The Noble Spanish Soldier (The Noble Soldier, or A Contract Broken Justly Revenged) · chunk 1 of 27
Dekker, Thomas · published 1634 · first performed or written 1622 (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T31 Popes, cardinals and the crown · 536 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T31: cardinal, pope, king, lord, majesty, holy, rome, france, church, lords.
GIve us what no man here is master of, (Breath) leave us pray, my father Cardinal Can by the Physic of Philosophy et all again in order. Leave us, pray. exeunt How is it with you, Sir? As with a Ship Now beat with storms, now safe, the storms are vanished, And having you my Pilot, I not only See shore, but harbour; ay, to you will open The book of a black sin, deep-printed in me: Oh father! my disease lies in my soul. The old wound, Sir? Yes that, it festers inward: For though I have a beauty to my bed That even Creation envies at, as wanting Stuff to make such another, yet on her pillow I lie by her, but an Adulterer, And she as an Adulteress, she's my Queen And wife, yet but my strumpet, though the Church Set on the seal of Marriage; good Onaelia, Niece to our Lord high Constable of Spain, Was precontracted mine. Yet when I stung Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act, Your ears were deaf to counsel. I confess it. Now to untie the knot with your new Queen Would shake your Crown half from your head. Even Troy (Though she hath wept her eyes out) would find tears To wail my kingdom's ruins. What will you do then? She has that Contract written, sealed by you, And other Churchmen (witnesses unto't) A kingdom should be given for that paper. I would not, for what lies beneath the Moon, Be made a wicked Engine to break in pieces That holy Contract. 'Tis my soul's aim to tie it Upon a faster knot. I do not see How you can with safe conscience get it from her. Oh! I know I wrestle with a Lioness: to imprison her, And force her to't, I dare not: death! what King Did ever say I dare not? I must have it: A Bastard have I by her, and that Cock Will have (I fear) sharp spurs, if he crow after Him that trod for him: something must be done Both to the Hen and Chicken; haste you therefore To sad Onaelia, tell her I'm resolved To give my new Hawk bells, and let her fly: My Queen I'm weary of, and her will marry: To this our Text add you what gloss you please, The secret drifts of Kings are depthless Seas. Oh sorrow, sorrow, say where dost thou dwell? In the lowest room of Hell. Art thou borne of Humane Race? No, no, I have a furrier face. Art thou in City, Town or Court? I to every place resort. Oh why into the world is sorrow sent? Men afflicted, best repent. What dost thou feed on? Broken sleep. What tak'st thou pleasure in? To weep, To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan, To wring my hands, to sit alone. Oh when? oh when shall sorrow quiet have? Never, never, never, never, Never till she finds a Grave. No lesson, Madam, but Lacrymae's? if you had buried nine husbands, so much water as you might squeeze out of an Onion had been tears enough to cast away upon fellows that cannot thank you, come be jovial.
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)
GIve us what no man here is master of, (Breath) leave us pray, my father Cardinall Can by the Physicke of Philosophy et al agen in order. Leave us, pray. exeunt How is it with you, Sir? As with a Shippe Now beat with stormes, now safe, the stormes are vanisht, And having you my Pylot, I not onely See shore, but harbour; I, to you will open The booke of a blacke sinne, deepe-printed in me: Oh father! my disease lyes in my soule. The old wound, Sir? Yes that, it festers inward: For though I have a beauty to my bed That even Creation envies at, as wanting Stuffe to make such another, yet on her pillow I lye by her, but an Adulterer, And she as an Adulteresse, Shee's my Queene And wife, yet but my strumpet, tho the Church Set on the seale of Mariage; good Onaelia, Neece to our Lord high Constable of Spaine, Was precontracted mine. Yet when I stung Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act, Your eares were deafe to counsell. I confesse it. Now to unty the knot with your new Queene Would shake your Crowne halfe from your head. Even Troy (Tho she hath wept her eyes out) wud find teares To wayle my kingdomes ruines. What will you doe then? She has that Contract written, seal'd by you, And other Churchmen (witnesses untoo't) A kingdome should be given for that paper. I wud not, for what lyes beneath the Moone, Be made a wicked Engine to breake in pieces That holy Contract. 'Tis my soules ayme to tye it Vpon a faster knot. I doe not see How you can with safe conscience get it from her. Oh! I know I wrastle with a Lyonesse: to imprison her, And force her too't, I dare not: death! what King Did ever say I dare not? I must have it: A Bastard have I by her, and that Cocke Will have (I feare) sharpe spurres, if he crow after Him that trod for him: something must be done Both to the Henne and Chicken; haste you therefore To sad Onaelia, tell her I'me resolv'd To give my new Hawke bells, and let her flye: My Queene I'me weary of, and her will marry: To this our Text adde you what glosse you please, The secret drifts of Kings are depthlesse Seas. Oh sorrow, sorrow, say where dost thou dwell? In the lowest roome of Hell. Art thou borne of Humane Race? No, no, I have a furier face. Art thou in City, Towne or Court? I to every place resort. Oh why into the world is sorrow sent? Men afflicted, best repent. What dst thou feed on? Broken sleepe. What tak'st thou pleasure in? To weepe, To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groane, To wring my hands, to sit alone. Oh when? oh when shall sorrow quiet have? Never, never, never, never, Never till she finds a Grave. No lesson, Madam, but Lacrymae's? if you had buried nine husbands, so much water as you might squeeze out of an Onyon had beene teares enow to cast away upon fellowes that cannot thanke you, come be Ioviall.