Suckling, John · published 1638 · first performed or written 1637 (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Thou sayest well; 'tis fine, 'tis wondrous fine: Diana's grove— Yes, Diana's grove, but brother if you should speak of this now,— Why thou know'st a drowning man holds not a thing so fast: Semanthe! she shuns me too: The wound festered sure! the hurt the boy gave her, when first she looked abroad into the world, is not yet cured. What hurt? Why, know you not she was in love long since with young Zorannes', (Aglaura's brother,) and the now Queens betrothed? Some such slight Tale I've heard. 'Slight? she yet does weep, when she but hears him named, and tells the prettiest and the saddest stories of all those civil wars, and those Amours, That, trust me, both my Lady and myself turn weeping Statues still. Pish, 'tis not that. 'Tis Ziriff, and his fresh glories here have robbed me of her. Since he thus appeared in Court, my love has languished worse than Plants in drought. But time's a good Physician: come, le's in: the King and Queen by this time are come forth. Yonder's a crowd without, as if some strange sight were to be seen to day here. Two or three with Carbonadoes afore in stead of faces mistook the door for a breach, and at the opening of it, are striving still which should enter first. Is my Lord busy? My Lord, there are some Soldiers without— Well, I will dispatch them presently. th'ambasssadors from the Cadusians too— Show them the Gallery. One from the King— Again? I come, I come. Greatness, thou vainer shadow of the Prince's beams, begot by mere reflection, nourished in extremes; first taught to creep, and live upon the glance, poorly to fare, till thine own proper strength bring thee to surfeit of thyself at last. How dull a Pageant, would this States-play seem to me now; were not my love and my revenge mixed with it?— Three tedious Winters have I waited here, like patient Chemists blowing still the coals, and still expecting, when the blessed hour would come, should make me master of the Court Elixir, Power, for that turns all: 'tis in projection now; down, sorrow, down, and swell my heart no more, and thou wronged ghost of my dead father, to thy bed again, and sleep securely; it cannot now be long, for sure Fate must, as't has been cruel, so, a while be just. I say they shall not live; our mercy would turn sin, should we but use it ere: Pity, and Love, the bosses only be of government, merely for show and ornament. Fear is the bit that man's proud will restrains, and makes its vice its virtue— See it done. So early, and so curious in your dress, (fair Mistress?) these pretty ambushes and traps for hearts set with such care to day, look like design: speak, Lady, is't a massacre resolved? is conquering one by one grown tedious sport? or is the number of the taken such, that for your safety you must kill outright?
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)
Thou sayest well; 'tis fine, 'tis wondrous fine: Diana's grove— Yes, Diana's grove, but brother if you should speake of this now,— Why thou know'st a drowning man holds not a thing so fast: Semahe! she shuns me too: The wound festred sure! the hurt the boy gave her, when first shee look'd abroad into the world, is not yet cur'd. What hurt? Why, know you not shee was in love long since with young Zorannes, (Aglaura's brother,) and the now Queenes betroth'd? Some such slight Tale I've heard. Slight? she yet does weepe, when she but heares him nam'd, and tels the prettiest and the saddest stories of all those civill wars, and those Amours, That, trust me, both my Lady and my selfe turne weping Statues still. Pish, 'tis not that. 'Tis Ziriff, and his fresh glories here have robb'd me of her. Since he thus appear'd in Court, my love has languish'd worse than Plants in drought. But time's a good Physician: come, lets in: the King and Queene by this time are come forth. Yonder's a crowd without, as if some strange sight were to be seene to day here. Two or three with Carbonadoes afore in stead of faces mistooke the doore for a breach, and at the opening of it, are striving still which should enter first. Is my Lord busie? My Lord, there are some Souldiers without— Well, I will dispatch them presently. Th'Embassadours from the Cadusians too— Shew them the Gallerie. One from the King— Againe? I come, I come. Grenesse, thou vainer shadow of the Princes beames, begot by meere reflection, nourish'd in extreames; first taught to creepe, and live upon the glance, poorely to fare, till thine owne proper strength bring thee to surfet of thy selfe at last. How dull a Pageant, would this States-play seeme to mee now; were not my love and my revenge mixt with it?— Three tedious Winters have I waited here, like patient Chymists blowing still the coales, and still expecting, when the blessed houre would come, should make me master of the Court Elixar, Power, for that turnes all: 'tis in projection now; downe, sorrow, downe, and swell my heart no more, and thou wrong'd ghost of my dead father, to thy bed agen, and sleepe securely; it cannot now be long, for sure Fate must, as't has beene cruell, so, a while be just. I say they shall not live; our mercie would turne sinne, should we but use it er'e: Pittie, and Love, the bosses onely be of government, merely for shew and ornament. Feare is the bit that mans proud will restraines, and makes its vice its vertue—See it done. So early, and so curious in your dresse, (faire Mistresse?) these prettie ambushes and traps for hearts set with such care to day, looke like designe: speake, Lady, is't a massacre resolv'd? is conquering one by one growne tedious sport? or is the number of the taken such, that for your safetie you must kill out-right?