The Courageous Turk, or Amurath the First · chunk 27 of 30
Goffe, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1619 [Feb 24] (Annals) tragedy · at University unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 453 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Where are become those ominous Comets now? What? are those pissing Candles quite extinct? Leave their disastrous snuffs no stench behind them? 'Tis something yet, that their God seeth their slaughter. Lending sulphurious Meteors to behold The blessed destruction of these Parasites. I knew the Elements would first untie The Nerves of the Universe, then let me dye! See (King) here's one worm yet that dare confess He breathes and lives, which once this hand crushed down. Ha, ha, by Mahomet and we are weary now: Some Mercy shall lay Victory asleep. It will a Laureate prove to this great strife, Amongst all these murdered to give one his life, So we'll descend. From what a dismal grave am I awaked, Entombed within a Golgotha of men; Have all these Souls prevented me in bliss, And left me in a dream of happiness? But soft! me thoughts he said he would descend! Then, Heavens one minutes breath, that's all I ask, And then I shall perform my life's true task. Poor slave, wouldst live? Yes Turk to see thee dye! howl, howl, (grim Tartar) yell (thou gristly Wolfe) Force the blood from out thy gaping Wound! Dij tibi non mortem, quae cunctis pena paratur, Sed sensum post fata, tua dent (impie) morti. My spirit makes me not to feel thy weapon! Hold you (cracked Organs) of my shottered life, I am not touched yet! can I not mock my death, And think 'tis but a dream tells me I am hurt? Dar'st thou then leave me (blood?) Canst be so bold As to forsake these veins to flow on Earth? And must, I like th'unhappy Roman, die By a slaves hand? Tyrant, 'tis known He's Lord of others lives that scorns his own! I that could scarce ere sleep, can I ere die? And will none fear my life when I am dead Tortures and torments for the murderer! Ha, ha, ha! I thank the (great omnipotent) that I Shall ere laugh out the lag end of my life! Villain, thy laugh wounds worse than did thy Dagger! Are you Lethargic (Lords) in cruelty? Nay, hear me (Turk) now will I prompt their rage Lock me in the Bull of Phalaris, Cut off these eyelids, bid me then outgaze The parching Sunbeams; flay this tender skin, Set nests of Hornets on my rawest flesh, Let the Siconian Clouds drop brimstone on me, Pour boiling Lemnos on my greenest wounds, Put on my shoulder Nessus poisoned shirt, Bind all these bloody faces to my face Rock me Procrastes like— Hell, oh! I cannot brook your smallest touch, Ha, ha, each groan is Balsam to my wounds: I am perfect well! Rascal dar'st deride us?
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)
Where are bcome those ominous Comets now? What? ar those pissing Candles quit extinct? Leave their disasterous snuffes no stench behind them? 'Tis something yet, that their God seeth their slaughter. ending sulphurious Meteors to behold The blest destruction of these Parasites▪ I knew the Elements would first untye The Nerves of the Vniverse, then lt me dye! See (King) here's one worme yet that dare confesse He breaths and lives, which once this hand crusht downe. Ha, ha, by Mahomet and we are weary now: Some Mercy shall lay Victory asleepe. It will a Lawreat prove to this great strife, 'Mongst all these murdered to give one his life, So we'll discend. From what a dismall grave am I awaked, Intombed within a Golgotha of men; Have all these Soules prevented me in blisse, And left me in a dreame of happinesse? But soft! m thoughts he sayd he would descend! Then, Heavens one minutes breath, that's all I aske, And then I shall performe my lifes true taske. Poore slave, wouldst live? Yes Turke to see thee dye! Howle, howle▪ (grim artar) yell (thou gristly Wole) Force the bloud from out thy gaping Wound! Dij tibi non mortem, quae cctis pna paratur, Sed sensum post fata, tu dent (impe) morti. My spirit makes me not to fele thy weapon! Hold you (crackt Organs) of my shottered life, I am not toucht yet! can not mocke my death, And thike 'tis but a dreame tlls me I am hurt? Dar'st thou then leave me (bloud?) Canst be so bold As to forsake these veynes to flow on Earth? And must, I like th'unhappy Roma, dye By a slaves hand? Tyrant, 'tis knowne He's Lord of others lifes that scornes his owne! I that could scace ere sleepe, can I ere die? And will none eare my life when I am dead Tortures and torments for the murderer! Ha, ha, ha! I thanke the (great omnipotent) tha I Shall ere laugh out the lag end of my life! Villaine, thy laugh wounds worse then did thy Dagger! Are you Lethargick (Lords) in cruelty? Nay, heare me (Turke) now will I prompt their rage Locke me in the Bull of Phalaris, Cut off these eye-lids, bid me then out-gaze The parching Sun-beames; flea this tender ski, Set nests of Hornets on my rawest flesh, Let the Siconian Clouds dop brimstone on me, Powre boyling Lemnos on my greenest wounds, Put on my shoulder Neus poysoned shirt, Bind all these bloudy faces to my face Rocke me Procrates like — Hell, oh! I cannot brooke your smallest touch, Ha, ha, each groane is Balsome to my wounds: I am perfect well! Rascall dar'st deride us?