Randolph, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1632 [Mar 20] (Annals) comedy · before the Court T20 Hercules: labours, suffering and virtue typicality 0.86 · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T20: hercules, hercles, ioue, deianeira, alcides, hand, lo, death, skies, hell.
Madam, were you made From bones of Hercules, and brawn of Atlas, And daughter were to Gargantua great, And wrong my mistress: you should hear my rage Provoke my blade, and cry, Blade, canst thou sleep In peaceful scabbard? Out thou beast of terror, And lion-like roar this disdainful wight To Pluto's shades and ghosts of Erebus. Yet you, my valiant champion, could resign This (if you know it) rather than endure The terror of your own steel, to redeem My bleeding honours. How am I betrayed, And fallen into the toils of treachery! Give me a man bold as that earthborn race That bid Jove battle, and besieged the gods; And if I make him not creep like a worm Upon his belly, and with reverence Lick up the dust you scatter from your shoe, May I for ever lose the light I live in, The sight of you. I'll try your spirits, Phronesium, That blood of goats should soften Adamant! And poor weak woman with an idle face Should make the soldier to forget his valour, And man his sex! HEre's a champion for you. Come, Sir, this sword be yours, and if you dare Maintain-the lists against me, as I fear Your blood is whey by this time, by your valour You may redeem your honour, and your sword. This is another Hercules come from the distaff. If not, I do proclaim thee here, no Knight, But mean to post thee up for a vile varlet, And the disgrace of Chivalry. O my shame! A dainty Lady errant. A fine piece Of female fortitude. If this stir thee not, Thy mistress is the blemish of her sex, A dirty filthy housewife. Would it were not Dishonour now to kill thee! If your valour Lie in your backparts, I will make experience Whether a kick will raise it. Pray go fetch him Some aqua vitae: for the thought of steel Has put him in a swoon: Nothing revive you? Then will I keep thy sword, and hang it up Amongst my busk-points, pins, and curling-irons. Bodkins, and farthingales, a perpetual trophy How brave a Knight you are. Where shall I run And find a desert, that the foot of man ne'er wandered in, to hide from the world's eyes My shame! 'Sdeath, every Page, and sweaty Footman, And soapy chambermaid will point and laugh at me. I joy to think that I shall meet Evadne Turned on the sudden Moor. How black and vile She will appear! O Heavens! who will not dare Henceforth to scorn your powers, and call sacrilege Merit and piety? I do not see A hair deformed, no tooth or nail sustain The brand of her deserved shame. You punished The Queen of beauty with a mole; but certainly Her perjury hath added to her form, And that the abused gods bribe her with beauty, As th' wracked tenant strives to buy the favour Of his imperious Landlord.
seed 43: T17 · seed 44: T19 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Madam, were you made From bones of Hercules, and brawn of Atlas, And daughter were to Gargantua great, And wrong my mistresse: you should heare my rage Provoke my blade, and cry, Blade, canst thou sleep In peacefull scabbard? Out thou beast of terrour, And lion-like roar this disdainfull wight To Plutoes shades and ghosts of Erebus. Yet you, my valiant champion, could resigne This (if you know it) rather then endure The terrour of your own steel, to redeem My bleeding honours. How am I betray'd, And fall'n into the toyles of treacherie! Give me a man bold as that earth-born race That bid Jove battell, and besieg'd the gods; And if I make him not creep like a worm Upon his belly, and with reverence Lick up the dust you scatter from your shoe, May I for ever loose the light I live in, The sight of you. I'le try your spirits, Phronesium, That bloud of goats should soften Adamant! And poore weak woman with an idle face Should make the souldier to forget his valour, And man his sex! HEre's a champion for you. Come, Sir, this sword be yours, and if you dare Maintain-the lists against me, as I fear Your bloud is whey by this time, by your valour You may redeem your honour, and your sword. This is another Hercules come from the distaff. If not, I do proclaim thee here, no Knight, But meane to post thee up for a vile varlet, And the disgrace of Chivalrie. O my shame! A dainty Lady errant. A fine piece Of female fortitude. If this stirre thee not, Thy mistresse is the blemish of her sex, A dirtie filthy huswife. Would it were not Dishonour now to kill thee! If your valour Lie in your back-parts, I will make experience Whether a kick will raise it. Pray go fetch him Some aqua vitae: for the thought of steel Has put him in a swound: Nothing revive you? Then will I keep thy sword, and hang it up Amongst my busk-points, pins, and curling-irons. Bodkins, and vardingals, a perpetuall trophie How brave a Knight you are. Where shall I run And finde a desert, that the foot of man Nere wandred in, to hide from the worlds eyes My shame! S'death, every Page, and sweaty Footman, And sopie chambermaid will point and laugh at me. I joy to think that I shall meet Evadne Turn'd on the sudden Moor. How black and vile She will appeare! O Heavens! who will not dare Henceforth to scorn your powers, and call sacriledge Merit and pietie? I do not see A hair deform'd, no tooth or nail sustain The brand of her deserved shame. You punish't The Queen of beauty with a mole; but certainly Her perjury hath added to her form, And that the abused gods bribe her with beauty, As th' wrack'd tenant strives to buy the favour Of his imperious Landlord.