Rawlins, Thomas · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1637-1639] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Nay Madam 'tis a youth, I praise my stars For their kind influence, a woman may be proud on, And I am. O 'tis a youth in print, a new Adonis, And I could wish, although my glass tells me I'm wondrous fair, I were a Venus for him. O Lady, you are more fairer by far. La you there Madam. Where art thou man? art thou transformed? Or art thou grown so base that This ridiculous witch should think I love her? Leave us. I go Duck, I'll be here anon, I will Dove. At your best leisure. Protect me manhood, lest my glutted sense Feeding with such an eager appetite on Your rare beauty, breaking the sluices, Burst into a flood of passionate tears; I must, I will enjoy her, though a Destroying clap from Ioves Artillery were the reward: And yet dull-daring fir by your favour no, He must be more than savage can attempt To injure so much spotless innocence: Pardon great Powers the thought of such offence. When Sabastiano clad in conquering steel, And in a phrase able to kill, or from a coward's heart Banish the thought of fear; would me, Won not so much upon my captive soul As this youth's silence does: Help me some power out of this tangling maze, I shall be lost else. Fear to the breast of women, Build thy throne on their soft hearts; Mine must not be thy slave. Your pleasure Madam. I have a question must be directly answered No excuse, but from thy heart a truth. Command me Madam, were it a secret On whose hinges hung the casements of my life, Yet your command shall be obeyed; to the least Scruple. I take your word, My aged Nurse tells me you love her, Answer; is't a truth? She's jealous, I'll try; As Oracle. (Ha) 'tis so, i'll further; I love her Madam, With as rich a flame as Anchorites Do Saints they offer prayers too: I hug her memory as I would embrace The breath of Iove, when it pronounced me Happy; or Prophet, that should speak my After life great, even with adoration deified. My life, like to a bubble i'th' air, Dissolved by some uncharitable wind, Denies my body warmth: your breath Has made me nothing. Rather let me lose all external being. Madam, good Madam. You say you love her. Madam, I do. Can any love the beauty of a stone, Set by some curious Artist in a Ring, But he must attribute some to The File that adds unto the lustre? You appear like to a gem, cut by the Steady hand of careful Nature, into such Beauteous Tablets, that dull Art, Famous in skilful flattery, is become A Novice in what Fame proclaimed him Doctor; He can't express one spark of your great lustre. Madam,' those Beauties that, but studied on By their admirers, are deified, serve But as spots, to make your red and white Envied of cloistered Saints.
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)
Nay Madam 'tis a youth, I praise my starrs For their kind influence, a woman may be proud on, And I am. O 'tis a youth in print, a new Adonis, And I could wish, although my glasse tells me I'me wondrous faire, I were a Venus for him. O Lady, you are more fairer by farre. La you there Madam. Where art thou man? art thou transform'd? Or art thou growne so base that This rediculous witch should thinke I love her? Leave us. I goe Ducke, Ile be here anon, I will Dove. At your best leasure. Protect me man-hood, least my glutted sence Feeding with such an eager appetite on Your rare beauty, breaking the sluces, Burst into a flood of passionate teares; I must, I will enjoy her, though a Destroying clap from Ioves Artillery were the reward: And yet dull-daring fir by your favour no, He must be more than savage can attempt To injure so much spotlesse innocence: Pardon great Powers the thought of such offence. When Sabastiano clad in conquering steele, And in a phrase able to kill, or from a cowards heart Banish the thought of feare; wo'd me, Won not so much upon my captive soule As this youths silence does: Helpe me some power out of this tangling maze, I shall be lost else. Feare to the breast of women, Build thy throne on their soft hearts; Mine must not be thy slave. Your pleasure Madam. I have a question must be directly answer'd No excuse, but from thy heart a truth. Command me Madam, were it a secret On whose hinges hung the casements of my life, Yet your command shall be obey'd; to the least Scruple. I take your word, My aged Nurse tells me you love her, Answer; i'st a truth? She's jealous, Ile try; As Oracle. (Ha) 'tis so, ile further; I love her Madam, With as rich a flame as Anchorits Doe Saints they offer prayers too: I hug her memory as I wou'd embrace The breath of Iove, when it pronounc'd me Happy; or Prophet, that should speake my After life great, even with adoration deified. My life, like to a bubble i'th aire, Dissolv'd by some uncharitable winde, Denyes my body warmth: your breath Has made me nothing. Rather let me lose all externall being. Madam, good Madam. You say you love her. Madam, I doe. Can any love the beauty of a stone, Set by some curious Artist in a Ring, But he must attribute some to The File that addes unto the lustre? You appeare like to a Jemme, cut by the Steddy hand of carefull Nature, into such Beautious Tablets, that dull Art, Famous in skilfull flattery, is become A Novice in what Fame proclaim'd him Doctor; He cann't expresse one sparke of your great lustre. Madam, 'those Beauties that, but studied on By their admirers, are deifi'd, serve But as spots, to make your red and white Envy'd of Cloisterd Saints.