The Ladies' Privilege (The Lady's Privilege) · chunk 12 of 31
Glapthorne, Henry · published 1640 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1640] (Annals) not in BritDrama · before the Court unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 515 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
These are arts to puzzle my conceits, my Lord I'm no such puny in the Craft of love, That I want brain to find this drift, which is As obvious to me as your eyes: now you Are home returned victorious, big with praise, Laden with titles that sit heavier on you Then your steel Corslet in hot fight coniemne, Affinity with me, to whom you've heard the fair Eurione has resigned her heart, And by this circumvention should I court At your entreats her sister might pretend A righteous cause, for an unjust revolt, For were it otherwise, your temper could not Brook your Chrisea's change without a start Into a sudden fury. This language I understand not, by my honour friend, This iteration may disperse your doubt, I do again conjure you by all right Friendship can challenge in you to affect Chrisea nobly; shall I have your answer? Nay then my Lord, since you are serious, freely I resume The privilege of my liberty; this body I do confess your captive, and 'thas suffered an honourable thraldom, but my mind Remains unbounded as the air or fire, Are from their spheres, Eurione has won By the subduing valour of her looks, That in a field of fancy, not of blood, And ere another shall usurp her right, In the defence i'll die her willing martyr. I judged what serious value your boasted friendship would retain i'th' test, Draw your bright weapon, know that I do hate Baseness as much as cowardice: and since You slight a Lady for whose priceless love Kings might resign their Crowns, and humbly fall Like bare foot pilgrims prostrate at the shrine Of such a beauty, sure if in this sword, Death has a residence your life shall find it, And not survive to boast the cruel triumph of her refusal. Sir your sword cannot excite a trembling in my blood, The glistering splendour cherishes my sight, Like polished Crystal, henceforth name of friend Be no more known betwixt us then a dream. Thus I expire it, I may now regain My honour forfeited in the General cause By this particular Combat. Should my fate yield me the conquest, yet his death would not Beget Chrisea's quiet, but augment Her grief and hate against me: stay, forbear, I feel a palsy in my veins, and cannot Manage this little instrument of death, My sinews put on infancy again And have no vigour in them, oh Vitelli, I am so full of passion, I have scarce Room left to vent a sigh, a mine of lead Hangs on my heart, and with its weight has cracked The feeble courage. Noble soul, his grief Works more compunction in me, than his sword Did sudden anger; could I grant what you Request, no brand-marked slave should fulfil Sooner his Masters most severe command, Than I would yours; but this abrogates all laws Of friendship's duty: if you've vowed this act, You may as safely disannul the Oath, As should you in some desperate fury swear To be your father's murderer.
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 are arts to pusle my conceits, my Lord I'me no such punie in the Craft of love, That I want braine to finde this drift, which is As obvious to me as your eyes: now you Are home return'd victorious, big with praise, Laden with titles that sit heavier on you Then your steele Corslet in hot fight coniemne, Affinity with me, to whom y'ave heard the faire Eurione has resign'd her heart, And by this circumvention should I court At your entreates her sister might pretend A righteous cause, for an unjust revolt, For were it otherwise,, your temper could not Brooke your Chriseas change without a start Into a sudden fury. This language I understand not, by my honour friend, This ireration may disperse your doubt, I doe agen conjure you by all right Friendship can challenge in you to affect Chrisea nobly; shall I have your answer? Nay then my Lord, since you are serious, freely I resume The priviledge of my liberty; this body I doe confesse your captive, and t'has sufferd an honourable thraldome, but my minde Remaines unbounded as the ayre or fire, Are from their spheares, Eurione has wone By the subduing valor of her lookes, That in a field of fancy, not of blood, And ere another shall usurpe her right, In the defence ile dye her willing martyr. I judg'd what serious value your boasted friendship would retaineith test, Draw your bright weapon, know that I doe hate Basenesse as much as cowardice: and since You slight a Lady for whose pricelesse love Kings might resigne their Crownes, and humbly fall Like bare foot pilgrimes prostrate at the shrine Of such a beauty, sure if in this sword, Death has a residence your life shall finde it, And not survive to boast the cruell triumph of her refusall. Sir your sword cannot excite a trembling in my blood, The glistring splend our cherishes my sight, Like polish'd Chrystall, henceforth name of friend Be no more known betwixt us then a dreame. Thus I expire it, I may now regaine My honour forfeited in the Generall cause By this particular Combate. Should my fate yield me the conquest, yet his death would not Beget Chriseas quiet, but augment Her griefe and hate against me: stay, forbeare, I feele a palsie in my veines, and cannot Manage this little instrument of death, My sinewes put on infancy agen And have no vigor in them, oh Vitelli, I am so full of passion, I have scarce Roome left to vent a sigh, a mine of lead Hangs on my heart, and with its weight has crack'd The feeble courage. Noble soule, his griefe Workes more compunction in me, than his sword Did suddaine anger; could I grant what you Request, no brand-markt slave should fulfill Sooner his Masters most severe command, Than I would yours; but this abrogates all lawes Of friendships duty: ify'ave vowd this act, You may as safely disanull the Oath, As should you in some desperate fury sweare To be your fathers murtherer.