Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) pastoral; romance · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
These sounds may charm her into slumbers sweetly Oh steal into her, hang upon her heart, Come fix your gentle raptures in her soul That it may take delight to be o'ercome And never wake the body, till Basilius Return with happy Conquest from Zelmane Or if there be a leaden god of sleep. Here let him shake his wings and then dispatch A herald to the silent house of dreams To bring one hither happier than the rest To entertain my melancholy Queen; oh Philoclea Thy mother will excuse thee this night's duty Do not disturb her, yet your voice and Lute 'Ith' next Chamber may procure her sleep That done without more ceremony go To bed, so so my blood begins to move she's fast, I hear her, and the music ceased, Now to Zelmane. I'm troubled, and dare not go to bed There's some thing whispers to my soul this will Will be a fatal night, my mother is not well I must needs see her— ha, the gods protect me If there were any treason meant against Philoclea her prayers were vainly offered, Since her own innocence is protection As powerful as the Gods, I bring no horror To fright your blood, d'ee not know me Lady I was Zelmane, Was I have been So watched by your jealous mother Ha. But I forget What mean you? To make fast the doors If I could bar all the air out saving what Your breath should draw, for should I live by that You would not chide my care You make me tremble. If you cannot forgive me punish pray This rudeness with my death; I prostrate to Your feet my sword, and call you to my breast To meet your anger, at this distance beg I may behold you, but when you shall find In the dissection of my heart, whose name Hath filled it, and with what religion there My thoughts adore your memory, too late It may invite your tears, can fair Philoclea Think I have a soul that dare be wicked to her? Such looks would charm a ravisher, and throw Ice through a satire's blood, but a man chaste Already it draws up to the simplicity And nature of an Angel, oh Philoclea I am so far from being ill myself In such a sensual way, that although time And this fair opportunity might tempt And excuse wanton heat, I should repent Forget to, love yourself, if you but with One thought so treacherous to your virgin honour Should give consent to enjoy you, it hath snow Upon my blood Philoclea, whose flowings Are Chaste as Crystal: dare you trust me yet To kiss your hand, my lips shall gently touch it Nor will I leave a breath to stain the whiteness Pray be not fearful. Sin did never yet Profane that voice. When it sounds lustfully Your hate, a punishment next the wrath of heaven Strike my heart dead— be pleased to rest a little And if you dare vouch safe me to sit so near you▪ I have much to tell you
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)
These sounds may charme her into slumbers sweetly Oh steale into her, hang upon her heart, Come fixe your gentle raptures in her soule That it may take delight to be orecome And never wake the body, till Basilius Returne with happy Conquest from Zelmane Or if there be a leaden god of sleepe. Heere let him shake his wings and then dispatch A Herrald to the silent house of dreames To bring one hither happier then the rest To entertaine my melancholly Queene; oh Philoclea Thy mother will excuse thee this nights dutie Doe not disturbe her, yet your voyce and Lute 'Ith next Chamber may procure her sleepe That done without more ceremony goe To bed, so so my bloud begins to move Shee's fast, I heare her, and the musique ceast, Now to Zelmane. I'me troubled, and dare not goe to bed There's some thing whispers to my soule this will Will be a fatall night, my mother is not well I must needs see her—ha, the gods protect me If there were any treason meant against Philoclea her prayers were vainely offerd, Since hr owne innocence is protection As powerfull as the Gods, I bring no horror To fright your blood, dee not know me Lady I was Zelmane, Was I have been So watched by your Ielous mother Ha. But I forget What meane you? To make fast the doores If I could barre all the aire out saving what Your breath should draw, for should I live by that You would not chide my care You make me tremble. If you cannot forgive me punish pray This rudenes with my death; I prostrate to Your feete my sword, and call you to my brest To meete your anger, at this distance beg I may behould you, but when you shall finde In the dissection of my heart, whose name Hath fill'd it, and with what religion there My thoughts adore your memory, too late It may invite your teares, can faire Philoclea Thinke I have a soule that dare be wicked to her? Such lookes would charme a ravisher, and throw Ice through a Satires blood, but a man chaste Already it drawes up to the simplicitie And nature of an Angell, oh Philoclea I am so farre from being ill my selfe In such a sensuall way, that although time And this faire opportunity might tempt And excuse wanton heate, I should repent Forget to, love your selfe, if you but with One thought so treacherous to your virgin honor Should give consent to enioy you, it hath snow Vpon my blood Philoclea, whose flowings Are Chast as Christall: dare you trust me yet To kisse your hand, my lips shall gently touch it Nor will I leave a breath to staine the whitenesse Pray be not fearefull. Sin did never yet Prophane that voyce. When it sounds lustfully Your hate, a punishment next the wrath of heaven Strike my heart dead—be pleas'd to rest a little And if you dare vouch safe me to sit so neere you▪ I have much to tell you