Davenant, William · published 1629 · first performed or written 1628 [1626-1629] (Annals) tragedy · Unacted unassigned nearest T12 Olympian gods: Jupiter, Juno, Venus and · 459 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T12: iupiter, saturn, iuno, venus, gods, mars, earth, titan, love, fair.
High and sacred Majesty! Verona Hath unhinged her wide Gates: proud to admit The fate of Kingdoms. Our crooked Matrons Forget their age: and (as the ragged Earth At the Springs warm approach) look fresh, & young, To entertain you. Our timorous Virgins (With the bold Youth) join in one wanton Choir To sing your welcome. How the Spaniel fawns, 'cause he dares not bark? Th'amorous Vine clips not the shady Poplar With such regard (about whose mossy waste She hangs a smiling Lover.) Our City is By the reflection of your blessed approach Like Pelion decked, whom Tython's Mistress (Leaving the weeping East) with brightness guilds. There's not a wrinkle left in all Verona, Wherein pale sorrow, or rebellious envy Can find their loathed Mansion. Flattering joy Swells big each loyal bosom. All implore You as their safety; who hath hushed the noise Of discord, and loud war. The Rascal flatters, as if he had served His prenticeship in Court. thoust done me justice, Governor, & know'st The way to make me thankful, but not proud. I understand thou hast with honoured safety Preserved those jewels to thy charge committed, (My Rhodolinda, and my Boys Valdaura.) And so increased new motives of our thanks. Heaven has made your memory too humble, Thus to record your creatures service. Let now the knotty labourer rust with ease, And aloud proclaim, that the upland Boor Release his team, and his industrious Plough. Let him sing glad io's to the rustic Powers that guard his fields, and unto me. It is by you we are: no warlike Ram, Nor battering engine forced a bloody entrance Through our thick walls. It was the powerful breath Of your victorious fame, that conquered us. To that we yielded: which as a rough blast That posts from the cold Arctic Pole, hath borne Before it captived Nations. By heaven a good old man! if he be learned, I'll have him write my Annals. Indeed he looks like a Chronicler. Paradine? Inform him of my deeds. Thou hast beheld my discipline full of Shape and order, when confusion did oppress The foe, and stifled them in throngs. Hah! Look! Rhodolinda's come to guild our Triumph! And my Valdaura too! let Nature show A third object so delightful, we'll swear She is not old, nor her first materials Wasted, but in creation still retains Her former strength and skill. But why (my beauteous Captive) art thou still In Sables wrapped? Your stars bid you be happy. My cross fate Like the Raven, croaks a funeral note: This swarthy habit, but paints forth the grief That chains my soul in darkness. And filial love Commands me mourn for him, whom you too soon Deprived of life, my conquered father.
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)
High and ſacred Maieſty! Verona Hath vnhindg'd her wide Gates: proud to admit The fate of Kingdomes. Our crooked Matrones Forget their age: and (as the ragged Earth At the Springs warme approach) look freſh, & young, To intertaine you. Our timorous Virgins (With the bold Youth) ioyne in one wanton Quire To ſing your welcome. How the Spaniell fawnes, 'cauſe he dares not barke? Th'amorous Vine clips not the ſhady Poplar With ſuch regard (about whoſe moſſie waſte She hangs a ſmiling Louer.) Our City is By the reflection of your bleſt approach Like Pelion deck'd, whom Tython's Miſtreſſe (Leauing the weeping Eaſt) with brightneſſe guilds. There's not a wrinkle left in all Verona, Wherein pale ſorrow, or rebellious enuy Can finde their loathed Manſion. Flattering ioy Swells big each loyall boſome. All implore You as their ſafety; who hath huſh'd the noiſe Of diſcord, and loud warre. The Raſcall flatters, as if he had ſeru'd His prentiſhip in Court. Th'aſt done me iuſtice, Gouernor, & know'ſt The way to make me thankefull, but not proud. I vnderſtand thou haſt with honor'd ſafety Preſeru'd thoſe Iewels to thy charge committed, (My Rhodolinda, and my Boys Valdaura.) And ſo increas'd new motiues of our thanks. Heauen has made your memory too humble, Thus to record your creatures ſeruice. Let now the knotty Laborer ruſt with eaſe, And aloud proclaime, that the vpland Boore Releaſe his Teeme, and his induſtrious Plough. Let him ſing glad Iös to the ruſtick Powers that guard his fields, and vnto me. It is by you we are: no warlike Ram, Nor battering engine forc'd a bloody entrance Through our thicke walls. It was the powerfull breath Of your victorious fame, that conquer'd vs. To that we yeelded: which as a rough blaſt That poaſts from the cold Artick Pole, hath borne Before it captiu'd Nations. By heauen a good old man! if he be learn'd, Ile haue him write my Annales. Indeed he lookes like a Chronicler. Paradine? Informe him of my deeds. Thou haſt beheld my diſcipline full of Shape and order, when confuſion did oppreſſe The foe, and ſtifled them in throngs. Hah! Looke! Rhodolinda's come to guild our Triumph! And my Valdaura too! let Nature ſhew A third obiect ſo delightfull, we'le ſweare She is not old, nor her firſt materials Waſted, but in creation ſtill retaines Her former ſtrength and skill. But why (my beautious Captiue) art thou ſtill In Sables wrapp'd? Your ſtarres bid you be happy. My croſſe fae Like the Rauen, croaks a funerall note: This ſwarthy habit, but paints forth the griefe That chaines my ſoule in darkneſſe. And filiall loue Commands me mourne for him, whom you too ſoone Depriu'd of life, my conquer'd father.