Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1635 [licensed for stage, Feb 6] (Annals) tragicomedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
What intrusion's this? Whom do you seek here. 'tis Honour. He's my servant. Fortune is come to visit us. And has Corrupted Love, is this thy faith to her, On whom we both wait, to betray her thus To fortune's triumph, take her giddy wheel, And be no more companion to honour I blush to know thee, whole believe there can Be truth in Love hereafter? I have found My eyes, and see my shame, and with it, this Proud sorceress, from whom, and all her charms, I fly again to Honour, be my guard, Without thee I am lost and cannot boast, The merit of a name. Despised? I shall Remember this affront. What moral's this? What melancholy object strikes a sudden Chillness through all my veins, and turns me Ice? It is the same I sent, the very same, As the first pledge of her ensuing greatness, Why in this mourning livery, if she live To whom I sent it? Ha', what shape of sorrow? It is not Polidora, she was fair Enough, and wanted not the setting off With such a black, if thou be'st Polidora, Why mourns my love? it neither does become Thy fortune nor my joys. But it becomes My griefs, this habit fits a funeral, And it were sin, my Lord, not to lament A fry ndnew dead. And I yet living? can A sorrow enter but upon thy garment, Or discomplexion thy attire, whilst I Enjoy a life for thee? who can deserve Weighed with thy living comforts, but a piece Of all this Ceremony? give him a name He was Arcadius. Arcadius? A Gentleman that loved me dearly once, And does compel these poor, and fruitless drops, Which willingly would fall upon his hearse, To imbalm him twice. And are you sure he's dead? As sure as you're living sir, and yet I did not close his eyes, but he is dead, And I shall never see the same Arcadius, He was a man so rich in all that's good, At least I thought him so, so perfect in The rules of honour, whom alone to imitate Were glory in a Prince, Nature herself Till his creation wrought imperfectly, As she had made but trial of the rest, To mould him excellent. And is he dead? Come, shame him not with praises, recollect Thy scattered hopes, and let me tell my best, And dearest Polidora, that he lives, Still lives to honour thee. Lives, where? Look here. Am not I worth your knowledge? And my duty, You are Demetrius King of Epire, sir. I could not easily mistake him so, To whom I gave my heart. Mine is not changed, But still hath fed upon thy memory, These honours, and additions of state Are lent me for thy sake, be not so strange, Let me not lose my entertainment now I am improved, and raised unto the height, Beneath which, I did blush to ask thy love.
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)
What intrusion's this? Whom doe you seeke here. Tis Honour. He'e my servant. Fortune is come to visit us. And has Corrupted Love, is this thy faith to her, On whom we both waite, to betray her thus To Fortunes triumph, take her giddy wheele, And be no more companion to honour I blush to know thee, whole beleeve there can Be truth in Love hereafter? I have found My eyes, and see my shame, and with it, this Proud sorceresse, from whom, and all her charmes, I flye agen to Honour, be my guard, Without thee I am lost and cannot boast, The merit of a name. Dispis'd? I shall Remember this affront. What morral's this? What melancholly object strikes a suddaine Chillnesse through all my veines, and turnes me Ice? It is the same I sent, the very same, As the first pledge of her insuing greatnesse, Why in this mourning livery, if she live To whom I sent it? ha, what shape of sorrow? It is not Polidora, she was faire Enough, and wanted not the setting off With such a blacke, if thou beest Polidora, Why mournes my love? it neither does become Thy fortune nor my joyes. But it becomes My griefes, this habit fits a funerall, And it were sinne, my Lord, not to lament A frie ndnew dead. And I yet living? can A sorrow enter but upon thy garment, Or discomplexion thy attire, whilst I Enjoy a life for thee? who can deserve Weigh'd with thy living comforts, but a peice Of all this Ceremony? give him a name He was Arcadius. Arcadius? A Gentleman that lov'd me dearely once, And does compell these poore, and fruitlesse drops, Which willingly would fall upon his hearse, To imbalme him twice. And are you sure hees dead? As sure as you're living sir, and yet I did not close his eyes, but he is dead, And I shall never see the same Arcadius, He was a man so rich in all that's good, At least J thought him so, so perfect in The rules of honour, whom alone to imitate Were glory in a Prince, Nature her selfe Till his creation wrought imperfectly, As she had made but tryall of the rest, To mould him excellent. And is he dead? Come, shame him not with praises, recollect Thy scattered hopes, and let me tell my best, And dearest olidora, that he lives, Still lives to honour thee. Lives, where? Looke here. Am not I worth your knowledge? And my duty, You are Demetrius King of Epire, sir. I could not easily mistake him so, To whom I gave my heart. Mine is not chang'd, But still hath fed upon thy memory, These honours, and additions of state Are lent me for thy sake, be not so strange, Let me not lose my entertainement now I am improv'd, ad raisd unto the height, Beneath which, I did blush to aske thy love.