Gascoigne, George / Kinwelmershe, Francis / Yelverton, ChristopherEuripides / Dolce, Lodovico · published 1575 · first performed or written 1566 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 504 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
A Lady once did ask of me, This pretty thing in privity: Good sir (quoth she) feign would I crave, One thing which you yourself not have: Nor never had yet in times past, Nor never shall while life doth last. And if you seek to found it out, You lose your labour out of doubt: Yet if you love me as you say, Then give it me, for sure you may. L'Escü d'amour, the shield of perfect love, The shield of love, the force of steadfast faith, The force of faith which never will remove, But standeth fast, to bide the brunts of death: That trusty targe, hath long borne off the blows, And broke the thrusts, which absence at me throws. In doleful days I lead an absent life, And wound my will with many a weary thought: I pled for peace, yet starve in storms of strife, I found debate, where quiet rest was sought. These pangs with more, unto my pain I prove, Yet bear I all upon my shield of love. In colder cares are my conceits consumed, Than Dido felt when false Aeneas fled: In far more heat, than trusty Troilus fumed, When crafty Cressyde dwelled with Diomed: My hope such frost, my hot desire such flame, That I both fryse, and smoulder in the same. So that I live, and die in one degree, Healed by hope, and hurt again with dread: Fast bound by faith when fancy would be free, Untied by trust, though thoughts enthrall my head: Revived by joys, when hope doth most abound, And yet with grief, in depth of dolours drowned. In these assaults I feel my feebled force Gins to faint, thus wearied still in woes: And scarcely can my thus consumed corpse, Hold up this Buckler to bear of these blows: So that I crave, or presence for relief, Or some supply, to ease mine absent grief. To you (dear Dame) this doleful plaint I make, Whose only sight may soon redress my smart: Then show yourself, and for your servants sake, Make hast post haste, to help a faithful heart: Mine own poor shield hath me defended long, Now lend me yours, for else you do me wrong. MY reckless race is run, green youth and pride be past, My riper mellowed years begin to follow on as fast. My glancing looks are gone, which wonted were to pry In every gorgeous garish glass that glistered in mine eye. My sight is now so dim, it can behold none such, No mirror but the merry mean, can please my fancy much. And in that noble glass, I take delight to view, The fashions of the wonted world, compared by the new. For mark who list to look, each man is for himself, And beats his brain to hord & heap this trash & worldly pelf. Our hands are closed up, great gifts go not abroad, Few men will lend a lock of hay, but for to gain a load.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T44 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A Lady once did aſke of me, This preatie thing in priuitie: Good ſir (quod ſhe) faine would I craue, One thing which you your ſelfe not haue: Nor neuer had yet in times paſt, Nor neuer ſhall while life doth laſt. And if you ſéeke to find it out, You looſe your labour out of doubt: Yet if you loue me as you ſay, Then giue it me, for ſure you may. L'Eſcü d'amour, the ſhield of perfect loue, The ſhield of loue, the force of ſtedfaſt faith, The force of faith which neuer will remoue, But ſtandeth faſt, to bide the brunts of death: That truſtie targe, hath long borne off the blowes, And broke the thruſts, which abſence at me throwes. In dolefull dayes I lead an abſent life, And wound my will with many a weary thought: I plead for peace, yet ſterue in ſtormes of ſtrife, I find debate, where quiet reſt was ſought. Theſe panges with mo, vnto my paine I proue, Yet beare I all vppon my ſhield of loue. In colder cares are my conceipts conſumd, Than Dido felt when falſe Aeneas fled: In farre more heat, than truſty Troylus fumde, When craftie Creſsyde dwelt with Diomed: My hope ſuch froſt, my hot deſire ſuch flame, That I both fryſe, and ſmoulder in the ſame. So that I liue, and die in one degrée, Healed by hope, and hurt againe with dread: Faſt bound by faith when fanſie would be frée, Vntied by truſt, though thoughts enthrall my head: Reuiu'd by ioyes, when hope doth moſt abound, And yet with grief, in depth of dolors drownd. In theſe aſſaultes I féele my féebled force Begins to faint, thus weried ſtill in woes: And ſcarcely can my thus conſumed corſe, Hold vp this Buckler to beare of theſe blowes: So that I craue, or preſence for relief, Or ſome ſupplie, to eaſe mine abſent grief. To you (deare Dame) this dolefull plaint I make, Whoſe onely ſight may ſoone redreſſe my ſmart: Then ſhew your ſelfe, and for your ſeruaunts ſake, Make haſt poſt haſt, to helpe a faithfull harte: Mine owne poore ſhield hath me defended long, Now lend me yours, for elles you do me wrong. MY reckleſſe race is runne, gréene youth and pride be paſt, My riper mellowed yeares beginne to follow on as faſt. My glancing lookes are gone, which wonted were to prie In euery gorgeous gariſh glaſſe that gliſtred in mine eie. My ſight is now ſo dimme, it can behold none ſuch, No mirrour but the merrie meane, can pleaſe my fanſie muche. And in that noble glaſſe, I take delight to view, The faſhions of the wonted worlde, compared by the new. For marke who liſt to looke, each man is for him ſelfe, And beates his braine to hord & heape this traſh & worldly pelfe. Our hands are cloſed vp, great gifts go not abroade, Few men will lend a locke of heye, but for to gaine a loade.