Gomersall, Robert · published 1633 · first performed or written 1628 [1622-1628] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi · 494 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
So have I, Scarce left alive to tell my misery. You have been drunk, and quarreled— must the State Find plasters for your broken heads?— no more— Nay if you'll take no answer, I must call Them that will drive you hence. O my tired ears! Henceforth I vow to stop them at your suits, And be as Deaf, as you are Impudent. Yes, do, good Aeolus— how he blows then hence! How clears his passage with a lusty frown! And yet it may be that despised wretch Worn out of clothes, and flesh, whom his high scorn Would not vouchsafe once more to look upon, Durst in the field do more, than he durst see, Then he would there vouchsafe to look upon, As if that Valour were the only praise, And none were to be loved, but they that fight: Where were we then? what would become of us? Thou think'st it paradox, but is most true, A Soldier is the greatest enemy, Of whom the Commonwealth can be afraid, Prefer you which you please; yet unto them Which are the sole Physicians of State, Who with the teeming of a pregnant brain, Search the diseases and the remedies, Valour is nothing but a desperate vice, And there's no safety, but in cowardice. WE are not man, for such an empty thing Could not have this solidity of joy: Say the French King is dead, and say withal We are immortal, and ones happy truth Shall expiate for the others flattery. But speak the manner too as well, as death. When now his gadding thoughts had won the world, And Italy was to be taken in But only as an easy seat, from whence He might derive his further victories; Ottoman quaked, & 'twas in chance, if now New Rome, should be new French, and the proud Turks Be brought to know what their beginnings were: When Fortune had advanced him to that height, That grown forgetful of a lowly tomb, He reared huge Pyramids, and troubled Art To match his fancy with magnificence Fit for a conquering builder, who had learned To ruin first, and then to build a City, When Marbles were to be enriched with wounds, And cut for their advancement: them, heavens sport, He raised competitors to dare the heavens: Nor dreams his own descent into low Earth. Ascanio, you make him live too long, Tell how he died, without more circumstance. He went (such was his use) to see the play At Tennis court, when by his trembling Queen He sank into half-death: thence he's conveyed To the next room, where on a couch of straw, As if a downbed were too soft for him, Whom rottenness attended, and the grave, That harder lodging of Mortality, A King, a conquering youthful King expires. Thrice from death's slumbers he awaked to speak, Thrice did he cry to heaven, unto deaf heaven, And after nine hours' death he died.
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)
So have I, Scarce left alive to tell my misery. You have bin drunk, and quarrell'd—must the State Find plaisters for your broken heads? — no more — Nay if you'll take no answer, I must call Them that will drive you hence. O my tir'd eares! Henceforth I vow to stoppe them at your suites, And be as Deafe, as you are Impudent. Yes, do, good Aeolus—how he blowes thē hence! How cleares his passage with a lusty frowne! And yet it may be that despised wretch Worne out of cloathes, and flesh, whom his high scorne Would not vouchsafe once more to looke upon, Durst in the field doe more, then he durst see, Then he would there vouchsafe to looke upon, As if that Valour were the onely praise, And none were to be lov'd, but they that fight: Where were we then? what would become of us? Thou think'st it paradox, but is most true, A Souldier is the greatest enemy, Of whom the Common-wealth can be afraid, Preferre you which you please; yet unto them Which are the sole Physitians of State, Who with the teeming of a pregnant braine, Search the diseases and the remedies, Valour is nothing but a desp'rate vice, And there's no safety, but in cowardice. WE are not man, for such an empty thing Could not have this solidity of joy: Say the French King is dead, and say withall We are immortall, and ones happy truth Shall expiate for the others flattery. But speake the maner too as well, as death. When now his gadding thoughts had won the world, And Italy was to be taken in But onely as an easie seat, from whence He might derive his further victories; Ottoman quak'd, & 'twas in chance, if now New Rome, should be new French, and the proud Turks Be brought to know what their beginnings were: When Fortune had advanc'd him to that height, That growne forgetfull of a lowly tombe, He rear'd huge Pyramides, and troubled Art To match his fancy with magnificence Fit for a conqu'ring builder, who had learnt To ruine first, and then to build a City, When Marbles were to be inricht with wounds, And cut for their advancement: thē, Heav'ns sport, He rais'd competitors to dare the Heav'ns: Nor dreames his owne descent into low Earth. Ascanio, you make him live too long, Tell how he di'd, without more circumstance. He went (such was his use) to see the play At Tennis court, when by his trembling Queene He sanke into halfe-death: thence he's convey'd To the next roome, where on a couch of straw, As if a downe-bed were too soft for him, Whom rottennesse attended, and the grave, That harder lodging of Mortality, A King, a conqu'ring youthfull King expires. Thrice from deaths slumbers he awak't to speake, Thrice did he cry to heav'n, unto deafe heav'n, And after nine houres death he dy'd.