The Raging Turk, or Bajazet the Second · chunk 21 of 51
Goffe, Thomas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1618 [c.1613-c.1618] (Annals) tragedy · at University unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Have all forsaken me? and am I left A prey unto myself; did all their breath Pass through his organs? and in his sad death, Have I abruptly cracked the vital thread Of all my Bassas? Ha? where am I now? In some Gehenna, or some hollow vault, Where dead men's ghosts sigh out their heavy groans: Resolve me Mahomet, and rid me hence, Or I will spoil the fabric of thy tomb, And beat away the title of a God. Dost thou not move? a trunk? a stock? to die, Is to put on your nature, so will I. Hold, hold, and live. How come these bodies dead? Father, it was yourself. Let me revoke My wand'ring sense, Oh what a stream of blood Hath purged me of my black suspicion, Two sons, one valiant Captain hence are wrought By mine own hand, to cure one jealous thought, As 'tis, they are the happier, I outlive, Them whom I wished to fall: only to grave, Bear forth their bodies; Bassas carry them out, We were cursed in this, And shall entomb with them much of our bliss, Indeed we had resolved to spend this day In things of more solemnity, less woe. Now our more wished council shall begin And bitter deeds weigh up the scales of sin. Amasia is a province rich and strong, Mahomates it is thine, keep it as long As I have power to give it go, provide For thy conveyance, at the next fair tide. Farewell dear father. Worthy son adieu. The love my dead sons wanted, falls to you, As an hereditary good. Then we May veil our heads in black, no mourners be. Mahomates, thy worth Deserves some trophies of our love, Which to let slip unmentioned, were to add To this black day, a fourth offence as bad; Govern Man●sia, now the people stand Disfurnished of an head, let thy command, Be great amongst them, so; make speedy haste. Honour ayes for thee. Now the storms are past. Father adieu; Mahomates, farewell. Now to my lot, I thought 'twould ne'er a fell, Now Selimus, we know thy hopes are great, And thine ambition gapes with open jaws, To swallow a whole Dukedom: but young Sir, We dare not trust the reins of government Into the hands of Phaeton. Desire, Rashly fulfilled, may set the world on fire; Green youth, and raw experience are not fit, To shoulder up a Kingdom's heavy weight, Mix wit with stayed discretion, and spend Wild years in study, than we do intend To settle more preferment on thy head Then thou canst hope for. Wilt thou envious dotard Strangle my greatness in a miching hole? The world's my study Bajazet, my name, Shall fill each angle of this round-built frame. I know he grumbled at it; but 'tis good To calm the rebel heat of youthful blood With sharp rebukes. Health to the Emperor. What will your message?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Haue all forsaken me? and am I left A pray vnto my selfe; did all their breath Passe through his organs? and in his sad death, Haue I abruptly crackt the vitall threed Of all my Bassaes? Ha? where am I now? In some Gehenna, or some hollow vault, Where dead mens ghosts sigh out their heavy groanes: Resolue me Mahomet, and ridde me hence, Or I will spoyle the fabricke of thy tombe, And beate away the title of a God. Do'st thou not moue? a trunke? a stocke? to die, Is to put on your nature, so will I. Hold, hold, and liue. How come these bodies dead? Father, it was your selfe. Let me reuoke My wandring sence, Oh what a streame of blood Hath purg'd me of my blacke suspition, Two sonnes, one valiant Captaine hence are wrought By mine owne hand, to cure one iealous thought, As 'tis, they are the happier, I out-liue, Them whom I wisht to fall: onely to graue, Beare foorth their bodies; Bassaes carry them out, We were curst in this, And shall intombe with them much of our blisse, ndeed wee had resolu'd to spend this day In things of more solemitie, lesse woe. Now our more wished councell shall beginne And bitter deedes waigh vp the scales of sinne. Amaia is a province rich and strong, Mahomates it is thine, keepe it as long As I haue power to giue it go, proude For thy conveyance, at the next fayre tide. Farewell deare father. Worthy sonne adiew. The loue my dead sonnes wanted, fals to you, As an hereditary good. Then we May vaile our heads in blacke, no mourners be. Mahomates, thy worth Deserues some trophies of our loue, Which to let slip vnmention'd, were to adde To this blacke day, a fourth offence as bad; Gouerne Mansia, now the people stand Disfurnisht of an head, let thy command, Be great amongst them, so; make speedy hast. Honour ayes for thee. Now the stormes are past. Father adiew; Mahomates, farewell. Now to my lot, I thought 'twould ne'r a fell, Now Selymus, wee know thy hop̄es are great, And thine ambition gapes with open jawes, To swallow a whole Dukedome: but young Sir, We dare not trust the raines of gouernment Into the hands of Phacton. Desire, Rashly fullfild, may set the world on fire; Greene youth, and raw experience are not fit, To shoulder vp a Kingdomes heauie weight, Mixe wit with stay'd discretion, and spend Wild yeares in study, then we doe intend To settle more preferment on thy head Then thou can'st hope for. Wilt thou enuious dotard Strangle my greatnesse in a miching hole? The world's my study Baiazet, my name, Shall fill each angle of this round-built frame. I know he grumbled at it; but 'tis good To calme the rebell heat of youthfull blood With sharpe rebukes. Health to the Emperour. What will your message?