Chapman, George / Shirley, James · published 1639 · first performed or written 1612 [1611-1613; revised by Shirley and licensed for stage, Apr 29, 1635] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 532 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Yes, and have doubt already, and no stain To your greatness Madam, 'tis my charity I can remit, when sovereign Princes dare Do injury to those that live beneath them, They turn worth pity, and their prayers, and 'tis In the free power of those whom they oppress To pardon 'em, each soul has a prerogative, And privilege royal that was signed by heaven, But though i'th' knowledge of my disposition Stranger to pride, and what you charge me with, I can forgive the injustice done to me, And striking at my person, I have no Commission from my Lord to clear you for The wrongs you have done him, and still he pardon The wounding of his loyalty, with which life Can hold no balance, I must talk just boldness To say— No more, now I must tell you daughter Lest you forget yourself, she is the Queen, And it becomes not you to vie with her Passion for passion, if your Lord stand fast To the full search of Law, Heaven will revenge him, And give him up precious to good men's loves If you attempt by these unruly ways To vindicate his justice, I me against you, Dear as I wish your husband's life and fame, Suffer are bound to suffer, not contest With Princes, since their Will and Acts must be Accounted one day to a Judge supreme. I ha' done, if the devotion to my Lord, Or piety to his innocence have led me Beyond the awful limits to be observed By one so much beneath your sacred person, I thus low crave your royal pardon Madam; I know you will remember in your goodness, My life blood is concerned while his least vein Shall run black and polluted, my heart fed With what keeps him alive, nor can there be A greater wound than that which strikes the life Of our good name, so much above the bleeding Of this rude pile we carry, as the soul Hath excellence above this earthborn frailty: My Lord, by the Kings will is lead already To a severe arraignment, and to judges, Will make no tender search into his tract Of life and state, stay but a little while, And France shall ●●●ho to his shame or innocence, This suit I beg with tears, I shall have sorrow Enough to hear him censured foul and monstrous, Should you forbear to antedate my sufferings. Your conscience comes about, and you incline To fear he may be worth the laws condemning. I sooner will suspect the stars may lose Their way, and crystal heaven return to Chaos; Truth ●its not on her square more firm than he; Yet let me tell you Madam, were his life And action so foul as you have charactered, And the bad world expects, though as a wife 'tTwere duty I should weep myself to death, To know him fall'n from virtue, yet so much I a frail woman love my King and Country, I should condemn him too, and thinke all honours The price of his lost faith more fatal to me, Than Cleopatra's asps warm in my bosom, And as much boast their kill.
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)
Yes, and have dont already, and no ſtaine To your greatneſſe Madam, tis my charity I can remit, when ſoveraigne Princes dare Doe injury to thoſe that live beneath them, They turne worth pitty, and their prayrs, and tis In the free power of thoſe whom they oppreſſe To pardon e'm, each ſoule has a prerogative, And priviledge royall that was ſign'd by heaven, But though ith knowledge of my diſpoſition Stranger to pride, and what you charge me with, I can forgive the injuſtice done to me, And ſtriking at my perſon, I have no Commiſſion from my Lord to cleere you for The wrongs you have done him, and ſtill he pardon The wounding of his loyaltie, with which life Can hold no ballance, I muſt talke juſt boldneſſe To ſay— No more, now I muſt tell you daughter Leaſt you forget your ſelfe, ſhe is the Queene, And it becomes not you to vie with her Paſſion for paſſion, if your Lord ſtand faſt To the full ſearch of Law, Heaven will revenge him, And give him up precious to good mens loves If you attempt by theſe unruly wayes To vindicate his juſtice, I me againſt you, Deere as I wiſh your husbands life and fame, Suffer are bound to ſuffer, not conteſt With Princes, ſince their Will and Acts muſt be Accounted one day to a Judge ſupreme. I ha done, if the devotion to my Lord, Or pietie to his innocence have led me Beyond the awfull limits to be obſerv'd By one ſo much beneath your ſacred perſon, I thus low crave your royall pardon Madam; I know you will remember in your goodneſſe, My life blood is concern'd while his leaſt veine Shall runne blacke and polluted, my heart fed With what keepes him alive, nor can there be A greater wound than that which ſtrikes the life Of our good name, ſo much above the bleeding Of this rude pile wee carry, as the ſoule Hath excellence above this earth-borne frailty: My Lord, by the Kings will is lead already To a ſevere arraignement, and to Iudges, Will make no tender ſearch into his tract Of life and ſtate, ſtay but a little while, And ranc ſhall ho to his ſhame or innocence, This ſuit I begge with teares, I ſhall have ſorrow Enough to heare him cenſur'd foule and monſtrous, Should you forbeare to antidate my ſufferings. Your conſcience comes about, and you incline To feare he may be worth the lawes condemning. I ſooner will ſuſpect the ſtarres may loſe Their way, and criſtall heaven returne to Chaos; Truth its not on her ſquare more firme than he; Yet let me tell you Madam, were his life And action ſo foule as you have character'd, And the bad world expects, though as a wife Twere duty I ſhould weepe my ſelfe to death, To know him falne from vertue, yet ſo much I a fraile woman love my King and Country, I ſhould condemne him too, and think all honours The price of his loſt faith more fatall to me, Than Cleopatra's aſpes warme in my boſome, And as much boaſt their killing.