The Night Walker, or The Little Thief · chunk 31 of 39
Fletcher, John / Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written c.1611(?) [revised by Shirley and re-licensed for stage, May 11, 1633] (Annals) comedy · Lady Elizabeth's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
Your care may comfort me; But I despair of happiness. Hartlove, I dare not see him We'll withdraw. I shall but grieve to see his passions too, Since there's no possibility to relieve him. The worlds a Labyrinth, where unguided men Walk up and down to find their weariness; No sooner have we measured with much toil One crooked path, with hope to gain our freedom, But it betrays us to a new affliction; What a strange mockery will man become Shortly to all the creatures? Oh Maria! If thou be'st dead, why does thy shadow fright me I Sure 'tis because I live; were I but certain To meet thee in one grave, and that our dust Might have the privilege to mix in silence, How quickly should my soul shake off this burden! Thus far my wishes have success, I'll lose No time: Sir, are not you called Mr. Hartlove? Pardon my rudeness. What does that concern Thee Boy, 'tis a name cannot advantage thee, And I am weary on't. Had you concealed, Or I forgot it sir, so large were my Directions, that you could not speak this language, But I should know you by your sorrow. Thou Wert well informed, it seems; well, what's your business I I come to bring you comfort. Is Maria Alive again? that's somewhat, and yet not Enough to make my expectation rise, to Past half a blessing, since we cannot meet To make it up a full one; thouart mistaken. When you have heard me, you'll think otherwise; In vain I should report Maria living: The comfort that I bring you must depend Upon her death. thouart a dissembling boy, Some one has sent thee to mock me, though my anger Stoop not to punish thy green years, unripe For malice; did I know what person sent thee To tempt my sorrow thus, I should revenge it. Indeed I have no thought so uncharitable, Nor am I sent to grieve you, let me suffer More punishment than ever boy deserved, If you do find me false; I serve a Mistress Would rather die than play with your misfortunes; Then good sir hear me out. Who is your Mistress? Before I name her, give me some encouragement, That you receive her message, she is one That is full acquainted with your misery, And can bring such a portion of her sorrow In every circumstance so like your own, You'll love and pity her, and wish your griefs Might marry one another's. Thou art wild. Canst thou bring comfort from so sad a creature? Her miserable story can at best, But swell my Volume, large enough already. She was late beloved, as you were, promised faith, And marriage, and was worthy of a better Than he, that stole Maria's heart. How's that? Just as Maria dealt with your affection; Did he that married her, deal with my Mistress, When careless both of honour and Religion; They cruelly gave away their hearts to strangers.
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)
Your care may comfort me; But I despaire of happinesse. Hartlove, I dare not see him Wele withdraw. I shall but grieve to see his passions too, Since there's no possibility to relieve him. The worlds a Labyrinth, where unguided men Walke up and downe to finde their wearinesse; No sooner have we measur'd with much toile One crooked path, with hope to gaine our freedome, But it betrayes us to a new affliction; What a strange mockerie will man become Shortly to all the creatures? Oh Mariah! If thou beest dead, why does thy shadow fright mee I Sure tis because I live; were I but certaine To meete thee in one grave, and that our dust Might have the priviledge to mixe in silence, How quickly should my soule shake off this burden! Thus farre my wishes have successe, Ile lose No time: Sir, are not you call'd Mr. Hartlove? Pardon my rudenesse. What does that concerne Thee Boy, tis a name cannot advantage thee, And I am weary on't. Had you conceal'd, Or I forgot it sir, so large were my Directions, that you could not speake this language, But I should know you by your sorrow. Thou Wert well inform'd, it seemes; well, whats your businesse I I come to bring you comfort. Is Maria Alive agen? thats somewhat, and yet not Enough to make my expectation rise, to Past halfe a blessing, since we cannot meete To make it up a full one; th'art mistaken. When you have heard me, you'le thinke otherwise; In vaine I should report Maria living: The comfort that I bring you must depend Vpon her death. Th'art a dessembling boy, Some one has sent thee to mocke me, though my anger Stoope not to punish thy greene yeares, unripe For malice; did I know what person sent thee To tempt my sorrow thus, I should revenge it. Indeede I have no thought so uncharitable, Nor am I sent to grieve you, let me suffer More punishment than ever boy deserv'd, If you doe finde me false; I serve a Mistresse Would rather dye than play with your misfortunes; Then good sir heare me out. Who is your Mistresse? Before I name her, give me some incouragement, That you receive her message, she is one That is full acquainted with your misery, And can bring such a portion of her sorrow In every circumstance so like your owne, You'le love and pitty her, and wish your griefes Might marry one anothers. Thou art wilde. Canst thou bring comfort from so sad a creature? Her miserable story can at best, But swell my Volume, large enough already. She was late belov'd, as you were, promis'd faith, And marriage, and was worthy of a better Than he, that stole Marias heart. How's that? Just as Maria dealt with your affection; Did he that married her, deale with my Mistresse, When carelesse both of honor and Religion; They cruelly gave away their hearts to strangers.