The Ladies' Privilege (The Lady's Privilege) · chunk 29 of 31
Glapthorne, Henry · published 1640 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1640] (Annals) not in BritDrama · before the Court T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.84 · 513 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Is this possible? Was all her passion to Vitelli feigned? My hopes recover life again. Why Chrisea, Whence springs this passionate fury? Oh my Lord, When you shall hear it, you will sigh for me, And shed a charitable tear, at thought Of my unkind disaster: sir my Justice Cannot accuse your constancy, which stood In the first trial of your love, as fast And spotless as an Alabaster rock, That had it but persisted in that height Of honourable loyalty, your glory Had been advanced to heaven, as the fix't star, To guide all lovers through the rough Seas of affection. This taxation Cannot be just from you, who did enforce The sad revolt upon him. Is there in heaven no friendly bolt left that will strike this frame into The centre, and set free a wretch (So overgrown with misery) from life, That death would be a comfort above health, Or any worldly blessing, may time blot my name out Of his Book, that such a Prodigy May not affright succession, nor stick Like an o'erspreading Leprosy upon The beauteous face of manhood. Oh my Lord, each grief of which You're sensible, is mine, and not your Torment, every sigh you breath is an Afflicting motion, expired by my vexed Spirit, and if you could weep, each drop Would be my blood, who am the spring Of the whole flood of sorrow; oh forgive The too exceeding honour of my love, I would Have had you for your perfect truth so glorious; Your loyalty should not for Preservation of your fame, have needed To adopt a statue for its heir, or builded a Monumental pyramid, but love Is ofttimes loves undoing. This is such A cunning labyrinth of, Sorrow, that no clew Can lead them out of. It would be A great affront to misery, should there live A person half so wretched to outdare The strength of my affliction, methinks I me like some aged mountain that has stood In the seas watery bosom, thousand shocks Of threatning tempests, yet by th' flattering waves, That cling and curl about his stony limbs, Is undermined and ruined, I have scaped Wars, killing, dangers, and by peaceful love, Suffer a strange subversion, Oh Chrisea, While I have reason left that can distinguish Things with a cool and undistracted sense, Let's argue mildly the unhappy cause Of our undoings. Truly sister, 'Twas a suspicious rashness, I could wish You never had attempted. My Lord, Humane condition always censures things By their event, my aims have had success So strangely hapless, that will blast the truth Of their intentions purity, I never Harboured the least suspicion of your faith, Which I did strive to perfect, by the test, As richest gold refined, and purged From dross of other baser metals, and besides The trial of your constancy, I meant To sound Vitelli's depth; upon whose love My sister doted, so that I was loath To see her cast the treasure of her heart Upon a stranger, of whose constancy She had too small assurance.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Is this possible? Was all her passion to Vitelli seign'd? My hopes recover life agen. Why Chrisea, Whence springs this passionate fury? Oh my Lord, When you shall heare it, you will sigh for me, And shed a charitable teare, at thought Of my unkinde disaster: sir my Justice Cannot accuse your constancy, which stood In the first tryall of your love, as fast And spotlesse as an Alablaster rocke, That had it but persisted in that height Of honourable loyalty, your glory Had been advanc'd to heaven, as the fix't starre, To guid all lovers through the rough Seas of affection. This taxation Cannot be just from you, who did enforce The sad revolt upon him. Is there in heaven no friendly Boult left that will strike this frame into The center, and set free a wretch (So overgrowne with misery) from life, That death would be a comfort above health, Or any worldly blessing, may time blot my name out Of his Booke, that such a Prodigy May not affright succession, nor sticke Like an orespreading Leprosie upon The beautious face of manhood. Oh my Lord, each griefe of which Y'are sensible, is mine, and not your Torment, every sigh you breath is an Afflicting motion, expir'd by my vext Spirit, and if you could weepe, each drop Would be my blood, who am the spring Of the whole flood of sorrow; oh forgive The too exceeding honor of my love, I would Have had you for your perfect truth so glorious; Your loyalty should not for Preservation of your fame, have needed To adopt a statue for its heire, or builded a Monumentall pyramid, but love Is ofttimes loves undoing. This is such A cunning la byrin of, Sorrow, that no clew Can lead them out of. It would be A great affront to misery, should there live A person halfe so wretched to out-dare The strength of my affliction, me thinkes I me like some aged mountaine that has stood In the seas watry bosome, thousand shocks Of threatning tempests, yet by th' flattering waves, That cling and curle about his stony limbes, Is undermind and ruind, I have scap'd Warres, killing, dangers, and by peacefull love, Suffer a strange subversion, Oh Chrisea, While I have reason left that can distinguish Things with a coole and undistracted sence, Let's argue mildly the unhappy cause Of our undoings. Truely sister, 'Twas a suspicious rashnesse, I could wish You never had attempted. My Lord, Humane condition alwaies censures things By their event, my aimes have had successe So strangely haplesse, that will blast the truth Of their intentions purity, I never Harbor'd the least suspicion of your faith, Which I did strive to perfect, by the test, As richest gold refind, and purg'd From drosse of other baser metals, and besides The triall of your constancy, I meant To sound Vitellies depth; upon whose love My sister doted, so that I was loath To see her cast the treasure of her heart Upon a stranger, of whose constancy She had too small assurance.