Massinger, Philip · published 1624 · first performed or written 1623 [licensed for stage, Dec 3] (Annals) tragicomedy · Lady Elizabeth's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea typicality 0.78 · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
'Tis enough: wait carefully, And upon all watched occasions, continue Speech, and discourse of me: 'tis time, must work her. I'll not be wanting, but still strive to serve you. Now, Poliphron, the news: The conquering Army Is within ken. How brook the slaves the object? Cheerfully yet; they do refuse no labour, And seem to scoff at danger; 'tis your presence That must confirm them; with a full consent, You are chosen to relate the tyranny Of our proud Masters; and what you subscribe too, They gladly will allow of, or hold out To the last man. I'll instantly among them: If we prove constant to ourselves, good fortune Will not, I hope, forsake us. 'Tis our best refuge. Thus far we are returned victorious, crowned With wreaths triumphant, (famine, blood, and dearth, Banished your peaceful confines,) and bring home Security, and peace. 'Tis therefore fit That such as boldly stood the shock of war, And with the dear expense of sweat and blood Have purchased Honour, should with pleasure reap The harvest of their toil; and we stand bound Out of the first file of the best deservers, (Though all must be considered to their merits) To think of you Leosthenes, that stand, And worthily, most dear in our esteem, For your heroic valour. When I look on (The labour of so many men, and ages) This well-built City, not long since designed To spoil and rapine; by the favour of The gods, and you their ministers preserved; I cannot in my height of joy, but offer These tears for a glad sacrifice. Sleep the Citizens? Or are they overwhelmed with the excess Of comfort, that flows to them? we receive A silent entertainment. I long since Expected, that the virgins, and the Matrons, The old men striving with their age, the Priests Carrying the Images of their gods before 'em Should have met us with Procession: Ha! the gates Are shut against us! And upon the Walls Armed men seem to defy us! I should know These faces; they are our slaves. The mystery, Rascals? Open the ports, and play not with an anger, That will consume you. This is above wonder. Our Bondmen stand against us! Some such things We were in man's remembrance; the slaves are turned Lords of the Town, or so; nay, be not angry: Perhaps on good terms, giving security, You will be quiet men, we may allow you Some lodgings in our Garrets, or outhouses; Your great looks cannot carry it. The truth is, We have been bold with your wives, toyed with your daughters. O my prophetic soul! Rifled your Chests, Been busy with your Wardrobes. Can we endure this? O my Cleora! A Caudle, for the Gentleman, he'll die a'the pip else. Scorned too! are you turned stone? Hold parley with our Bondmen? force our entrance, Than Villains, expect. Hold: you wear men's shapes And if like men you have reason, show a cause That leads you to this desperate course, which must end In your destruction?
seed 43: T47 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
'Tis enough: waite carefully, And vpon all watch'd occasions, continue Speech, and discourse of me: 'tis time, must worke her. I'le not be wanting, but still striue to serue you. Now, Poliphron, the newes: The conquering Army Is within ken. How brooke the slaues the obiect? Cheerefully yet; they do refuse no labour, And seeme to scoffe at danger; 'tis your presence That must confirme them; with a full consent, You are chosen to relate the tyranny Of our proud Masters; and what you subscribe too, They gladly will allow of, or hold out To the last man. I'le instantly among them: If we prooue constant to our selues, good fortune Will not, I hope, forsake vs. 'Tis our best refuge. Thus farre we are return'd victorious, crown'd With Wreathes triumphant, (famine, blood, and dearth, Banisht your peacefull confines,) and bring home Securitie, and peace. 'Tis therefore fit That such as boldly stood the shocke of warre, And with the deere expence of sweat and blood Haue purchas'd Honour, should with pleasure reape The haruest of their toyle; and wee stand bound Out of the first file of the best deseruers, (Though all must be consider'd to their merits) To thinke of you Leosthenes, that stand, And worthily, most deere in our esteeme, For your heroique valour. When I looke on (The labour of so many men, and ages) This well-built Citie, not long since design'd To spoyle and rapine; by the fauour of The gods, and you their ministers preseru'd; I cannot in my height of ioy, but offer These teares for a glad sacrifice. Sleepe the Citizens? Or are they ouerwhelm'd with the excesse Of comfort, that flowes to them? Wee receaue A silent entertainment. I long since Expected, that the virgins, and the Matrons, The old men striuing with their age, the Priests Carrying the Images of their gods before 'em Should haue met vs with Procession: Ha! the gates Are shut against vs! And vpon the Walls Arm'd men seeme to defie vs! I should know These faces; they are our slaues. The misterie, Rascalls? Open the ports, and play not with an anger, That will consume you. This is aboue wonder. Our Bond-men stand against vs! Some such things We were in mans remembrance; the slaues are turn'd Lords of the Towne, or so; nay, be not angry: Perhaps on good tearmes, giuing security, You will be quiet men, we may allow you Some lodgings in our Garrets, or out-houses; Your great lookes cannot carry it. The truth is, We haue beene bold with your wiues, toy'd with your daughters. O my prophetique soule! Rifled your Chests, Beene busie with your Wardrobes. Can we indure this? O my Cleora! A Caudle, for the Gentleman, Hee'll die athe pip else. Scorn'd too! are you turn'd stone? Hold parley with our Bond-men? force our entrance, Then Villaines, expect. Hold: you weare mens shapes And if like men you haue reason, shew a cause That leads you to this desperate course, which must end In your destruction?