Randolph, Thomas · published 1638 · first performed or written 1630 [licensed for stage, Nov 26] (Annals) pastoral · King's Revels Company · before the Court unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 525 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
'tis, alas, His modest, bashful nature, and pure innocence, That makes him silent: think you that bright rose That buds within his cheeks, was planted there By guilt or shame? no, he has always been So unacquainted with all act of sin, That but to be suspected strikes him dumb With wonder and amazement. For by Ceres (I think my oath be lawful) I myself Was cause of this. Still I am confident 'Twas he. It is your envy makes you so. I will Alexis, And so he must if oaths be any tie. To lovers they are none, we break those bonds As easily as threads of silk: A bracelet Made of your maiden's hair's a stronger chain Then twenty cobweb oaths, which while we break Venus but laughs: it must be your persuasion That works him to it. Damon, you must stand To what you promised, how shall I believe Those other oaths you swear, if you respect This one no better: It was my device To have her judge, was it not, Amarillis? How, all in blood! Yes, this unmerciful man (If he be man that can do such a crime) Has wounded her. Indeed it was not he. You see herself frees him. When last we left her She was with Damon. Pray believe her not, She speaks it out of anger, I ne'er saw Damon to day before. And when we left 'em He was incensed. You are no competent witness; You are his Rival in Laurinda's love, And speak not truth but malice, 'tis a plot To ruin innocence. O ungrateful man! The wolf that does devour the breast that nursed it Is not so bad as thou: here, here, this Letter Th' eternal Chronicle of affection, That aught with golden characters to be writ In Cupid's Annals, will (false man) convince thee Of fowl ingratitude: you shall hear me read it. Laurinda, you have put it unto me To choose a husband for you, I will be A judge impartial, upright, just and true, Yet not so much unto myself as you. Now I expect to hear my blessed doom. Alexis well deserves, but Damon more; I wish you him I wished myself before. O, I am ruined in the height of hope. How like the herb Solstitial is a lover, Now borne, now dead again, he buds, sprouts forth, Flourishes, ripens, withers in a minute. Take him, the best of men, that ever eye Beheld, and live with him for whom I die. Amarillis. Here look on't.— Writ with blood? o let me kiss My bill of Accusation! here my name Looks like my soul, all crimson, every line, Word, syllable, and letter, wears the livery Of my unnatural action. Amarillis That name of all is black, which was alone Worthy so precious ink; as if disdaining The character of cruelty, which the rest Were clothed in: for as if that word alone Did wear this mourning colour, to bewail The funeral of my virtue, that lies buried Here in this living tomb, this moving sepulchre. Know murderer I hate thy bed, and thee, Unkind, unthankful villain.
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)
Tis, alas, His modest, bashfull nature, and pure innocence, That makes him silent: think you that bright rose That buds within his cheekes, was planted there By guilt or shame? no, he has alwaies been So unacquainted with all act of sinne, That but to be suspected strikes him dumb With wonder and amazement. For by Ceres (I think my oath be lawfull) I my selfe Was cause of this. Still I am confident 'Twas hee. It is your envy makes you so. —I will Alexis, And so he must if oathes be any tye. To lovers they are none, we break those bonds As easily as threds of silke: A bracelet Made of your maidens haire's a stronger chaine Then twenty cobweb oathes, which while we break Venus but laughs: it must be your perswasion That works him to it. Damon, you must stand To what you promis'd, how shall I believe Those other oathes you sweare, if you respect This one no better: It was my device To have her judge, was it not, Amarillis? How, all in blood! Yes, this unmercifull man (If he be man that can doe such a crime) Has wounded her. Indeed it was not hee. You see her selfe frees him. When last we left her She was with Damon. Pray believe her not, She speaks it out of anger, I nere saw Damon to day before. And when we left 'em He was incens'd. You are no competent witnesse; You are his Rivall in Laurinda's love, And speak not truth but malice, 'tis a plot To ruin innocence. O ungratefull man! The wolfe that does devoure the brest that nurst it Is not so bad as thou: here, here, this Letter Th' eternall Chronicle of affection, That ought with golden characters to be writ In Cupids Annals, will (false man) convince thee Of fowle ingratitude: you shall hear me read it. Laurinda, you have put it unto mee To choose a husband for you, I will be A judge impartiall, upright, just and true, Yet not so much unto my selfe as you. Now I expect to hear my blessed doome. Alexis well deserves, but Damon more; I wish you him I wisht my selfe before. O, I am ruin'd in the height of hope. How like the hearb Solstitiall is a lover, Now borne, now dead again, he buds, sprouts forth, Flourishes, ripens, withers in a minute. Take him, the best of men, that ever eye Beheld, and live with him for whom I dye. Amarillis. Here look on't.— Writ with blood? o let me kisse My bill of Accusation! here my name Lookes like my soule, all crimson, every line, Word, syllable, and letter, weares the livery Of my unnaturall action. Amarillis That name of all is black, which was alone Worthy so pretious inke; as if disdaining The character of cruelty, which the rest Were cloathd in: for as if that word alone Did weare this mourning colour, to bewaile The funerall of my vertue, that lies buried Here in this living tombe, this moving sepulchre. Know murtherer I hate thy bed, and thee, Unkind, unthankfull villaine.