Berkeley, William · published 1638 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638] (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
No more blessed shape: I shall not think that thou descend'st from Heaven, If thou continuest thus in doubt of me; Nor can there be a Hell where such forms are. The knowledge how thou com'st here, doth disturb me; Yet such a reverence I do owe thy image, That I will lay before thee all my thoughts Spotless as Truth, than thou shalt tell the shades, How Fortune, though it made my love unhappy, Could not diminish it, nor press it one degree From the proud height it was arrived to: How I did nightly pray to this sad Tomb, Bringing and taking fire of constant love From the cold ashes, how when encompassed With thousand horrors Death had been a rest, I did prefer a loathed life to revenge myself, And her upon the murderer. I shall desire to live if this be true; Nothing can add a comfort where I am, But the assurance of your love: I know Faith is not tied to pass the confines Of this life, yet Hermione's happiness Does trouble me: You'll think I loved you living, when dead, I am jealous of you. Milesia, again blessed Saint, now I am sure thou art What thou resemblest, and dost know my secretest thought. But as the gods, of which thou art a part, Art not content with our hearts sacrifice, Unless our words confess it: hear me then, If my thoughts e'er consented to replant My love, may your dire Thunder light Upon my head, and sink it down so low, I may not see thy glories: I confess My words have sacrificed to Deities, I ne'er adored those stains of love, My tears and friendship to the best of mén, I hope I have canceled for my Eugenio: I did pretend a love unto Hermione, Who else had sold herself unto the rage Of her offended Father; had you lived, You would have pardoned, when infidelity But personated did preserve a faith So holy as theirs was, this is my fault. My glory and my happiness. Yet this as oft I wept as I was forced (For his dear cause) to injure sacred love, Yet durst not but decline his severe Laws, When my friend's life excused the pious error. Did you suspect her, that you concealed this from her? There is but one MILESIA, beside, If true, I meant her fears should aid My false disguise, which her quick-sighted Father Would else have pierced, who hates EUGENIO, And loves no virtue but what shines through wealth. My best, best LYSICLES, I am again in love, Thy holy flame doth lend me light to see My closed fires; why did not Fate give me So large a field to exercise my Faith? I envy thee this trial, and would be Exposed to dangers, that have yet no name, That I might meet thy love with equal merit.
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)
No more blest shape: I shall not thinke that thou descend'st from Heaven, If thou continuest thus in doubt of me; Nor can there be a Hell where such formes are. The knowledge how thou com'st here, doth disturbe me; Yet such a reverence I doe owe thy image, That I will lay before thee all my thoughts Spotlesse as Truth, then thou shalt tell the shades, How Fortune, though it made my love unhappy, Could not diminish it, nor presse it one degree From the proud height it was arrived to: How I did nightly pray to this sad Tombe, Bringing and taking fire of constant love From the cold ashes, how when incompast With thousand horrours Death had beene a rest, I did preferre a loath'd life to revenge my selfe, And her upon the murderer. I shall desire to live if this be true; Nothing can adde a comfort where I am, But the assurance of your love: I know Faith is not tyed to passe the confines Of this life, yet Hermione's happinesse Does trouble me: You'le thinke I lov'd Youliving, when dead, I am jealous of you. Milesia, againe blest Saint, now I am sure thou art What thou resemblest, and do'st know my secret'st thought. But as the gods, of which thou art a part, Art not content with our hearts sacrifice, Unlesse our words confesse it: heare me then, If my thoughts e're consented to replant My love, may your dire Thunder light Upon my head, and sinke it downe so low, I may not see thy glories: I confesse My words have sacrific'd to Deities, I ne're ador'd those staines of love, My teares and friendship to the best of mén, I hope I have cancell'd for my Eugenio: I did pretend a love unto Hermione, Who else had sold her selfe unto the rage Of her offended Father; had you liv'd, You would have pardon'd, when infidelity But personated did preserve a faith So holy as theirs was, this is my fault. My glory and my happinesse. Yet this as oft I wept as I was forc'd (For his deare cause) to injure sacred love, Yet durst not but decline his severe Lawes, When my friends life excus'd the pious errour. Did you suspect her, that you conceal'd this from her? There is but one MILESIA, besides, Iftrue, I meant her feares should aide My false disguise, which her quick-sighted Father Would else have pierc'd, who hates EVGENIO, And loves no vertue but what shines through wealth. My best, best LYSICLES, I am againe in love, Thy holy flame doth lend me light to see My closed fires; why did not Fate give me So large a field to exercise my Faith? I envy thee this tryall, and would be Expos'd to dangers, that have yet no name, That I might meet thy love with equall merit.