Shirley, James · published 1637 · first performed or written 1634 [licensed for stage, Jun 24] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Patience noble Madam, The message that I bring, is more calm and gentle Than the cool wind, that breathes upon the Flowers Soft kisses in the Spring, the woollen feet Of time do move with a less noise, than mine Beneath this happy Roof, vouchsafe your ear, And words shall meet your sense, and Court it with Swifter delight than apprehension Knows how to reach, and when I have let fall Love, which doth make all language rich, and told you His name that gives his life up in my breath, To be made blessed by being yours, you'll wish I were all voice, and to that harmony, Chain your own soul for ever. What do you mean By this strange language? pray be clearer, sir, If you direct it to my understanding. What is your business? I have told you, Madam. Love. What love I beseech you sir? A love that doth include in his own flame What Poets made but fiction in the gods, When Earthly beauties tempted them from Heaven, A fire which from the bosom of love's priest Shoots up religion and a sacrifice To what his soul adores, a glorious love, And love of you. Of me? it will concern That I should know him. Had his person been A stranger, so much worth, and fame prefers him To every noble knowledge, that you cannot Be ignorant, what wonder of mankind I point at, hath report brought to your ear I'th' stack of men, one that hath had the praise Of wit, of valour, bounty, a fair presence, A tongue to enchant heaven? these wait one him, As he, to be your servant: he is a man (What pity it is I cannot call him more) The pride, and darling both of war, and peace, The Lord of many Worlds. How sir! He may be bountiful indeed then. With your pardon, Shall we allow to every common man A little world, and not think him worth many, Who hath the price of thousands in himself? What miracle is this? He is a man So full of all, that thought, or love can be Ambitious of, that nothing can deserve him, But she alone that hath in her own frame Of woman, all that ever praised the sex, And these are all your own, make him so too, And from your loves, the decayed world shall hope To see a race of Demigods. I find not By all these marks of honour and of goodness What person you commend thus Can there be any beside my Lord? Your Lord may be Besides himself after so great a Character. The Lord Fitzavarice. Cry mercy sir, I know him, and you might with half the expense Of so much wit in blank verse, have expressed His purpose, and himself, I thank him heartily, But am not so much worth, pray tell him so. Lady, I do not use to thrive so ill In my love-undertakings.
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)
Patience noble Madam, The message that I bring, is more calme and gentle Then the coole winde, that breathes upon the Flowers Soft kisses in the Spring, the woollen feete Of time doe move with a lesse noyse, then mine Beneath this happy Roofe, vouchsafe your eare, And words shall meete your sense, and Court it with Swifter delight then apprehension Knows how to reach, and when I have let fall Love, which doth make all language rich, and told you His name that gives his life up in my breath, To be made blest by being yours, you'le wish I were all voyce, and to that harmony, Chaine your owne soule for ever. What doe you meane By this strange language? pray bee cleerer, sir, If you direct it to my understanding. VVhat is your businesse? I have tol'd you, Madam. Love. What love I beseech you sir? A love that doth include in his owne flame What Poets made but fiction in the gods, When Earthlie beauties tempted them from Heaven, A fire which from the bosome of loves preist Shoots up religion and a sacrifice To what his soule adores, a glorious love, And love of you. Of me? it will concerne That I should know him. Had his person bin A stranger, so much worth, and fame preferrs him To every noble knowledge, that you cannot Be ignorant, what wonder of mankinde I point at, hath report brought to your eare I'th stacke of men, one that hath had the praise Of wit, of valour, bountie, a faire presence, A tongue to inchant heaven? these waite one him, As he, to be your servant: he is a man (What pittie it is I cannot call him more) The pride, and darling both of warre, and peace, The Lord of many Worlds. How sir! He may be bountifull indeed then. With your pardon, Shall we allow to everie common man A little world, and not thinke him worth manie, Who hath the price of thousands in himselfe? What miracle is this? He is a man Soe full of all, that thought, or love can be Ambitious of, that nothing can deserue him, But shee alone that hath in her owne frame Of woman, all that ever praised the sex, And these are all your owne, make him so too, And from your loves, the decay'd world shall hope To see a race of Demi-gods. I finde not By all these markes of honour and of goodnesse What person you commend thus Can there be anie beside my Lord? Your Lord may be Besides himselfe after soe great a Character. The Lord Fitzavarice. Cry mercie sir, I know him, and you might with halfe the expence Of so much wit in blanke verse, have exprest His purpose, and himselfe, I thanke him hartelie, But am not so much worth, pray tell him so. Ladie, I doe not use to thrive so ill In my love-undertakings.