Ford, John · published 1633 · first performed or written 1630 [c.1630-1633] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 471 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Oh— misery of miseries! Take comfort, You may live well, and die a good old man: By yea and nay, an oath not to be broken, If you had joined our hands once in the Temple, 'Twas since my father died, for had he lived He would have done't: I must have called you father: Oh my wracked honour ruined by those Tyrants, A cruel brother, and a desperate dotage! There is no peace left for a ravished wife Widowed by lawless marriage; to all memory, Penthea's, poor Penthea's name is strumpeted: But since her blood was seasoned by the forfeit Of noble shame, with mixtures of pollution, Her blood ('tis just) he henceforth never heightened With taste of sustenance. starve; let that fullness Whose pleurisy hath severed faith and modesty, Forgive me: o I faint. Be not so wilful. Sweet Niece, to work thine own destruction. Nature Will call her daughter, monster,— what? not eat? Refuse the only ordinary means Which are ordained for life? be not, my sister, A murderess to thyself.— Hear'st thou this, Bassanes? Foe, I am busy; for I have not thoughts Enough to think all shall be well anon. 'Tis tumbling in my head there is a mastery In Art to fatten and keep smooth the outside; Yes, and to comfort up the vital spirits Without the help of food, fumes or perfumes, Perfumes or fumes: let her alone, I'll search out The trick on't. Lead me gently; heavens reward ye Griefs are sure friends; they leave (without control) Nor cure nor comforts for a leprous soul. I grant t'ee; and will put in practice instantly What you shall still admire: 'tis wonderful, 'Tis super singular, not to be matched: Yet when I've done't, I've done't; ye shall all thank me. The sight is full of terror. On my soul Lies such an infinite clog of massy dulness, As that I have not sense enough to feel it. See, Uncle, th'augury thing returns again, Shall's welcome him with Thunder? we are haunted, And must use exorcism to conjure down This spirit of malevolence. Mildly, Nephew. I come not, Sir, to chide your late disorder: Admitting that th' enurement to a roughness In Soldiers of your years and fortunes, chiefly So lately prosperous, hath not yet shook off The custom of the war in hours of leisure: Nor shall you need excuse, since you are to render Account to that fair Excellence, the Princess, Who in her private Gallery expect it From your own mouth alone: I am a messenger But to her pleasure. Excellent Nearchus, Be Prince still of my services, and conquer, Without the combat of dispute, I honour 'ee. The King is on a sudden indisposed, Physicians are called for; 'twere fit, Armostes, You should be near him. Sir, I kiss your hands.
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)
Oh — misery of miseries! Take comfort, You may liue well, and dye a good old man: By yea and nay, an oath not to be broken, If you had ioyn'd our hands once in the Temple, 'Twas since my father dy'd, for had he liu'd He would haue don't: I must haue call'd you father: Oh my wrack'd honour ruin'd by those Tyrants, A cruell brother, and a desperate dotage! There is no peace left for a rauish'd wife Widdow'd by lawlesse marriage; to all memory, Penthea's, poore Penthea's name is strumpeted: But since her blood was season'd by the forfeit Of noble shame, with mixtures of pollution, Her blood ('tis iust) he henceforth neuer heightned With tast of sustenance. Stare, l that fulnesse Whose plurisie hath euer'd faith and modesty, Forgiue me: ô I faint. Be not so wilfull. Sweet Neece, to worke thine owne destruction. Nature Will call her daughter, monster,— what? not eat? Refuse the onely ordinary meane Which are ordain'd for life? be not, my sister, A murthresse to thy selfe. — Hear'st thou this, Bassanes? Fo, I am busie; for I haue not thoughts Enow to thinke all shall be well anon. 'Tis tumbling in my head there is a mastery In Art to fatten and keepe smooth the outside; Yes, and to comfort vp the vitall spirits Without the helpe of food, fumes or perfumes, Perfumes or fumes: let her alone, I'le search out The tricke on't. Lead me gently; heauens reward ye Griefes are sure friends; they leaue (without controule) Nor cure nor comforts for a leprous soule. I grant t'ee; and will put in practice instantly What you shall still admire: 'tis wonderfull, 'Tis super singular, not to be match'd: Yet when I'ue don't, I'ue don't; ye shall all thanke mee. The sight is full of terror. On my soule Lyes such an infinite clogge of massie dulnesse, As that I haue not sense enough to feele it. See, Vncle, th'augury thing returnes againe, Shall's welcome him with Thunder? we are haunted, And must vse exorcisme to coniure downe This spirit of maleuolence. Mildly, Nephew. I come not, Sir, to chide your late disorder: Admitting that th' inurement to a roughnesse In Souldiers of your yeares and fortunes, chiefly So lately prosperous, hath not yet shooke off The custome of the warre in houres of leisure: Nor shall you need excuse, since y are to render Account to that faire Excellence, the Princesse, Who in priuate Gallery expect it From your owne mouth alone: I am a messenger But to her pleasure. Excellent Nearchus, Be Prince still of my seruices, and conquer, Without the combat of dispute, I honour 'ee. The King is on a sudden indispos'd, Physicians are call'd for; 'twere fit, Armostes, You should be neere him. Sir, I kisse your hands.