Ford, John · published 1633 · first performed or written 1630 [c.1630-1633] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Amelus, I perceive Calantha's bosom Is warmed with other fires then such as can Take strength from any fuel of the love I might address to her: young Ithocles, Or ever I mistake, is Lord ascendant Of her devotions; one, to speak him truly, In every disposition nobly fashioned, But can your Highness brook to be so rivalled, Considering th'inequality of the persons? I can, Amelus; for affections injured By tyranny, or rigour of compulsion, Like Tempest-threatened Trees unfirmly rooted, ne'er spring to timely growth: observe, for instance, Life-spent Penthea, and unhappy Orgilus. How does your grace determine? To be jealous In public, of what privately I'll further; And though they shall not know, yet they shall find it. Our daughter is not near? She is retired, Sir, Into her gallery. Where's the Prince our cousin? New walked into the Grove (my Lord.) All leave us, Except Armostes, and you Crotolon, We would be private. Health unto your Maiesty. What, Tecnicus is gone? He is to Delphoi And to your Royal hands presents this box. Unseal it, good Armostes, therein lies The secrets of the Oracle; out with it; Apollo live our patron: read, Armostes. The plot in which the Vine takes root, Begins to dry, from head to foot, The stock soon withering, want of sap Doth cause to quail the budding grape: But from the neighbouring Elm, a dew Shall drop and feed the Plot anew. That is the Oracle, what exposition Makes the Philosopher? This brief one, only: The plot is Sparta, the dried Vine the King; The quailing grape his daughter; but the thing Of most importance, not to be revealed, Is a near Prince, the Elm; the rest concealed. Enough; although the opening of this Riddle Be but itself a Riddle, yet we construe How near our labouring age draws to a rest: But must Calantha quail to the young grape Untimely budded! I could mourn for her, Her tenderness hath yet deserved no rigor So to be crossed by Fate. You misapply, Sir; With favour let me speak it what Apollo Hath clouded in hid sense: I here conjecture Her marriage with some neighbouring Prince, the dew Of which befriending Elm shall ever strengthen Your Subjects with a Sovereignty of power. Besides, most gracious Lord, the pith of Oracles Is to be then digested, when the events Expound their truth, not brought ti soon to light As uttered; Truth is Child of Time, and herein I find no scruple, rather cause of comfort With unity of kingdoms. May it prove so For weal of this dear Nation.— where is Ithocles? Armostes, Crotolon; when this withered Vine Of my frail carcase, on the funeral Pile, Is fired into its ashes, let that young man Be hedged about still with your cares and loves; Much owe I to his worth, much to his service. Let such as wait come in now.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T26 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Amelus, I perceiue Calantha's bosome Is warm'd with other fires then such as can Take strength from any fuell of the loue I might addresse to her: young Ithocles, Or euer I mistake, is Lord ascendant Of her deuotions; one, to speake him truly, In euery disposition nobly fashioned, But can your Highnesse brooke to be so riual'd, Considering th'inequality of the persons? I can, Amelus; for affections iniur'd By tyrannie, or rigour of compulion, Like Tempest-threatned Trees vnfirmely rooted, Ne're spring to timely growth: obserue, for instance, Life-spent Penthea, and vnhappy Orgilus. How does your grace determine? To be iealous In publike, of what priuately I'le further; And though they shall not know, yet they shall finde it. Our daughter is not neere? She is retired, Sir, Into her gallery. Where's the Prince our Cozen? New walk'd into the Groue (my Lord.) All leave vs, Except Armostes, and you Crtoln, We would be priuate. Health vnto your Maiesty What, Tecius is gone? He is to Delpho And to your Royall hands presents this box. Vnseale it, good Armostes, therein lyes The secrets of the Oracle; out with it; Apollo liue our patron: read, Armostes. The plot in which the Vine takes root, Begins to dry, from head to foot, The stocke soone withering, wnt of sap Doth cause to quaile the budding grape: But from the neighboring Elme, a dw Shall drop and feed the Plot That is the Oracle, what exposition Makes the Philosopher? This brief one, onely: The plot is Sparta, the a Vine the King; The quailing grape his daughter; but the thing Of most importance, not to be reual'd, Is a neere Prince, the Elme the rst conceal'd. Enough; although the opening of this Riddle Be but it selfe a Riddle, yet we constru How neere our lab'ring age drwes rest But must Calantha quaile to the young grap Vntimely budded! I could mourne for her, Her tendernesse hath yet deseru'd no igor So to be crost by Fate. You misapply, Sir With fauour let me speake it what Apollo Hath clouded in hid sense: I here coiectur Her marriage with some neighb'ring Prince, the dew Of which befriending Elme shall euer strengthen Your Subiects with a Soueraignty of power. Besides, most gracious Lord, the pith of Oracles Is to be then digested, when th euents Expound their truth, not brought to ligh As vtter'd; Truth is Child of Time and herein I finde no scruple, rather cause of comfort With unity of kingdomes. May it proue so For weale of this deare Nation. — where is Ithocles? Armostes, Crotolon; when this wither'd Vine Of my fraile carkasse, on the funerall Pile, Is fir'd into its ashes, let that young man Be hedg'd about still with your cares and loues; Much owe I to his worth, much to his seruice. Let such as wait come in now.