the most covetous.
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)
I am lost, In the discouerie of this fatall secret. Curs'd hope that flatter'd me, that wrongs could make her A stranger to her goodnesse; All my plots Turne backe vpon mv selfe; But I am in, And must goe on: And since I haue put off From the Shoare of Innocence, guilt be now my Pilot. Reuenge first wrought me, Murther's his Twin-brother, One deadly sin then helpe to cure another. The spoyle, the spoyle, 'tis that the soldior fights for; Our victorie as yet affords vs nothing, But wounds, and emptie honor. We haue past The hazard of a dreadfull day, and forc'd A passage with our Swords, through all the dangers, That Page like waite on the successe of warre; And now expect reward. Hell put it in The Enemies mind to be desperate, and hold out: Yeeldings, and compositions will vndoe vs; And what is that way giuen, for the most part, Comes to the Emperours Coffers, to defray The charge of the great action (as 'tis rumor'd) When vsually, some Thing in Grace (that ne're heard The Canons roring tongue, but at a Triumph) Puts in, and for his intercession shares, All that we fought for: The poore Soldior left To starue, or fill vp Hospitalls. But when We enter Townes by force, and carue our selues, Pleasure with pillage, and the richest Wines, Open our shrunke-vp vaines, and poure into 'em New blood, and feruor. I long to be at it; To see these Chuffes, that euerie day may spend A Soldiors entertainement for a yeere, Yet make a third meale of a bunch of Raysons; These Spunges, that suck vp a Kingdomes sat (Batning like Scarabes in the nung of Peace) To be squees'd out by the rough hand of warre; And all that their whole liues haue heap'd together, By cous'nage, periurie, or sordid thrift, With one gripe to be rauishd. I would be towsing Their saire Madona's, that in little Dogges, Monkeis, and Paraquito's consume thousands; Yet for the aduancement of a noble action, Repine to part with a poore Peice of Eight: Warres plagues vpon'em: I haue seene'em stop Their scornefull noses first, then seeme to swone At sight of a buffe Ierkin; if it were not Perfum'd, and hid with Gold; Yet these nice wantons, (Spurd on by Lust, couer'd in some disguise, To meete some rough Court Stalion, and be leap'd) Durst enter into any common Brothell, Though all varieties of stinke contend there; Yet prayse the entertainment. I may liue, To see the tatteredst Raskals of my troupe, Drag'em out of their Closets, with a vengeance: When neither threatning, flattering, kneeling, howling, Can ransome one poore Iewell, or redeeme Themselues, from their blunt woing. My maine hope is, To begin the sport at Millaine: Ther's enough, And of all kinds of pleasure we can wish for, To satisfie the most couetous.