Gomersall, Robert · published 1633 · first performed or written 1628 [1622-1628] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 440 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
I find A certain grumbling against Fortune here: Which that I may whet to a lively rage, Repeat Maluezzo her last treachery Against the French, and Neapolitan. Naples now won, and the unstable French (As if they were afraid of their own luck) Ridiculously leaving what th'd won; The Deputy was Mompenseer, a man Of an high birth, but of unequal deeds. For when young Ferdinand with some few boats (Which only fear might make a Navy of, And nothing but the strength of cowardice Could possibly judge strong) approached the shore, As if the poor Prince once more had desired Only to see his ancient government, And therefore had adventured to the Sea, The Sea was in the City, for ne'er was Such a confusion in the vulgar waves, All cry a Ferdinand, a Ferdinand, Even those who latley banished Ferdinand: Part open the gates to him, and part shut up The French into the Cattadells, where he Besiegeth his once Conquerors. 'tis true Not the world only, but a man's a ball, Will Fortune never leave her tossing him? Whether their own neglect forced them to want, Or want to yield, 'tis doubted: but they yield: Thus as in trivial sports we oft have seen After too tedious inconstancy, The Cork return to him that struck it first, So in this fatal revolution, Fortune gives Naples unto him again, Whom she first injured in the taking it. Who hearing this would not erect his soul To a contempt of Fortune! that blind wretch Whom only sottishness hath deified? Man hath a nobler Godhead in himself, His virtue and his wisdom, unto these Bend all our knees, let us still honour these: And count it comfort in our l●●●est state, He that is wise, would not be fortunate WE leave it to your care, Sanseverin; But see, the night grows old, good rest my Lords, Why stay'st thou, my Aurelio? good boy I'll see no bed to night; then go, yet stay, If they have not escaped thy memory Sing me those verses which you made to sleep. HOw I laugh at their fond wish whose desire aims no higher Than the baits of Midas dish? What is Gold but yellow dirt? which th' unkind heaven's refined When they made us love our hurt. Would to heaven that I might steep my faint eyes in the wise, In the gentle dew of sleep? Whose effects do pose us so, that we deem it does seem Both Death's brother and his foe. This does always with us keep, and being dead that's not fled, Death is but a longer sleep.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I find A certaine grumbling against Fortune here: Which that I may whet to a lively rage, Repeat Malvezzo her last trechery Against the French, and Neapolitan. Naples now wonne, and the unstable French (As if they were afraid of their owne lucke) Ridiculously leaving what th'ad wonne; The Deputy was Mompenseer, a man Of an high birth, but of unequall deeds. For when yong Ferdinand with some few boates (Which onely feare might make a Navy of, And nothing but the strength of cowardize Could possibly judge strong) approacht the shoare, As if the poore Prince once more had desier'd Onely to see his ancient government, And therefore had adventur'd to the Sea, The Sea was in the City, for ne're was Such a confusion in the vulgar waves, All cry a Ferdinand, a Ferdinand, Ev'n those who latley banisht Ferdinand: Part ope the gates to him, and part shut up The French into the Cattadells, where he Besiegeth his once Conquerors. Tis true Not the world onely, but a man's a ball, VVill Fortune never leave her tossing him? VVhether their owne neglect forc'd them to want, Or want to yeeld, 'tis doubted: but they yeeld: Thus as in triviall sports we oft have seene After too tedious inconstancy, The Corke returne to him that strucke it first, So in this fatall revolution, Fortune gives Naples unto him againe, Whom she first injur'd in the taking it. VVho hearing this would not erect his soule To a contempt of Fortune! that blind wretch VVhom onely sottishnesse hath deifi'd? Man hath a nobler Godhead in himselfe, His vertue and his wisedome, unto these Bend all our knees, let us still honour these: And count it comfort in our lest state, He that is wise, would not be fortunate WE leave it to your care, Sāseverin; But see, the night grows old, good rest my Lords, VVhy stayst thou, my Aurelio? good boy Ile see no bed to night; then goe, yet stay, If they have not escap'd thy memory Sing me those verses which you made to sleepe. HOw I laugh at their fond wish whose desire aymes no higher Then the bayts of Midas dish? VVhat is Gold but yellow durt? which th' unkind heavens refin'd VVhen they made us love our hurt. VVould to heav'n that I might steepe my faint eyes in the wise, In the gentle dew of sleepe? VVhose effects doe pose us so, that we deeme it does seeme Both Deathes brother and his foe. This does alwayes with us keepe, and being dead that's not fled, Death is but a longer sleepe.