Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
As your own thoughts Madam, I can stick as close to any piece of villainy As a Punk to a farmer's son new gentilized; And when besides so many good angels tempt, They are enough— to make a woman keep counsel. Well then; make means to speak there with Althaea, Tell her thou com'st from Lord Lucilio, Who in important business has employed thee; I know she'll take thy message privately: Deliver her this letter; seem that Lucilio Has none but thee on whom he can rely In this so dangerous an enterprise: She upon this willbe more free and open To the design: then mark her, good Alastor! Observe each word and gesture that she uses; If thou canst wring a look that may discover But a consenting thought, it will suffice: For when offending lives withstand our will, we must seem good, though we determine ill. Here's a villainous pitfall to stifle a poor wench in; who can be a beggar, now, that's not afraid to be damned? well, I can no more tell how to thrive without doing villainy, than greatness can without doing injury. Pretty piece of man's flesh I my heart will leap when I see thee come off the Rock like a magpie; and I shall wish, for thy sake, that nature had made women a little lighter, all of feathers, that they might have taken hurt by no manner of falling: but pity is a thing clean out of fashion, and the high way to irreparable Beggary; I'll none of it. Nay good my Lord yield not yourself so much To these unseasoned Passions, that do sit Like midnight on your thoughts; methinks the air Of Athens should have purged these humours quite: In troth, my Lord, the world will condemn you, Of what Antonio? Why of melancholy. Which some define is weakness in a Lord, And in a Lady pride or sullenness, But in a wise man 'tis flat foolery. Prithee forbear Antonio; let me in silence Vent out the cares that overwhelm my soul; Thou know'st how deep an angry mother's spleen Wounds the soft love that I am forced to bear To my Althaea's virtues. How can I choose But weep away my youth, when I remember The dreadful oppositions which my soul Hath formerly sustained for her; the cares That have outrun my years, and like to corrosives Have eat into my flesh, there seized upon All faculties of life, and spread their venom Through every vein and sinew of my heart? 'Tis your own fault, that thus will spend yourself In such extremes of passion, that increase The number of your griefs above your spirit; Faith 'tis unmanly done; call you this love?
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)
As your owne thoughts Madam, I can ſtick as cloſe to any peece of villany As a Punk to a Farmers ſonne new gentiliz'd; And when beſides ſo many good angels tempt, They are enough—to make a woman keepe counſell. Well then; make meanes to ſpeake there with Althea, Tell her thou com'ſt from Lord Lucilio, Who in important buſineſſe has imployed thee; I know ſhee'll take thy meſſage privately: Deliver her this letter; ſeeme that Lucilio Has none but thee on whom he can relie In this ſo dangerous an enterpriſe: Shee upon this will-bee more free and open To the deſigne: then marke her, good Alaſtor! Obſerve each word and geſture that ſhee uſes; If thou canſt wring a looke that may diſcover But a conſenting thought, it will ſuffice: For when offending lives withſtand our will, Wee muſt ſeeme good, though we determine ill. Here's a villanous pitfall to ſtifle a poore wench in; who can bee a beggar, now, that's not afraid to bee damn'd? well, I can no more tell how to thrive without doing villany, than greatneſſe can without doing injury. Pretty peece of man's fleſh I my heart will leap when I ſee thee come off the Rock like a Mag-Pie; and I ſhall wiſh, for thy ſake, that nature had made women a litle lighter, all of feathers, that they might have taken hurt by no manner of falling: but pitty is a thing clean out of faſhion, and the high way to irreparable Beggary; Ile none of it. Nay good my Lord yeeld not your ſelf ſo much To theſe unſeaſon'd Paſſions, that doe ſit Like midnight on your thoughts; me thinks the ayre Of Athens ſhould have purg'd theſe humours quite: In troth, my Lord, the world will condemne you, Of what Antonio? Why of melancholy. Which ſome define is weakneſſe in a Lord, And in a Lady pride or fullenneſſe, But in a wiſe man 'tis flatt foolery. Prethee forbeare Antonio; let me in ſilence Vent out the cares that overwhelme my ſoule; Thou know'ſt how deep an angry mothers ſpleene Wounds the ſoft love that I am forc'd to beare To my Altheas vertues. How can I chuſe But weep away my youth, when I remember The dreadfull oppoſitions which my ſoule Hath formerly ſuſtain'd for her; the cares That have out-runne my yeares, and like to corſives Have eate into my fleſh, there ſeiz'd upon All faculties of life, and ſpred their venome Through every veine and ſinew of my heart? 'Tis your owne fault, that thus will ſpend your ſelfe In ſuch extreames of paſſion, that encreaſe The number of your griefes above your ſpirit; Faith 'tis unmanly done; call you this love?