Shirley, James · published 1633 · first performed or written 1628 [licensed for stage, Oct 3] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 470 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Nothing in the outside. 'tis inly precious. You have not searched the Lining that you promise so. I see through it, hast thou not heard the perfect Magnes Will although enclosed within an ivory box, Through the white wall shoot forth embracing virtue To the loved needle, I can read it Clare And read a joy in't that transports me, this Came from my Mistress, having touched her hand Whence it received a whiteness hath it not Brought incense to dispersing a rich breath Sweeter than Arabian spicery About the room, in which while it remains we suck in perfumed air, it came from her My honest Clare, from her she whose rare wit taught When in thy dull opinion I was lost, My apprehension a new hope to thrive In my ambitious love, excellent women The top of all creation I shall be At once too happy, unrip thou the seal Read it, and let thy voice convey it gently lest I be surfeited, but why should any Be honoured to receive her But I, to whom she hath directed it, By thy leave silent paper, confident Of bless I open my Elysium And let my soul into it— ha. Laden with mighty hopes how despondent Have I launched forth and find a storm. What's this? Your own Letter returned Can it be otherwise than in scorn. In scorn. ha' you not now cause of triumph, who is now the truer Prophet, you would nourish hope in spite of reason, now you feel a punishment in her derision. Is this credible. Credible? 'Tis no wonder in a woman Though she had promised, vowed affection to you It had not been a miracle to find A Change in their affection, yet you cannot Accuse her much. Appeared I so unworthy That 'mong so many ways she had to express At what poor value she esteemed my proffered Service, her pride could find out none but this To send me mine own again. Do but imagine You sent a servant with a message to her, She not within, he is returned again Without an answer. Incivility, She might have thanked me, and subscribed her name, I was not bound to her observance. Come be free again. I will be so, with this That I could cancel my affection. What do you mean, it having touched her hand Is full of incense and Arabian spicery You are too prodigal of your perfume. Do not thou mock me too. Well, I ha' done. Would I had so I cannot empty all My torment, wherefore should a man love woman Such airy mockeries, nothing but mere Echoes That owe their being to our opinion And in reward of honouring them, send back As scornfully the language we bestowed. Out of our too much dotage.
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)
Nothing in the outside. T'is inly pretious. You haue not searcht the Lining that you promise so. I see through it, hast thou not heard the perfect Magnes Will although inclos'd within an Iuory box, Through the white wall shoote forth embracing vertue To the lou'd needle, I can read it Clare And reade a Ioy in't that transports me, this Came from my Mistris, hauing touch'd her hand Whence it receiu'd a whitenesse hath it not Brought incense to dipersing a rich breath Sweeter then Arabian spicery About the roome, in which while it remaines Wee sucke in perfum'd ayre, it came from her My honest Clare, from her she whose rare wit taught When in thy dull opinion I was lost, My apprehension a new hope to thriue In my ambitious loue, excellent women The top of all creation I shall bee At once too happy, vnrip thou the seale Read it, and let thy voyce conuey it gently Least I be surfetted, but why should any Be honoured to receiue her But I, to whom shee hath directed it, By thy leaue silent paper, confident Of blesse I open my Elizeum And let my soule into it — ha. Laden with mighty hopes how dispendant Haue I launched forth and finde a storme. What's this? Your owne Letter returned Can it be otherwise then in scorne. In scorne. Ha you not now cause of tryumph, who is now the truer Prophet, you would nourish hope in spight of reason, now you feele a punishment in her derision. Is this credible. Credible? 'Tis no wonder in a woman Though shee had promised, vowed affection to you It had not beene a miracle to find A Change in their affection, yet you cannot Accuse her much. Appear'd I so vnworthy That 'mong so many wayes she had to expresse At what poore value shee esteemed my proffered Seruice, her pride could finde out none but this To send me mine owne agen. Doe but imagine You sent a servant with a message to her, Shee not within, he is return'd agen Without an answere. Inciuility, Shee might haue thank'd me, and subscrib'd her name, I was not bound to her obseruance. Come be free againe. I will be so, with this That I could cancell my affection. What doe you meane, it hauing touch'd her hand Is full of incence and Arabian spicery You are too prodigall of your perfume. Doe not thou mocke me too. Well, I ha done. Would I had so I cannot empty all My torment, wherefore should a man loue woman Such aery mockeries, nothing but meere Ecchoes That owe theyr being to our opinion And in reward of honouring them, send backe As scornefully the language we bestowed. Out of our too much dotage.