The Courageous Turk, or Amurath the First · chunk 12 of 30
Goffe, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1619 [Feb 24] (Annals) tragedy · at University T17 Eastern conquest: Persians, Turks and so typicality 0.78 · 543 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T17: tamburlaine, persian, cyrus, king, mahomet, arms, mighty, assyrian, thousand, army.
Well spoke three Milksops, Schahin! Your Sword! Now, now be valour in this manly arm To cut off troops of thoughts that would invade me! Think you my mind is waxy to be wrought, By any fashion, Orchanes thy strength, Here do I wish as did that Emperor, That all the heads of that enticing Sex, Were upon hers, thus then should one full stroke Mow them all off. There, kiss now (Captains) do! and clap her cheek; This is the face that did so captive me: These were the looks that so bewitched mine eyes: Here be the lips, that I but for to touch, Gave over Fortune, Victory, Fame, and all; These were two lying mirrors where I looked And thought I saw a world of happiness. Now Tutor, shall our swords be exercised, In ripping up the breasts of Christians. Say Generals! Whether is first? For Thracia! On then for Thracia, for he surely shall That conquers first himself, soon conquer all. Thou sacred guider of the arched Heavens, Who canst collect the scattering stars, and fix The Erratic Planet in the constant Pole, O why shouldst thou take such solicitous care To keep the air, and Elements in course? That Winter should unclothe our Mother Earth, And wrap her in a winding sheet of snow; That then the spring duly revives her still, Vnlinds her sinews, fills her clinged up veins, With living dew, and makes her young again; Next that, the Nemean terror breathes her flames, To parch her flaxy hairs with furious heat; Which to allay too, thou op'st the Cataracts, And watereth the world's Gardens with blessed drops; Canst thou▪ which canst sustain the ponderous world, And keep'st in true poise, securely sleep, Letting a Tyrant (which with a Philip, thus; Thou mightest sink to Earth) to baffle thee? A warrior in thy Fields, I long have been To see if in thy sacred providence, Thou meanest to arm me with thy thunderbolt, Yet, yet, it strikes not now, he Gyant-wise, He dares thee again; pardon our earnest zeal What ever's decreed for man by thy behost, He must perform: and in obedience rest. Thou, like Spectators when they do behold An hardy youth encountering with a Bear, Or something terrible; then they give a shout, So dost thou even applaud thyself to see, Religion striving with Calamity. Which while it often bears, and still rests true, It's fence against all that after shall ensue. Turk, i'll oppose thee still! Heaven has decreed: That this weak hand, shall make that tyrant bleed. A man religious, firm, and strongly good Cannot o'th' sudden be, nor understood. Rise (Soul!) enjoy the prize of thy brave worth! Schahin! the Present that thou so professed, Should from the City of Orestias, Make proud our eyes! then tell me. hast thou slain A thousand superstitious Christian souls; Make them stoop to us; O, I would bathe my hands In their warm blood to make them supple. (Schahin;) That they may wield more Spears! our hands are dull, Our fury's patient! now will I be a Turk, And to our Prophet's altars do I vow, That to his yoke I will all necks subdue, Or in their throats my bloody sword imbrue.
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)
Wel spoke three Milk-sops, Shahin! Your Sword! Now, now be valour in this manly arme To cut off troupes of thoughts that would invade me! Thinke you my minde is waxie to be wrought, By any fashion, Orchnes thy strength, Here doe I wish as did that Emperour, That all the heads of that inticing Sexe, Were upon hers, thus then should one full stroake Mow them all off. There, kisse now (Captaines) doe! and clap her cheeke; This is the face that did so captive me: These were the lookes that so bewitcht mine eyes▪ Here be the lips, that I but for to touch, Gave over Fortune, Victory, Fame, and all; These were two lying mirrors where I lookt And thought I saw a world of happinee. Now Tutor, shall our swords be exercised, In ripping up the breasts of Christians. Say Generals! Whether is first? For Thracia! On then for Thracia, for he surely shall That conquers first himselfe, soone conquer all. Thou sacred guider of the arched Heavens, Who canst collect the scattering starres, and fixe The Erratique Planet in the constant Pole, O why shouldst thou take such solicitous care To keepe the ayre, and Elements in course? That Winter should uncloth our Mother Earth, And wrap her in a winding sheet of snow; That then the spring duly revives her still, Vnlinds her sinews, fils her cling'd up veynes, With living dew, and makes her young againe; Next that, the Nemean terror breathes her flames, To parch her flaxie haires with furious heat; Which to allay too, thou op'st the Chataracts, And watereth the worlds Gardens with blest drops; Canst thou▪ which canst sustain the ponderous world, And keepst in true poize, securely sleepe, Letting a Tyrant (which with a Philip, thus; Thou mightest sinke to Earth) to baffle thee? A warrier in thy Fields, I long have beene To see if in thy sacred providence, Thou meanst to arme me with thy thunder-bolt, Yet, yet, it strikes not now, he Gyant-wise, He dares thee againe; pardon our earnest zeale What ere's decreed for man by thy behost, He must performe: and in obedience rest. Thou, like Spectators when they doe behold An hardy youth encountring with a Beare▪ Or something terrible; then they give a shout, So dost thou even applaud thy selfe to see, Religion striving with Calamity. Which while it often beares, and still rests true, It's fence 'gainst all that after shall ensue. Turke, ile oppose thee still! Heaven has decreed: That this weake hand, shall make that tyrant bleed. A man religious, firme, and strongly good Cannot oth' suddaine be, nor understood. Rise (Soule!) injoy the prize of thy brave worth! Scahin! the Present that thou so profest, Should from the City of Orestias, Make proud our eyes! then tell me. hast thou slaine A thousand superstitious Christian soules; Make them stoope to us; O, I would bath my hands In their warme bloud to make them supple. (Schahin;) That they may weild more Speares! our hands are dull, Our furie's patient! now will I be a Turke, And to our Prophets altars doe I vow, That to his yoke I will all necks subdue, Or in their throates my bloudy sword imbrew.