Berkeley, William · published 1638 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638] (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
I won't think at all, for fear I judge amiss. The Mazes of a woman are so intricate, no Precept can secure us: yet this I am resolved on, She will not love you. Why sent she for him then? The Devil that advised her can tell you, they Will not lose a servant whilst he lives, Though they command him to be murdered: 'tis the Woman Art, if they perceive a lover to desist Through fear, distrust, or harsher usage, they Open him the Heaven of their beauty, in smiles, And yielding looks, and with their eyes do melt The ice of doubts their fears contracted: perhaps Prince LYSICLES spurs coldly, whilst he rides Alone, and you must strain to make him go The faster: EUGENIO too was servant to your Mistress, and LYSICLES and he parted good friends. Should I think all the ways they have to cozen Us, 'twere endless: but I'll along with you, And guess at more. Tell my Lord LYSICLES, I will attend him in the walks. Where's this ungrateful child, whom the just gods Have cursed so much, they will not let her take The blessings they do offer? Here Sir, on her knees, begging your pardon, or your pity. Canst thou hope either from my injured patience, Vexed by thy folly into rage and madness, What colour now to cover disobedience? Is LYSICLES unworthy? or your knowledge, Does it pierce farther than the eyes of all Into EUGENIO'S virtues? I tremble When I think thou mayst have cause To know him to thy shame: do not confess it, By the just gods if I do come to know it, I'll sacrifice thee on thy Mother's Tomb. What secret sin calls down this punishment? That I should be accused of a fault I dare not hear the sound of. Add not Sir Suspicions of new crimes unto your rage; The faults I have committed are enough to arm Your Justice; bring me to the Tomb, And kill me there, my Mother's Ghost will smile To see my blood shed to preserve my faith. Your faith? Yes Sir: Nor is my disobedience so swollen, As you endear it by your passion: I now obey your general commands, Of doing vertuously in loving him You did applaud, whilst my poor brother lived. But you are not the same, 'twas never meant He should enjoy you if your brother died. I was not made acquainted with so much, But strengthened by your approbation, Gave up my will to his, and vows to heaven to know no other man for husband. Nor I no child, if you continue thus: Nor will I argue more to make you doubt, I am not resolute in my intents: A live or dead I'll give thee in the hands of LYSICLES. Good gods, if you are moved with tears, grant This a trial only of the weak proportion Of virtue you have lent me, not the overthrow. How is it dearest cousin?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T9 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I wo'not thinke at all, for feare I judge amisse. The Mazes of a woman are so intricate, no Precept can secure us: yet this I am resolv'd on, Shee will not love you. Why sent she for him then? The Divell that advis'd her can tell you, they Will not lose a servant whilst he lives, Though they command him to be murdred: 'tis the Woman Art, if they perceive a lover to desist Through feare, distrust, or harsher usage, they Open him the Heaven of their beauty, in smiles, And yeelding lookes, and with their eyes doe melt The ice of doubts their feares contracted: perhaps Prince LYSICLES spurs coldly, whilst he rides Alone, and you must straine to make him goe The faster: EVGENIO too was servant to your Mistresse, and LYSICLES and he parted good friends. Should I thinke all the waies they have to cozen Us, 'twere endlesse: but Ile along with you, And ghesse at more. Tell my Lord LYSICLES, I wil attend him in the walks. Where's this ungratefull child, whom the just gods Have curs'd so much, they will not let her take The blessings they doe offer? Here Sir, on her knees, begging your pardon, or your pitty. Canst thou hope either from my injur'd patience, Vext by thy folly into rage and madnesse, What colour now to cover disobedience? Is LYSICLES unworthy? or your knowledge, Does it pierce farther than the eyes of all Into EVGENIO'S vertues? I tremble When I thinke thou maist have cause To know him to thy shame: doe not confesse it, By the just gods if I doe come to know it, Ile sacrisice thee on thy Mothers Tombe. What secret sinne calls downe this punishment? That I should be accused of a fault I dare not heare the sound of. Adde not Sir Suspitions of new crimes unto your rage; The faults I have committed are enough to arme Your Justice; bring me to the Tombe, And kill me there, my Mothers Ghost will smile To see my blood shed to preserve my faith. Your faith? Yes Sir: Nor is my disobedience so swolne, As you endeare it by your passion: I now obey your generall commands, Of doing vertuonsly in loving him You did applaud, whilst my poore brother liv'd. But you are not the same, 'twas never meant He should enjoy you if your brother died. I was not made acquainted with so much, But strengthned by your approbation, Gave up my will to his, and vowes to heaven Toknow no other man for husband. Nor I no childe, if you continue thus: Nor will I argue more to make you doubt, I am not resolute in my intents: A live or dead Ile give thee in the hands of LYSICLES. Good gods, if you are mov'd with teares, grant This a tryall onely of the weake proportion Of vertue you have lent me, not the overthrow. How is it dearest Cozen?