Massinger, Philip · published 1639 · first performed or written 1624 [1624-1625] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Globe unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 521 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
And so continue, for knowledge of the arms thou bear'st against me Would make thee curse thyself, but yield no aids For thee to help me, and 'twere cruelty In me to wound that spotless innocency howe'er it make me guilty, in a word The pleurisy of goodness is thy ill, Thy virtue's vices, and thy humble lowness Far worse than stubborn sullenness, and pride, Thy looks that ravish all beholders else As killing as the Basilisks, their tears expressed in sorrow for the much I suffer, A glorious insultation, and no sign Of pity in thee, and to hear thee speak In thy defence, though but in silent action, Would make the hurt already deeply festered Incurable, and therefore as thou wouldst not By thy presence raise fresh furies to torment me I do conjure thee by a father's power, (And 'tis my curse I dare not think it lawful To sue unto thee in a nearer name) Without reply to leave me. My obedience never learned yet to question your commands, But willingly to serve 'em, yet I must Since that your will forbids the knowledge of My fault, lament my fortune. O that I have reason to discern the better way And yet pursue the worse, when I look on her I burn with heat, and in her absence freeze With the cold blasts of jealousy, that another Should ere taste those delights that are denied me, And which of their afflictions bring less torture I hardly can distinguish, is there then No mean? no, so my understanding tells me, And that by my cross fates it is determined That I am both ways wretched. Yonder he walks sir, In much vexation: he hath sent my Lady His daughter weeping in, but what the cause is Rests yet in supposition. I guess at it, but must be further satisfied, I will sift him In private therefore, quit the room. I am gone, sir. Hal who disturbs me? Montrevile? your pardon, Would you could grant one to yourself. (I speak it With the assurance of a friend) and yet Before it be too late, make reparation Of the gross wrong, your indiscretion offered To the governor and his son, nay to yourself, For there begins my sorrow. Would I had no greater cause to mourn Then their displeasure, for I dare justify. We must not do all that we dare private friend I observed your alterations with a stricter eye Perhaps then others, and to lose no time In repetition, your strange demeanour To your sweet daughter. Would you could find out some other theme to treat of. None but this; and this I'll dwell on, how ridiculous And subject to construction? No more. You made yourself, amazes me, and if The frequent trials interchanged between us Of love and friendship, be to their desert Esteemed by you, as they hold weight with me, No inward trouble should be of a shape So horrid to yourself, but that to me You stand bound to discover it, and unlock Your secretest thoughts: though the most innocent were Loud crying sins.
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)
And so continue, for knowledge of the armes thou bearst against me Would make thee curse thy selfe, but yield no yds For thee to helpe me, and 'twere cruelty In me to wounde that spotlesse innocency How ere it make me guilty, in a word The plifie of goodnesse is thy ill, Thy vertues vices, and thy humble lownesse Far worse than stubborne ullennesse, and pride, Thy lookes that ravish all beholders lse As killing a the , their Expressd in sorrow for the much I suffer, A glorious insultation, and no signe Of pitty in thee, and to heare thee speake In thy defence, though but in silent action, Would make the hurt already deepely festerd Incurable, and therefore as thou wouldst not By thy presence raise fresh furies to torment me I doe conjure thee by a fathers power, (And tis my curse I dare not thinke it lawfull To sue unto thee in a neerer name) Without reply to leave me. My obedience never learnd yet to question your commands, But willingly to serve 'em, yet I must Since that your will forbids the knowledge of My fault, lament my fortune. O that I have reason to discerne the better way And yet pursue the worse, when I looke on her I burne with heat, and in her absence freeze With the cold blasts of jelousie, that another Should ere taste those delights that are denide me, And which of their afflictions bring lesse torture I hardly can distinguish, is there then No meane? no, so my understanding tels me, And that by my crosse fates it is determind That I am both waies wretched. Yonder he walkes sir, In much vexation: he hath sent my Lady His daughter weeping in, but what the cause is Rests yet in supposition. I guesse at it, but must be further satisfied, I will sift him In private therefore, quit the roome. I am gon, sir. Hal who disturbes me? Montrevile? your pardon, Would you could grant one to your selfe. (I speake it With the assurance of a friend) and yet Before it be too late, make reparation Of the grosse wrong, your indiscretion offered To the governour and his sonne, nay to your selfe, For there begins my sorrow. Would I had no greater cause to mourne Then their displeasure, for I dare justifie. We must not doe all that we dare private friend I observd your alterations with a stricter eye Perhaps then others, and to loose no time In repetition, your strange demeamour To your sweet daughter. Would you could finde out some other theame to treat of. None but this; and this Ile dwell on, how ridiculous And subject to construction? No more. You made your selfe, amazes me, and if The frequent trials enterchanged betweene us Of love and friendship, be to their desert Esteem'd by you, as they hold waight with me, No inward trouble should be of a shape So horrid to your selfe, but that to me You stand bound to discover it, and unlocke Your secretst thoughts: though the most innocent were Lowd crying sinnes.