The Ladies' Privilege (The Lady's Privilege) · chunk 28 of 31
Glapthorne, Henry · published 1640 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1640] (Annals) not in BritDrama · before the Court unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 521 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
It becomes you to say truth scurvily, I do not like it, You look as if you'd lost some victory, Of which your hope had an assurance: Shall I tell your Lordship A very pleasant story? It must be, if it be delightful to me, a discourse Of some quick means to free me from this cruel Oppressive weight of flesh, which does entomb My martyred soul, that like to sulphury fire Hid in a mountain's entrails, strives to burst The prison, and fly upwards; it must needs Be a sad wedding, when the Bridegroom wears His Nuptial livery on his eyes in tears. Friend, this is A passion too effeminate for a heart Endued with manly courage; things past help Should be past thought, your sadness casts a Cloud Upon the lustre of this Lady's looks, You make her dim the brightness of her eyes With unbecoming tears, if you continue This strange distraction. Alas my Lord, Let me participate your cause of sorrow, And be a willing partner in your grief, Which like a violent Current that o'erflows The neighbouring fields and meadows in its rage, Into two streams divided, smoothly runs, Kissing with calm lips the imprisoning banks, Would, though too mighty for you, when my soul Should vent a part of it, be mild, and pass Away without disturbance of your peace, Which to procure I would even burst my heart With sighs devoted to your quiet, and Become a loving fountain by my tears I shed without intermission. Gentle Lady, I am at such an enmity with fate, Makes me incapable of aught but grief, But I shall study to declare how much I am indebted to your care— good heaven Send down some Angel to protect my heart, Or my religion will scarce stay my hand, For acting wilful violence on my life, I have sucked poison from her eyes, that will Like to juice of Hemlock drown my soul In a forgetful Lethargy, or oppress My temperate faculties with madness. Cosen you're welcome, know this virtuous Lady Who has redeemed the General. Sir, i'm come to gratulate your beauteous bride, and wish you joys immortal. I hope Madam, my innocence has gi'n you no offence, That you refuse me, being a stranger to you, The Ceremonious wishes, which pertain To new made Brides, and only do confer them Upon my Lord. Your happiness already, Is so superlative, I cannot think A new addition to it, you enjoy The very sum of fortune in your match, To such a noble and illustrious husband. I no longer can hold my passion in, These walls of flesh are not of Strength sufficient to contain My big swollen heart: My Lords behold a creature So infinitely wretched, I deserve not The meanest show of pity, who have, like A silly merchant, trifled away a gem, The darling of the quarry, lost a love By my too foolish niceness, to regain Whose forfeiture I would lay down my life: But he is gone for ever, and I left A piteous spectacle for the reproach And scorn of wiser women.
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)
It becomes you to say truth scurvily, I doe not like it, You looke as if y'ad lost some victorie, Of which your hope had an assurance: Shall I tell your Lordship A very pleasant story? It must be, if it be delightfull to me, a discourse Of some quicke meanes to free me from this cruell Oppressive weight of flesh, which does entombe My martyr'd soule, that like to sulphury fire Hid in a Mountains entrayles, strives to burst The prison, and flye upwards; it must needs Be a sad wedding, when the Bridegroome weares His Nuptiall livery on his eyes in teares. Friend, this is A passion too effeminate for a heart Endu'd with manly courage; things past helpe Should be past thought, your sadnesse casts a Cloud Upon the lustre of this Ladyes looks, You make her dimme the brightnesse of her eyes With unbecomming teares, if you continue This strange distraction. Alas my Lord, Let me participate your cause of sorrow, And be a willing partner in your griefe, Which like a violent Current that o're-flowes The neighbouring fields and medowes in its rage, Into two streames divided, smoothly runnes, Kissing with calme lips the imprisoning banks, Would, though too mighty for you, when my soule Should vent a part of it, be milde, and passe Away without disturbance of your peace, Which to procure I would even burst my heart With sighes devoted to your quiet, and Become a loving fountaine by my teares I shed without intermission. Gentle Lady, I am at such an enmity with fate, Makes me incapable of ought but griefe, But I shall study to declare how much I am indebted to your care—good heaven Send downe some Angell to protect my heart, Or my religion will scarce stay my hand, For acting wilfull violence on my life, I have suckt poyson from her eyes, that will Like to juyce of Hemlocke drowne my soule In a forgetfull Lethargy, or oppresse My temperate faculties with madnesse. Cosen y'are welcome, know this vertuous Lady Who has redeem'd the Generall. Sir, ime come to gratulate your beauteous bride, and wish you joyes immortall. I hope Madam, my innocence has gi'n you no offence, That you refuse me, being a stranger to you, The Ceremonious wishes, which pertaine To new made Brides, and onely doe conferre them Vpon my Lord. Your happinesse already, Is so superlative, I cannot thinke A new addition to it, you enjoy The very summe of fortune in your match, To such a noble and illustrious husband. I no longer can hold my passion in, These walls of flesh are not of Strength sufficient to contayne My big swolne heart: My Lords behold a creature So infinitely wretched, I deserve not The meanest shew of pitty, who have, like A silly merchant, trifled away a jemme, The darling of the quarry, lost a love By my too foolish nicenesse, to regaine Whose forfeiture I would lay downe my life: But he is gone for ever, and I left A pittious spectacle for the reproach And scorne of wiser women.