Rawlins, Thomas · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1637-1639] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T59 Spanish courts: war, honour and courtshi · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
My Lord you know my temper, and how to Win upon my heart. I must be gone, and post a messenger, France must supply what wants to make thee great; An Army my Philippa, which these people Snoring in pride of their last victory, Do not so much as dream on? Nor shall, till they be forced to yield their voices At our election; which will be ere long. O 'tis an age, I'd rather have it said, Philippa then a prisoner were dead. Captain Petruchio, take this condemned man Into your charge, it is Antonio once a Spanish Count, till his rash folly, with his Life made forfeit of his honour; he Was found travelling to your Castle, 'Twas heaven's will that his own feet Should with a willing pace conduct him to his ruin: For the murder he must be ground to death In Filford Mill, of which you are the Governor: Here my Commission in its end give strength to yours, He's your charge: farewell, His death must be with speed. Deceive me not good glasses, your lights In my esteem never till now was precious, 'Tis the same, I 'tis the very same I sleeping saw. Is this the man Fame speaks so nobly of? O love, Aurelio never until now Could say he knew thee; I must dissemble it. Come sir to my Castle. Fie on you sir, to kill a Governor it is a fact Death cannot appear too horrible to punish. Can this be truth? O shallow, shallow man To credit air, believe there can be substance In a cloud of thickened smoke, as truth hid in a dream; Yes there is truth, that like a scroll fetched from An Oracle, betrays the double dealing of the gods; Dreams that speak all of joy do turn to grief, And such bad Fate deludes my light belief. Away with him Oft have I heard my brother with a tongue Proud of the Office, praised this lovely Lord; And my trapped soul old with a eager haste Draw in the breath, and now: O Aurelia, Buried with him must all thy joy thou hast For ever sleep; and with a pale consumption, Pitying him wit thou thyself be ruined? He must not die, if there be any way Revealed to the distressed, I will find it: Assist a poor lost Virgin some good power, And lead her to a path, whose secret tract May guide both him and me unto our safety. Be kind good wits, I never until now Put you to any trouble; 'tis your Office, To help at need this little world you live by: Not yet! O dulness! do not make me mad— I have't blessed brain; now shall a woman's wit Wrestle with Fate, and if my plot but hit: Come off with wreaths, my duty nay may all, I must forsake lest my Antonio fall.
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)
My Lord you know my temper, and how to Win upon my heart. I must be gone, and post a messenger, France must supply what wants to make thee great; An Army my Philippa, which these people Snoring in pride of their last victory, Doe not so much as dreame on? Nor shall, till they be forced to yeeld their voyces At our election; which will be ere long. O 'tis an age, I'de rather have it sed, Philippa then a prisoner were dead. Captaine Petruchio, take this condemned man Into your charge, it is Antonio once a Spanish Count, till his rash folly, with his Life made forfeit of his honour; he Was found travelling to your Castle, 'Twas Heavens will that his own feet Should with a willing pace conduct him to his ruine: For the murther he must be ground to death In Filford Mill, of which you are the Governour: Here my Commision in its end give strength to yours, He's your charge: farewell, His death must be with speed. Deceive me not good glasses, your lights In my esteeme never till now was precious, 'Tis the same, I 'tis the very same I sleeping saw. Is this the man Fame speakes so nobly of? O love, Aurelio never untill now Could say he knew thee; I must desemble it. Come sir to my Castle. Fie on you sir, to kill a Governor it is a fact Death cannot appeare too horrible to punish. Can this be truth? O shallow, shallow man To credit aire, beleeve there can be substance In a cloud of thickned smoake, as truth hid in a dreame; Yes there is truth, that like a serowle fetcht from An Oracle, betrayes the double dealing of the gods; Dreames that speake all of joy doe turne to griefe, And such bad deludes my light beleefe. Away with him Oft have I heard my brother with a tongue Proud of the Office, prais'd this lovely Lord; And my trapt soule old with a eager hast Draw in the breath, and now: O Aurelia, Buried with him must all thy joy thou hast For ever sleepe; and with a pale consumption, Pittying him wit thou thy selfe be ruin'd? He must not dye, if there be any way Reveal'd to the distressed, I will find it: Assist a poore lost Virgin some good power, And lead her to a path, whose secret tract May guide both him and me unto our safety. Be kind good wits, I never untill now Put you to any trouble; 'tis your Office, To helpe at need this little world you live by: Not yet! O dulnesse! doe not make me mad— I hav't blest braine; now shall a womans wit Wrestle with Fate, and if my plot but hit: Come off with wreaths, my duty nay may all, I must forsake lest my Antonio fall.