Heywood, Thomas · published 1636 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1636] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T59 Spanish courts: war, honour and courtshi · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
Not here, for I am all dejectedness, Captive to fortune, and a slave to want; I can not call these clothes I wear mine own, I do not eat, but at another's cost, This air I breathe, is borrowed; ne'er was man So poor and abject. I have not so much, In all this universe, as a thing to leave, Or a Country I can freely boast is mine: In all the world, I had but one true friend, And he is ravished from me; My essence, and my being, is another's: What should I say? I am not any thing, And I possess as little. Tell me that? Come, come, I know you to be no such man, You are a Soldier, valiant, and renowned, Your carriage tried by land, and proved at Sea, Of which, I have heard such full expression No contradiction can persuade you less, And in this faith I am constant. A mere worm Trod on by every Fate. Raised by your merit To be a common argument through Spain. And speech at PRINCE's Tables, for your worth Your presence when you please to expose't abroad, Attracts all eyes, and draw them after you And these that understand you call their friends, And pointing through the streets, say, this is he, This that brave and noble Englishman, Whom Soldiers strive to make their precedent, And other men their wonder. This your scorn. Makes me appear more abject to myself Then all diseases I have tasted yet Had power to asperse upon me, and yet Lady I could say something durst I. Speak't at once. And yet— Nay, but we'll admit no pause. I know not how my phrase may relish you, And loath I were to offend, even in what's past I must confess, I was too bold,— Farewell, I shall no more distaste you. Sir, you do not, I do proclaimmt you do not, stay, I charge you, Or as you say, you have been fortune's scorn, So ever prove to woman. You charge deeply, And yet now, I bethink me. As you are a Soldier, And Englishman, have hope to be redeemed From this your scorned bondage you sustain, Have comfort in your Mother, and fair Sister, Renown so blazed in the ears of Spain, Hope to re-breathe that air you tasted first. So tell me— What? Your apprehension catched And almost was in sheaf. Lady I shall. And in a word? I will. Pronounce it then. I love you. Ha, ha, ha. Still it is my misery Thus to be mocked in all things. Pretty faith. I looked thus to be laughed at, my estate And fortunes I confess, deserves no less; That made me so unwilling to denounce Mine own derisions, but alas I find No Nation, sex, complexion, birth, degree. But jest at want, and mock at misery. Love me?
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)
Not heere, for I am all dejectednesse▪ Captive to fortune, and a slave to want; I can not call these eothes I weare mine owne, I doe not eate, but at anothers cost, This ayre I breathe, is borrowed; nere was man So pore and abject. I have not so much, In all this vniverse, as a thing to leave▪ Or a Countrey I can freely boast is mine: In all the world, I had but one true friend, And hee is ravish'd from mee; My essene, and my beeing, is anothers: What should I say? I am not any thing, And I possesse as little. Tell me that? Come, come, I know you to be no such man, You are a Souldier, valiant, and renownd, Your carriage try'd by land, and prov'd at Sea, Of which, I have heard such full expression No contradiction can perswade you lesse, And in this faith I am constant. A meere worme Trod on by every Fate. Rais'd by your merit To be a common argument through Spaine. And speech at Princes Tables, for your worth Your presence when you please to expos't abroad, Attracts all eyes, and draw them after you And these that understand you call their friends, And pointing through the streetes, say, this is he, This that brave and noble Englishman, Whom Souldiers strive to make their president, And other men their wonder. This your scorne. Makes me appeare more abiect to my selfe Then all diseases I have tasted yet Had power to asperse upon me, and yet Lady I could say something durst . Speak't at once. And yet— Nay, but wee'l admit no pawse. I know not how my phrase may relish you, And loth I were to offend, even in what's past I must confesse, I was too bold,—Farewell, I shall no more distaste you. Sir, you doe not, I doe proclaimt you doe not, stay, I charge you, Or as you say, you have beene fortunes scorn, So ever proove to woman. You charge deepely, And yet now, I bethinke me. As you are a Souldier, And Englishman, have hope to bee redeemd From this your scorned bondage you sustaine, Have comfort in your Mother, and faire Sister, Renowne so blazed in the eares of Spaine, Hope to re-breathe that ayre you tasted first. So tell me— What? Your apprehension catch'd And almost was in sheafe. Lady I shall. And in a word? I will. Pronounce it then. I love you. Ha, ha, ha. Still it is my misery Thus to bee mock'd in all things. Pretty faith. I look'd thus to be laught at, my estate And fortunes I confesse, deserves no lesse; That made me so unwilling to denounce Mine owne desions, but alas I finde No Nation, sex, complexion, birth, degree. But jest at want, and mocke at misery. Love mee?