The Sophister (Fallacy, or The Troubles of Great Hermenia) · chunk 20 of 32
Zouche, Richard · published 1639 · first performed or written 1614 [c.1614-1620] (Annals) comedy unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
I know not how my presence may disgrace me, That Lady hath a quick and piercing eye, Able to search beyond the countenance; The most reserved and concealed intents: I'll keep myself aloof, and stand far off, Till she hath swallowed down this guilded bait. Then can I draw her wheresoever I list, And if the common and divided humour Of some self pleasing Poet be not in me, I cannot choose but move affection; This strain will win her. Enough, I must be bold and confident: Sirrah, go you, commend my dearest love With these my letters, to Scientia; Tell her I plead not my nobility, Great births, or hopeful fortunes, powerful friends, Down at her honours thrice most sacred feet, I humbly lay these poor and mean respects, But me in nought else known ambitious, Though now high soaring purest thoughts of love, Like Venus' silver feathered Dove have drawn Up towards this high Heaven. Sir I fear, Like some imperfect tempered Meteor, Near approaching that high region, You soon will vanish, and your blazing love Be quite burnt out. Say first, the glorious light, That with kind heat doth cherish all the world, Shall suffer in perpetual Eclipse. Sir fear not, if far protestations May do you favour, I'll turn prodigal. Well, take the chiefest opportunity, If I do in joy her, thou know'st not what's thy share, I go my Lord. Mistake you not your errand; This is a stupid and forgetful knave, But yet my letters may direct 'em: I have taught others many times to woe, And compose easily their dearest loves, Some with new fashioned and fantastic suits, I taught to cloak their foul deformities: The stale and stiff legged Courtier, I have framed To make young congees, and unthawed his joints, An old worm-eaten wainscot countenance, With a fresh varnish I have made to smile, To win the favour of some younger wench; Poor sirs, with brokers suits, and borrowed Liveries. I have commended to their dim-eyed Dames; The greatest hate, and inequality To love and reconcilement I have wrought, And should myself despair? despair dull fools, Fallacy cannot be but fortunate. But here comes One of my sworn supporters, 'twere full time I were delivered of their tedious service; I think I am able now to stand alone. All happiness befall my mighty Sovereign. Thanks trusty faithful Opposition. We have proclaimed your Royal Majesty Rightful successor to the empty Crown Of great Hermenia. But with what success? How stands the Commons to our Reign affected? As if their fortunes were advanced with yours, In volleys of fair acclamations Through the spacious regions of the air, They send that joy which in their narrow breasts Seemed but imprisoned. And it shall be my care To recompense their loves with our deceit, For I do hate ingratitude as death: I do, Lord Opposition. I well weigh How much I am obliged to any; and for you, Dear Lord, I would I were the Monarch of the world.
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)
I know not how my presence may disgrace me, That Lady hath a quicke and peircing eye, Able to search beyond the countenance; The most reserved and conceal'd intents: I'le keepe my selfe aloose, and stand farre off, Till she hath swallowed downe this guilded bait. Then can I draw her wheresoe're I list, And if the common and devided humour Of some selfe pleasing Poet be not in me, I cannot chuse but move affection; This straine will win her. Enough, I must be bold and confident: Sirrha, goe you, commend my dearest love With these my letters, to Scientia; Tell her I plead not my nobility, Great births, or hopefull fortunes, powerfull friends, Downe at her honours thrice most sacred feet, I humbly lay these poore and meane respects, But me in nouht else knowne ambitious, Though now high soaring purest thoughts of love, Like Venus silver feathered Dove have drawne Up towards this high Heaven. Sir I feare, Like some imperfect temper'd Meteor, Neare approaching that high region, You soone will vanish, and your blazing love Be quite burnt out. Say first, the glorious light, That with kind heate doth cherish all the world, Shall suffer in perpetuall Eclipse. Sir feare not, if farre protestations May doe you favour, I'le turne prodigall. Well, take the chiefest opportunity, If I doe in joy her, thouknow'st not what's thy share, I goe my Lord. Mistake you not your errand; This is a stupid and forgetfull knive, But yet my letters may diret 'em: I have taught others many times to woe, And composse easily their dearest loves, Some with new fashioned and fantastick suites, I taught to cloake their soule deformities: The stale and stiffe leg'd Courtier, I have fram'd To make yong congees, and unthaw'd his joynts, An old worme-eaten wainscot countenance, With a fresh varnish I have made to smile, To win the favour of some yonger wench; Poore sirs, with broakers suites, and borrowed Liveries. I have commended to their dimme-ey'd Dames; The greatest hate, and inequality To love and reconcilement I have wrought, And should my selfe dispaire? dispaire dull fooles, Fallacy cannot be but fortunate. But here comes One of my sworne supporters, 'twere full time I were deliver'd of their tedious service; I thinke I am able now to stand alone. All happinesse befall my mighty Soveraigne. Thankes trusty faithfull Opposition. We have proclaim'd your Royall Majesty Rightfull successor to the empty Crowne Of great Hermenia. But with what successe? How stands the Commons to our Reigne affected? As if their fortunes were advanc't with yours, In vollyes of faire acclamations Through the spacious regions of the ayre, They send that joy which in their narrow breasts Seem'd but imprison'd. And it shall be my care To recompence their loves with our deceite, For I doe hate ingratitude as death: I doe, Lord Opposition. I well weigh How much I am oblieg'd to any; and for you, Deare Lord, I would I were the Monarch of the world.