Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1634 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1614] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti typicality 0.88 · 468 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Poor Lady, say no more: I had as lief trace this good action with you As that whereto I am going, and never yet Went I so willing, way. My Lord is taken Hart deep with your distress: Let him consider: I'll speak anon. O my petition was Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied Melts into drops, so sorrow wanting form Is pressed with deeper matter. Pray stand up, Your grief is written in your check. O woe, You cannot read it there; there through my tears, Like wrinkled peobles in a glass stream You may behold 'em (Lady, Lady, alack) He that will all the Treasure know o'th' earth Must know the Centre too; he that will fish For my least minnow, let him lead his line To catch one at my heart. O pardon me Extremity that sharpens sundry wits Makes me a Foole. Pray you say nothing, pray you, Who cannot feel, nor see the rain being in't, Knows neither wet, nor dry, if that you were Tho ground-peece of fome Painter, I would buy you T'instruct me 'gainst a Capital grief indeed Such heart pierced demonstration; but alas Being a natural Sister of our Sex Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me, That it shall make a counter reflect 'gainst My Brother's heart, and warm it to some pity Though it were made of stone: pray have good comfort. Forward toth' Temple, leave not out a jot O'th' sacred Ceremony. O This Celebration Will long last, and be more costly then, Your Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame Knowles in the ear, o'th' world: what you do quickly, Is not done rashly; your first thought is more. Then others laboured meditance: your premeditating More than their actions: But oh love, your actions Soon as they moves as Asprayes do the fish, Subdue before they touch, think, dear Duke think What beds our slain Kings have. What griefs our beds That our dear Lords have none. None fit forth' dead: Those that with Cordes, Knives, drams precipitance, Weary of this world's light, have to themselves Been deaths most horrid Agents, humane grace Affords them dust and shadow. But our Lords Lie blistring fore the visitating Sun, And were good Kings, when living. It is true. and I will give you comfort, To give your dead Lords graves: The which to do, must make some work with Creon; And that work presents itself toth' doing: Now 'twill take form, the heats are gone to morrow. Then, bootless toil must recompense itself, With its own sweat; Now he's secure, Not dreams, we stand before your puissance Wrinching our holy begging in our eyes To make petition clear. Now you may take him, Drunk with his victory. And his Army full Of Bread, and sloth.
seed 43: T31 · seed 44: T44 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Poore Lady, say no more: I had as leife trace this good action with you As that whereto I am going, and never yet Went I so willing, way. My Lord is taken Hart deepe with your distresse: Let him consider: Ile speake anon. O my petition was Set downe in yce, which by hot greefe uncandied Melts into drops, so sorrow wanting forme Is prest with deeper matter. Pray stand up, Your greefe is written in your checke. O woe, You cannot reade it there; there through my teares, Like wrinckled peobles in a glasse streame You may behold 'em (Lady, Lady, alacke) He that will all the Treasure know o'th earth Must know the Center too; he that will fish For my least minow, let him lead his line To catch one at my heart. O pardon me Extremity that sharpens sundry wits Makes me a Foole. Pray you say nothing, pray you, Who cannot feele, nor see the raine being in't, Knowes neither wet, nor dry, if that you were Tho ground-peece of fome Painter, I would buy you T'instruct me gainst a Capitall greefe indeed Such heart peirc'd demonstration; but alas Being a naturall Siter of our Sex Your sorrow beates so ardently upon me, That it shall make a counter reflect gainst My Brothers heart, and warme it to some pitty Though it were made of stone: pray have good comfort. Forward to'th Temple, leave not out a Iot O'th sacred Ceremony. O This Celebration Will long last, and be more costly then, Your Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame Knowles in the eare, o'th world: what you doe quickly, Is not done rashly; your first thought is more. Then others laboured meditance: your premeditating More then their actions: But oh love, your actions Soone as they mooves as Asprayes doe the fish, Subdue before they touch, thinke, deere Duke thinke What beds our slaine Kings have. What greifes our beds That our deere Lords have none. None fit for'th dead: Those that with Cordes, Knives, drams precipitance, Weary of this worlds light, have to themselves Beene deathes most horrid Agents, humaine grace Affords them dust and shaddow. But our Lords Ly bstring fore the visitating Sunne, And were good Kings, when living. It is true. and I will give you comfort, To give your dead Lords graves: The which to doe, must make some worke with Creou; And that worke presents it selfe to'th doing: Now twill take forme, the heates are gone to morrow. Then, booteles toyle must recompence it selfe, With it's owne sweat; Now he's secure, Not dreames, we stand before your puislance Wrinching our holy begging in our eyes To make petition cleere. Now you may take him, Drunke with his victory. And his Army full Of Bread, and sloth.