Glapthorne, Henry · published 1639 · first performed or written 1634 [1634-1639] [incorrect] (Annals) not in BritDrama · Globe unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 560 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Why, cruel fair one, should you shun his sight, Whose very soul moves in your eyes, or why Should your blessed voice, speak health to all the world, Yet threaten death to me: look on my youth, My hopeful youth, which in the active war, Has taught old soldiers' discipline: behold it Nipped by the cold frost of your icy beauty, As in a fever languishing to nothing, Forgetful of the noble pride and strength, It has so lately boasted, 'tis injust To see me still over my foes victorious, Made by myself your captive, to insult Over your suppliant vassal, would those eyes, Which can contract lights orb into a glance, Become impoverished by a smile, those cheeks Sully their native tincture, should they blush At your mind's cruelty, 'twould rather add To the illustrious excellence. My noble Lord. Stay, you must not speak yet, There's not an accent issuing from your lips, But has the power, should thunder speak, to charm, To peaceful quiet the affrighted, the world, And would strike dumb my passion: best of Virgins There is not that disparity twixt our births, As there's inequal difference twixt our hearts; Mine's all on fire, dare combat with the Sun For heats priority, yours Mountain snow, Cold as the north, and cruel as my fortunes: Yet you may make them equal as your eyes are, By yielding up that fort, which will, when time Has given it ceremonious privilege, be perhaps By some unworthy groom, without resistance Surprised and entered. My Lord, bad custom is become In men a second nature to deceive Poor Virgins by their flatteries; noble youth, That I do love you dearly, may these tears, Shed for your folly testify: look back Into your princeless honour, call that up To assist the fortress of your mind assailed By foul unlawful passion: think how base 'tis, To rob a silly Orphan of her dowry; I have no other but my Virgin whiteness, Left to uphold my fame, nought but my virtue To my inheritance; should you despoil me Of that fair portion by your lust, my memory, Would like an early Rise bud by that tempest, Die on its own stalk blasted. I do dream sure. Women's fames sir, Are like thin Crystal glasses, by a breath Blown into excellent form, and by a touch, Cracked or quite broken: say I should consent To your desires, your appetite once sated, You would repent the fact, when you should see yourself surrounded in a mist of cares, View bashful virgin's point at you, as at Some hateful prodigy; hear matrons cry, There goes the lustful thief, that glories in The spoil of innocent Virgins, that foul thief, That has a hundred eyes to let lust in at, As many tongues to give his wild thoughts utterance. Sure some Angel inhabits here, This cannot be a Mansion For mortal frailty: sweet farewell, good night, I would not have my over-saucy love, Commit a rude intrusion on thy peace, Though parting with thee be more torment to me, Than to forgo mine eyes; may all the joys Of healthful slumbers crown thy bed, thy dreams Be free from paraphrasing on my memory, Lest it affright you; once more, dear, good night, While you with pleasing happy sleeps are blessed, I'll seek some way to my eternal rest.
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)
Why, cruell faire one, should you shun his sight, Whose very soule moves in your eyes, or why Should your blest voyce, speake health to all the world, Yet threaten death to me: look on my youth, My hopefull youth, which in the active war, Has taught old Souldiers discipline: behold it Nipt by the cold frost of your icie beauty, As in a feaver languishing to nothing, Forgetfull of the noble pride and strength, It has so lately boasted, 'tis injust To see me still over my foes victorious, Made by my selfe your captive, to insult Over your suppliant vassaile, would those eyes, Which can contract lights orbe into a glance, Become impoverish'd by a smile, those cheekes Sully their native tincture, should they blush At your mindes cruelty, 'twould rather adde To the illustrious excellence. My noble Lord. Stay, you must not speake yet, There's not an accent issuing from your lips, But has the power, should thunder speak, to charme, To peacefull quiet the affrighted, the world, And would strike dumbe my passion: best of Virgins There is not that disparity 'twixt our births, As there's inequall difference 'twixt our hearts; Mine's all on fire, dare combat with the Sun For heats priority, yours Mountaine snow, Cold as the north, and cruell as my fortunes: Yet you may make them equall as your eyes are, By yeelding up that fort, which will, when time Has given it ceremonious priviledge, be perhaps By some unworthy groome, without resistance Surpriz'd and entred. My Lord, bad custome is become In men a second nature to deceive Poore Virgins by their flatteries; noble youth, That I doe love you dearely, may these teares, Shed for your folly testifie: looke backe Into your princelesse honour, call that up To assist the fortresse of your minde assail'd By foule unlawfull passion: thinke how base 'tis, To rob a silly Orphan of her dowry; I have no other but my Virgin whitenesse, Left to uphold my fame, nought but my vertue To my inheritance; should you dispoile me Of that faire portion by your lust, my memory, Would like an early Rose bud by that tempest, Dye on its owne stalke blasted. I doe dreame sure. Womens fames sir, Are like thin Chrystall glasses, by a breath Blowne into excellent forme, and by a touch, Crackt or quite broken: say I should consent To your desires, your appetite once sated, You would repent the fact, when you should see Your selfe surrounded in a mist of cares, View bashfull Virgins point at you, as at Some hatefull prodigie; heare matrons cry, There goes the lustfull thiefe, that glories in The spoyle of innocent Virgins, that foule thiefe, That has a hundred eyes to let lust in at, As many tongues to give his wild thoughts utterance. Sure some Angell inhabits here, This cannot be a Mansion For mortall frailty: sweet farewell, good night, I would not have my over-sawcie love, Commit a rude intrusion on thy peace, Though parting with thee be more torment to me, Then to forgoe mine eyes; may all the joyes Of healthfull slumbers crowne thy bed, thy dreames Be free from paraphrasing on my memory▪ Lest it affright you; once more, Deare, good night, While you with pleasing happy sleeps are blest, I'le seeke some way to my eternall rest.