Caesar and Pompey (The Wars of Caesar and Pompey) · chunk 29 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 T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
He's too great to be truly good; for worldly greatness Is the chief worldly goodness; and all worldly goodness (I proved before) has ill in it: which true good has not. If he rule well with his greatness, wherein is he ill? But great Rulers are like Carpenters that wear their Rules at their backs still: and therefore to make good your True good in him, you'd better suppose him little, or mean. For in the mean only is the true good. But every great Lady must have her husband Great still, or her love will be little. I am none of those great Ladies. She's a philosophress Augur, and can turn Ill to good as well as you. I would then, not honour, but adore her: could you Submit yourself cheerfully to your husband, Supposing him fall'n? I he submit himselfe chearfully to his fortune▪ 'tis the greatest greatness in the world you undertake. I would be so great, if he were. In supposition. In fact. Be no woman, but a Goddess then; & make good thy greatness; I am cheerfully fall'n; be cheerful. I am: and welcome, as the world were closed In these embraces. Is it possible? A woman, losing greatness, still as good, As at her greatest? O gods, was I ever Great till this minute? Len. Pompey? View me better. Len. Conquered by Caesar? Not I, but mine army. No fault in me, in it: no conquest of me: I tread this low earth as I trod on Caesar. Must I not hold myself, though lose the world? Nor lose I less; a world lost at one clap, 'tis more than Ioue ever thundered with. What glory is it to have my hand hurl So vast a volley through the groaning air? And is't not great, to turn griefs thus to joys, That break the hearts of others? Len. O 'tis jove-like. It is to imitate Ioue, that from the wounds Of softest clouds, beats up the terriblest sounds. I now am good, for good men still have least, That 'twixt themselves and God might rise their rest. O Pompey, Pompey: never Great till now. O my Cornelia: let us still be good, And we shall still be great: and greater far In every solid grace, then when the tumour And boil of rotten observation swelled us. Griefs for wants outward, are without our cure, Greatness, not of itself, is never sure. Before, we went upon heaven, rather treading The virtues of it underfoot, in making The vicious world our heaven; then walking there Even here, as knowing that our home; contemning All forged heavens here raised; setting hills on hills. Vulcan from heaven fell, yet on's feet did light, And stood no less a god then at his height; At lowest things lie fast: we now are like The two Poles propping heaven, on which heaven moves; And they are fixed, and quiet, being above All motion far; we rest above the heavens.
seed 43: T13 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
He's too great to be truly good; for worldly greatnes Is the chiefe worldly goodneſſe; and all worldly goodneſſe (I prou'd before) has ill in it: which true good has not. If he rule well with his greatneſſe, wherein is he ill? But great Rulers are like Carpenters that weare their Rules at their backs ſtill: and therefore to make good your True good in him, y'ad better ſuppoſe him little, or meane. For in the meane only is the true good. But euery great Lady muſt haue her husband Great ſtill, or her loue will be little. I am none of thoſe great Ladyes. She's a Philoſophreſſe Augure, and can turne Ill to good as well as you. I would then, not honor, but adore her: could you Submit your ſelfe chearefully to your husband, Suppoſing him falne? I he ſubmit himſelfe chearfully to his fortune▪ Tis the greateſt greatnes in the world you vndertake. I would be ſo great, if he were. In ſuppoſition. In fact. Be no woman, but a Goddeſſe then; & make good thy greatneſſe; I am chearfully falne; be chearfull. I am: and welcome, as the world were cloſde In theſe embraces. Is it poſſible? A woman, loſing greatneſſe, ſtill as good, As at her greateſt? O gods, was I euer Great till this minute? Len. Pompey? View me better. Len. Conquerd by Caeſar? Not I, but mine army. No fault in me, in it: no conqueſt of me: I tread this low earth as I trod on Caeſar. Muſt I not hold my ſelfe, though loſe the world? Nor loſe I leſſe; a world loſt at one clap, Tis more then Ioue euer thundred with. What glory i it to haue my hand hurle So vaſt a volley through the groning ayre? And is't not great, to turne griefes thus to ioyes, That breake the hearts of others? Len. O tis Ioue-like. It is to imitate Ioue, that from the wounds Of ſofteſt clouds, beats vp the terribleſt ſounds. I now am good, for good men ſtill haue leaſt, That twixt themſelues and God might riſe their reſt. O Pompey, Pompey: neuer Great till now. O my Cornelia: let vs ſtill be good, And we ſhall ſtill be great: and greater farre In euery ſolid grace, then when the tumor And bile of rotten obſeruation ſweld vs. Griefes for wants outward, are without our cure, Greatneſſe, not of it ſelfe, is neuer ſure. Before, we went vpon heauen, rather treading The virtues of it vnderoot, in making The vicious world our heauen; then walking there Euen here, as knowing that our home; conemning All forg'd eauens here raiſde; ſetting hills on hills. Vulcan from heauen fell, yet on's feet did light, And ſtood no leſſe a god then at his height; At loweſt things lye faſt▪ we now are like The two Poles propping heauen, on which heauen moues; And they are fixt, and quiet, being aboue All motion farre; we reſt aboue the heauens.