The Raging Turk, or Bajazet the Second · chunk 17 of 51
Goffe, Thomas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1618 [c.1613-c.1618] (Annals) tragedy · at University unassigned nearest T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Here lies the safest course, to rid these griefs Give out, you'll go to war, so to enlarge your territories, And to this end fetch home, Those warlike Soldiers placed in Garrison. Let them remain without the walls; at last, When things shall fit your purpose, lead them all By night into the City, and in one stroke Strike off so many thousand perjured heads, As shall amaze posterity to hear, How many lives redeemed thee from thy fear. The weight of all mine honour leans on thee, That or some nearer course shall quell the pride Of strong Achmetes, and confound his side. If your intents be virtuous, and desire Of eminent place quite banished from your thoughts, My house shall be your Castle: that I deny My men and Arms to aid you in your broils, Think it kind usage: should my Holinesle Feed your ambition, and make strong your hand Against your brother 'twere too light a brand Of flaming hot dissension, and to set The world in a combustion: all would then Quarrel by my example: No sweet Prince Rome's holy Bishop must not so transgress. If you will dwell within my sacred roof Settle irregular Passions, and begin A quiet life, repentance wipes out sin. My waxen wings are melted, I will soar Against the sun, through such thick clouds no more. The middle Region shall contain my flight, Your counsel sways my wishes, my late deeds Were full of sin: now let my brother know Zemes reputes; (and that's the greatest woe.) To man's aspiring thoughts, how sweet is hope Which makes them (like Chameleons) live on air And hug their slender plots: till cool despair Doth so benumb his thoughts, that he falls dead From his sublime height, and his lofty head Which leveled at the skies, doth drop below His humble feet, this hath experience taught In that man's headlong ruin, whose proud thoughts Aimed at the Turkish Diadem; but now cross Fates Have forced his stubborn Fates to bow. What speaks your entrance? Health to Rome's Bishop. And Peace from Bajazet, who commends his love With this his Letter, and expects from you A gracious answer. He reads the Letter. Let Zemes die by an untimely death, Else for our love you shall provoke our hate. he's not our brother, but our hated foe: And in his death you shall prevent our woe. Return our service back: tell Bajazet What he hath given in charge; shall by my hand Be carefully dispatched. Good peace attend you. Imperious Turk, Am I not Gods Vize-gerent here on earth, And dar'st thou send thy letters of command? Or speak to me in threatening menaces? It grates my patience to obey this monster, Yet must I murder Zemes, what do I know Whether my father's soul did transmigrate Into his breast or no? be dumb remorse, The Turk is great and powerful, if I win His love by this, 'twill prove a happy sin.
seed 43: T18 · seed 44: T18 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Here lyes the safest course, to rid these griefes Giue out, you'le goe to warre, so to enlarge your territories, And to this end fetch home, Those warlike Souldiers plac'd in Garrison. Let them remaine without the walls; at last, When things shall fit your purpose, leade them all By night into the Citie, and in one stroke Strike off so many thousand periur'd heads, As shall amaze posterity to heare, How many liues redeem'd thee from thy feare. The waight of all mine honour leanes on thee, That or some neerer course shall quell the pride Of strong Achmetes, and confound his side. If your intents be vertuous, and desire Of eminent place quite banisht from your thoughts, My house shall be your Caste: that I denie My men and Armes to ayde you in your broyles, Thinke it kinde vsage: should my Holinesle Feede your ambition, and make strong your hand Against your brother 'twere too light a brand Of flaming hot discention, and to set The world in a combustion: all would then Quarrell by my example: No sweet Prince Romes holy Bishop must not so transgresse. If you will dwell within my sacred roofe Sette irregular Passions, and begin A quiet life, repentance wipes out sin. My waxen wings are melted, I will soare Against the sunne, through such thick cloudes no more. The middle Region shall containe my flight, Your counsaile swayes my wishes, my late deedes Were full of sinne: now let my brother know Zemes repents; (and that's the greatest woe.) To mans aspiring thoughts, how sweet is hope Which makes them (like Camelions) liue on ayre And hugge their slender plots: till cooe dispayre Doth so benumme his thoughts, that he falls dead From his sublime height, and his lofty head Which leueld at the skies, doth drop below His humble feete, this hath experience taught In that mans head-long ruine, whose proud thoughts Aym'd at the Turkish Diademe; but now crosse Fates Haue forc'd his stubborne Fates to bow. What speakes your entrance? Health to Romes Bishop. And Peace from Baiazet, who commends his loue With this his Letter, and expects from you A gracious answere. He reades the Letter. Let Zemes die by an vnimely death, Else for our loue you shall prouoke our hate. Hee's not our brother, but our hated foe: And in his death you shall preuent our woe. Returne our seruice back: tell Baiazet What he hath giuen in charge; shall by my hand Be carefully dispatcht. Good peace attend you. Imperious Turke, Am I not Gods Vize-gerent here on earth, And dar'st thou send thy letters of command? Or speake to me in threatning menaces? It grates my patience to obey this monster, Yet must I murder Zemes, what doe I know Whether my fathers oule did trans-migrate Into his breast or no? be dumbe remorse, The Turke is great and powerfull, if I winne His loue by this, t'will proue a happy sinne.