Caesar and Pompey (The Wars of Caesar and Pompey) · chunk 16 of 34
Chapman, George · published 1631 · first performed or written 1605 [1602-1605; Act 2, sc. 1 written 1610-1611(?)] (Annals) tragedy · Unacted (?) · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T17 Eastern conquest: Persians, Turks and so · 455 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
What battle is there sought now in the air. That threats the wrack of nature? Master? come. Shall we thrust through it all? What lost man, Art thou in hopes and fortunes, that dar'st make So desperate a motion. Launch man, and all thy fears freight disavow, Thou carriest Caesar and his fortunes now. NOw to Pharsalia, where the smarting strokes Of our resolved contention must resound, (My Lords and friends of Rome) I give you all Such welcome as the spirit of all my fortunes, Conquests, and triumphs (now come for their crown) Can crown your favours with, and serve the hopes Of my dear Country, to her utmost wish; I can but set up all my being to give So good an end to my forerunning Acts; The powers in me that formed them having lost No least time since, in gathering skill to better; But like so many Bees have brought me home, The sweet of whatsoever flowers have grown In all the meads, and gardens of the world. All which hath grown still, as the time increase In which 'twas gathered, and with which it stemmed. That what decay soever blood inferred, Might with my mind's store, be supplied, and cheered, All which, in one fire of this instant fight I'll burn, and sacrifice to every cinder In sacred offering to my country's love, And therefore what event soever sort, As I no praise will look for, but the good Freely bestow on all; (if good succeed) So if adverse fate fall, I wish no blame, But th'ill befallen me, made my fortune's shame, Not mine, nor my fault. We too well love Pompey, To do him that injustice. Who more thirsts The Conquest, then resolves to bear the foil? Said Brutus-like, give several witness all, That you acquit me whatsoever fall. Particular men particular fates must bear, Who feels his own wounds less, to wound another? Leave him the worst whose best is left undone, He only conquers whose mind still is one. Free minds, like dice, fall square, whate'er the cast. Who on himself sole stands, stands solely fast. He's never down, whose mind fights still aloft. Who cares for up or down, when all's but thought. To things events doth no man's power extend. Since gods rule all, who any thing would mend. Ye sweetly ease my charge, yourselves unburdening. Returned not yet our trumpet, sent to know Of Vibius' certain state? Not yet, my Lord. Too long protract we all means to recover His person quick or dead, for I still think His loss served fate, before we blew retreat; Though some affirm him seen, soon after fighting. Not after, Sir, (I heard) but ere it ended.
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)
What battaile is there ſought now in the ayre. That threats the wrack of nature? Maſter? come. Shall we thruſt through it all? What loſt man, Art thou in hopes and fortunes, that dar'ſt make So deſperate a motion. Launch man, and all thy feares fraight diſauow, Thou carrieſt Caeſar and his fortunes now. NOw to Pharſalia, where the ſmarting ſtrokes Of our reſolu'd contention muſt reſound, (My Lords and friends of Rome) I giue you all Such welcome as the ſpirit of all my fortunes, Conqueſts, and triumphs (now come for their crowne) Can crowne your fauours with, and ſerue the hopes Of my deare Country, to her vtmoſt wiſh; I can but ſet vp all my being to giue So good an end to my forerunning Acts; The powers in me that formd them hauing loſt No leaſt time ſince, in gathering skill to better; But like ſo many Bees haue brought me home, The ſweet of whatſoeuer flowers haue growne In all the meades, and gardens of the world. All which hath growne ſtill, as the time encreaſe In which twas gather'd, and with which it ſtemm'd. That what decay ſoeuer blood inferr'd, Might with my mindes ſtore, be ſuppli'd, and cher'd, All which, in one fire of this inſtant Ile burne, and ſacrifice to euery cinder In ſacred offering to my Countreys loue, And therefore what euent ſoeuer ſort, As I no praiſe will looke for, but the good Freely beſtow on all; (if good ſucceed) So if aduerſe fate fall, I wiſh no blame, But th'ill befalne me, made my fortunes ſhame, Not mine, nor my fault. We too well loue Pompey, To doe him that iniuſtice. Who more thirſts The Conqueſt, then reſolues to beare the foile? Said Brutus-like, giue ſeuerall witneſſe all, That you acquit me whatſoeuer fall. Particular men particular fates muſt beare, Who feeles his owne wounds leſſe, to wound another? Leaue him the worſt whoſe beſt is left vndone, He only conquers whoſe minde ſtill is one. Free mindes, like dice, fallſqare, what ere the caſt. Who on him ſelfe ſole ſtands, ſtands ſolely faſt. He's neuer downe, whoſe minde fights ſtill aloft. Who cares for vp or downe, when all's but thought. To things euents doth no mans power extend. Since gods rule all, who any thing would mend. Ye ſweetly eaſe my charge, your ſelues vnburthening. Return'd not yet our trumpet, ſent to know Of Vibius certaine ſtate? Not yet, my Lord. Too long protract we all meanes to recouer His perſon quick or dead, for I ſtill thinke His loſſe ſeru'd fate, before we blew retreat; Though ſome affirme him ſeene, ſoone after fighting. Not after, Sir, (I heard) but ere it ended.