The Bird in a Cage (The Beauties) · chunk 33 of 37
Shirley, James · published 1633 · first performed or written 1633 [licensed for stage, Jun 21] [incorrect] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 513 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I come not to Petition for a mercy But to cry up my merit, for a deed Shall drown all story, and posterity When it shall find in her large Chronicle My glorious undertaking, shall admire it More than a sibyl's leaf, and lose itself In wonder of the action, Poets shall With this make proud their Muses, and apparel it In ravishing numbers, which the soft haired Virgin Forgetting all their legends, and Love tales Of Venus, Cupid, and the scapes of Jove Shall make their only song and in full choir Chant it at Hymen's feast. What means this boasting? Rolliardo. You think I am a lost man; and your gay things That echo to your passions, and see through Your eyes all that's presented, do already Tickle their very souls, with expectation To see me beg most miserably for life But you are all deceived— here I pronounce The great work done that cancels all my debts I have had access unto the fair Eugenia Your Princely daughter, stayed, discoursed with her, More, she has entertained me for her servant. Sir do you believe him. Thou hast profaned a name will strike thee dead, It cannot be, for if you mean your daughter 'Tis that is my preserver, blessed Eugenia To whose memory, my heart does dedicate itself an altar, in whose very mention My lips are hallowed, and the place a temple Whence the divine sound came, it is a voice Which should our holy Churchmen use, it might Without addition of more exorcism Disenchant houses, tie up nightly spirits Which fright the solitary groves, Eugenia When I have named, I needs must love my breath The better after it. Thou hast undone. thyself i'th' repetition, and in this Wherein thou cunningly wouldst beg our pity Thou hast destroyed it, and not left a thought To plead against our anger, where before Thy life should have been gently invited forth Now with a horrid circumstance death shall Make thy soul tremble, and forsaking all The noble parts, it shall retire into Some angle of thy body, and be afraid To inform thy eyes, lest they let in a horror They would not look on. I am still the same, and let me be so bold To plead your royal word, 'twas my security Nor shall you take mine to induce your faith To what is done I have more pregnant evidence, Your highness knows that character. Ha? 'tis not so, I'll not believe my eyes Come hither Fulvio, Perenotto read But not too loud, does she not write to me It is injust you let Rolliardo die Unless Eugenia bear him company. Give me the Paper. 'Tis counterfeit my Lord, cut off my head If this be not a jig of his invention. My soul is in a sweat. I feel my blood Heave in my Veins— he looks as he had seen her. More my Prophetic thoughts do whisper to me— Believe it not Sir. I wonot— Perenotto— I know not what to think. The duke's perplexed, observe.
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)
I come not to Petition for a mercy But to cry vp my merit, for a deed Shall drowne all story, and posterity When it shall finde in her large Chronicle My glorious vndertaking, shall admire it More then a Sybils leafe, and loose it selfe In wonder of the action, Poets shall With this make proud their Muses, and apparell it▪ In rauishing numbers, which the soft haird Virgine Forgetting all their legends, and Loue tales Of Venus, Cupid, and the scapes of Joue Shall make theyr onely song and in full quire Chant it at Hymens feast. What meanes this boasting? Rolliardo. You thinke I am a lost man; and your gay things That eccho to your passions, and see through Your eyes all thats presented, do already Tickle their very soules, with expectation To see me beg most miserably for life But you are all deceiu'd—here I pronounce The great worke done that cancels all my debts I haue had accesse vnto the faire Eugenia Your Princely daughter, staid, discourst with her▪ More, shee has entertained me for her seruant. Sir doe you beleeue him. Thou hast prophaind a name will strike thee dead, It cannot be, for if you meane your daughter 'Tis that is my preseruer, blest Eugenia To whose memory, my heart does dedicate It selfe an altar, in whose very mention My lips are hallowed, and the place a temple Whence the diuine sound came, it is a voyce Which should our holy Churchmen vse, it might Without addition of more exorcisme Disinchant houses, tye vp nightly spirits Which fright the solitary groues, Eugenia When I haue nam'd, I needs must loue my breath The better after it. Thou hast vndone. Thy selfe i'th repetition, and in this Wherein thou cunningly wouldst beg our pittie Thou hast destroyed it, and not left a thought To plead against our anger, where before Thy life should haue beene gently inuited forth Now with a horrid circumstance death shall Make thy soule tremble, and forsaking all The noble parts, it shall retire into Some angle of thy body, and be afraid To informe thy eyes, least they let in a horrour They would not looke on. I am still the same, and let me be so bold To plead your royall word, 'twas my security Nor shall you take mine to induce your faith To what is done I haue more pregnant euidence, Your highnesse knowes that character. Ha? 'tis not so, I'le not beleeue my eyes Come hither Fulvio, Perenotto read But not too loude, does shee not write to me It is iniust you let Rolliardo dy Vnlesse Eugenia beare him company. Give mee the Paper. 'Tis counterfeit my Lord, cut off my head If this be not a Iygge of his invention. My soule is in asweat. I feele my blood Heave in my Veynes—he lookes as he had seene her. More my Propheticke thoughts doe whisper to me— Beleeve it not Sir. I wonnot—Perenotto— I know not what to thinke. The Duk's perplext, observe.