Berkeley, William · published 1638 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638] (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Oh my sweet Lady, be merciful like the gods you resemble; they have as often pardon in their hands as Thunder: And the truth is, if they will not forgive this fault of inconstancy, they must live alone, or at least without men. This was the last gasp of his dying friendship to her, And now he is entirely yours. He has not wronged me. Fie, say not so, that's as great an injury as not Pardoning him: he has, and shall come naked To receive his punishment. See he dares not look For comfort, let him take it in at his ears. Pray content yourself with the time you have Made me lose, and let me go. Never till you pardon him. I will do any thing for my release, if he has Offended me, let him learn hereafter to Speak truer than he swears; and in time He may get credit. 'Tis enough. Is she gone? Yes. How did she look? Faith ashamed, she loved you so well, and sorry she Had no reason to love you better. 'Tis an excellent Lady. If I could make jointures, I would not take this Pains for your honour. Cleon whither slip you? After Phillida. And what success? POX on't, these waiting women will not deal unless They have earnest in their hands, and I was unprovided. Away unthrift. This is the hour powerful Acanthe promised, I should once more behold my lost Milesia. Pardon me reason, that my withered hopes Rebel against thy force, a happiness So mighty is opposed unto thy doubts, That I'll divest myself for ever of thee, Rather than not believe impossibles, That bring such comforts to my languished soul. Haile holy Treasurer of all the wealth Nature e'er lent the world, be still the envy Of the proud Monuments that do enclose The glorious Titles of great Conquerors. Let no profane air pierce thee but my sighs, Let them have entrance whilst my tears do warm Thy colder Marble.— Ha, what Miracle, Are the gods pleased to work to ease affliction? The Phoenix is created from her ashes, Pure as the flames that made'em: still the same, The same Milesia! Heaven does confess in this, That she can only add unto thy beauty, By making it immortal. Let it be lawful for thy Lysicles, To touch thy sacred hand, and with it guide My wandering soul unto that part of Heaven, Thy beauty does enlighten. Forbear, and hear me: if you approach, I vanish, Impious inconstant Lysicles, cannot This miracle of my reassuming A mortal shape, persuade thee there are gods To punish falsehood, that thou still persists In thy dissembling: do not I know Thy heart is swollen with vows thou hast laid up For thy Hermione, whom thou wouldst persuade, Thy narrow heart is capable of love By mocking of my ashes, and erecting Tombs to me, which are Indeed but Trophies of thy dead conquered love and virtue.
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)
Oh my sweet Lady, be mercifull like the gods you resemble; they have as often pardon in their hands as Thunder: And the truth is, if they will not forgive this fault of inconstancy, they must live alone, or atleast without men. This was the last gaspe of his dying friendship to her, And now he is entirely yours. He has not wrong'd me. Fie, say not so, that's as great an injurie as not Pardoning him: he has, and shall come naked To receive his punishment. See he dares not looke For comfort, let him take it in at his eares. Pray content your selfe with the time you have Made me lose, and let me goe. Never till you pardon him. I will doe any thing for my release, if he has Offended me, let him learne hereafter to Speake truer than he sweares; and in time He may get credit. 'Tis enough. Is she gone? Yes. How did she looke? Faith asham'd, she lov'd you so well, and sorry she Had no reason to love you better. 'Tis an excellent Lady. If I could make Joynters, I would not take this Paines for your honour. Cleon whither slip you? After Phillida. And what successe? POX on't, these waiting women will not deale unlesse They have earnest in their hands, and I was unprovided. Away unthrift. This is the houre powerfull Acanthe promis'd, I should once more behold my lost Milesia. Pardon me reason, that my wither'd hopes Rebell against thy force, a happinesse So mighty is oppos'd unto thy doubts, That Ile devest my selfe for ever of thee, Rather than not beleeve impossibles, That bring such comforts to my languisht soule. Haile holy Treasurer of all the wealth Nature e're lent the world, be still the envy Of the proud Monuments that doe enclose The glorious Titles of great Conquerors. Let no prophane aire pierce thee but my sighes, Let them have entrance whilst my teares doe warme Thy colder Marble.—Ha, what Miracle, Are the gods pleas'd to worke to ease affliction? The Phoenix is created from her ashes, Pure as the flames that made'em: still the same, The same Milesia! Heaven does confesse in this, That she can onely adde unto thy beauty, By making it immortall. Let it be lawfull for thy Lysicles, To touch thy sacred hand, and with it guide My wandring soule unto that part of Heaven, Thy beauty does enlighten. Forbeare, and heare me: if you approach, I vanish, Impious inconstant Lysicles, cannot This miracle of my reassuming A mortall shape, perswade thee there are gods To punish falsehood, that thou still persists In thy dissembling: doe not I know Thy heart is swolne with vowes thou hast laid up For thy Hermione, whom thou wouldst perswade, Thy narrow heart is capable of love By mocking of my ashes, and erecting Tombs to me, which are Indeed but Trophies of thy dead conquer'd love and vertue.