Gomersall, Robert · published 1633 · first performed or written 1628 [1622-1628] (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 502 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.
Speak low, Let not the air feel such a treason, know There is a power above us, and that power Thunders sometimes, I know, thou dar'st not stand In contestation with the power of heaven: Revoke thy words. I'll do no miracles: My voice and faith are past. Yes they are passed: Thou art made up all of disloyalty, Reason hath nothing of thee: yet relate (If thou hast any relics left of sense, I'll not conjure thee by strange Honesty) Why dost thou leave the heavens, and us, and so For nothing dost commit a double Treason? I'll satisfy you thus, you see I do't: Strike up a march. Yet stay: what is the price That makes thee treacherous, I'll turn prodigal To buy thee to a virtue: stay: be rich, Without a curse, without a fault. 'tis vain, I'm deaf to Rhetoric: yet say thoust met With a good perjurer, my word is past, And to be twice a traitor, is a fault No sorrow can atone for: yet thus far I'll strain myself to please thee, 'tis well known, Unless you get unto Ascanio, Your hopes are at the last, but between you And him, the French have interposed themselves, Nothing remains but that you trust to me, And in a Swissers coat disguise yourself, That you may pass their Army. O hard strait, Must Sforza impotently hide himself? Or can a Prince be hid? I have oft heard Sparks of Divinity adorn his face, To clear him from the multitude: why then, Then being a Prince will make us be no Prince, We being betrayed by our own Majesty. Yet off, ye envied robes, fall to the Earth, O fall so low, that henceforth Man may scorn The labour of descent to take you up: On, on, ye happy robes, that like good clouds Do not obscure, but for a time defend The threatened Sun, that he may after shine With higher vigour: I have heard of some, That wear their flesh with hair cloth for their crimes, As thinking to be good if they were rough, By such a wild repentance: be it so; These robes offended, them there is an hope These rags may expiate heaven Brave soldiers, How we rejoice we may embrace at last, Not with armed hands, without the guilt & shame Of civil murder▪ but are these the troops That now must learn to use their valour well, To give a death without a prodigy? A conquering cheerfulness adorns their face. These are not common soldiers: look you pale? Then I must know the mystery. I'm betrayed. Yea I know all, but yet from thy forced tongue Will I extract confession; fetch a rack, To make him howl the truth he will not speak I can dare torments for wise honesty, But when you know as much as I can tell. Should I conceal't, all policy would judge, I did deserve the worst that I endured: Who told you this was Sforza?
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)
Speake low, Let not the ayre feele such a treason, know There is a pow'r above us, and that pow'r Thunders sometimes, I know, thou darst not stand In contestation with the pow'r of heav'n: Revoke thy words. Ile doe no miracles: My voice and faith are past. Yes they are past: Thou art made up all of disloyalty, Reason hath nothing of thee: yet relate (If thou hast any reliques left of sense, Ile not conjure thee by strange Honesty) Why dost thou leave the heav'ns, and us, and so For nothing dost commit a double Treason? Ile satisfie you thus, you see I do't: Srike up a march. Yet stay: what is the price That makes thee trecherous, Ile turne prodigall To buy thee to a vertue: stay: be rich, Without a curse, without a fault. Tis vaine, I'me deafe to Rhetoricke: yet say th'ast met With a good perjurer, my word is past, And to be twice a traytor, is a fault No sorrow can attone for: yet thus farre Ile straine my selfe to please thee, tis well knowne, Vnlesse you get unto Ascanio, Your hopes are at the last, but betweene you And him, the French have interpos'd themselves, Nothing remaines but that you trust to me, And in a Swizzers coat disguise your selfe, That you may passe their Army. O hard strait, Must Sforza impotently hide himselfe? Or can a Prince be hid? I have oft heard Sparkes of Divinity adorne his face, To cleare him from the multitude: why then, Then being a Prince will make us be no Prince, We being betray'd by our owne Majesty. Yet off, ye envy'd roabes, fall to the Earth, O fall so low, that henceforth Man may scorne The labour of descent to take you up: On, on, ye happy roabes, that like good clouds Doe not obscure, but for a time defend The threatned Sunne, that he may after shine With higher vigour: I have heard of some, That weare their flesh with haire cloth for their crimes, As thinking to be good if they were rough, By such a wilde repentance: be it so; These robes offēded, thē there is an hope These ragges may expiate heav'n Brave souldiers, How we rejoyce we may embrace at last, Not with arm'd hands, without the guilt & shame Of civill murther▪ but are these the troupes That now must learne to use their valour well, To give a death without a prodigy? A conqu'ring cheerfulnesse adornes their face. These are not common souldiers: looke you pale? Then I must know the mystery. I'me betrayd. Yea I know all, but yet from thy forc'd tongue Will I extract confession; fetch a racke, To make him howle the truth he will not speake I can dare torments for wise honesty, But when you know as much as I can tell. Should I conceale't, all policy would judge, I did deserve the worst that I endur'd: Who told you this was Sforza?