The Constant Maid (Love Will Find Out the Way) · chunk 24 of 32
Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1630(?)-1640] (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T33 Fathers, daughters and marriage negotiat · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T33: daughter, marriage, father, love, davus, matter, son, chremes, wife, mother.
You would not be so violent. That thus, Not only ruin and deface the Altar, But steal away the very Sacrifice; And I durst add and smile upon your anger. Though as you frowned death stood in every wrinkle, My soul's above your tyranny, and would From torturing flame, receive new fire of love, And make your eye faint to behold the brightness Of my poor Body's martyrdom; and if ever Love showed a miracle, my heart should bear The Characters of him you have torn from it, With beams about it like a Saint that suffered: But as you are my mother, thus I kneel And beg a pardon for my innocence, If that offend you; Live you happy still, And be the Mistress of your vows, live to Enjoy whom you affect, may every hour Return new blessings on you both; renew Your spring, and let him think you young again, And let me beg but this for all my duty; Against that day you marry him to provide My Coffin, for I fear I shall, not have many minutes after, to pray for you. The herbs that shall adorn your Bridal chamber, Will serve my Funeral, and deck my Hearse; Beneath which you should say, there lies your daughter That dies to show obedience. Why shouldst thou Continue thus to him? I know he loves me, yet hereafter your affections May not. But never procure thee one sad thought; Now I have tried you both; assure my child, I loved him but for thee, dispose thyself To be his Bride: This news, at his return, Will make all well to rest. Can this be true? 'Twere sin to mock thee any more: To bed. I'll spend all night In prayers for you, mother: Oh my Hartwell I am bound ever to thee. Does she not become her rich clothes too? The morning never looked So fresh, nor Venus with more charms upon her: Adon would melt before her eye, and woo her Her kisses, at expense of his last breath: Cupid himself, could he but see, would fall In love with her, and throwing away his shafts, Offer the empty quiver to her eyes, Ambitious to fill it with her beams; The least of which, would wound more hearts, than ail His stock of golden Arrows. No more Raptures. Didst thou not know before, that love is able, Without the help of Sack, to make a Poet, My nimble Mercury, Jove's Herald in Reversion? I must confess I had a trick of Mercury when I picked His pocket for the Keys. He never missed 'em? His eyes were drenched in suds, and I returned 'em Ere they recovered light. 'Twas excellent; He walks in darkness still. D''ee think he'll know her? His clothes already have Made him forget himself, or if he have But the remembrance of such a woman; The more he sees her now, the more he'll think The change impossible.
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)
You would not be so violent. That thus, Not only ruine and deface the Altar, But steal away the very Sacrifice▪ And I durst adde and smile upon your anger. Though as you frown'd death stood in every wrinckle, My soul's above your tyranny, and would From torturing flame, receive new fire of love, And make your eye faint to behold the brightnesse Of my poore bodies Martyrdome; and if ever Love shewed a miracle, my heart should beare The Characters of him you have torne from it, With beames about it like a Saint that suffer'd: But as you are my mother, thus I kneele And beg a pardon for my innocence, If that offend you; Live you happy still, And be the Mistris of your vowes, live to Enjoy whom you affect, may every houre Returne new blessings on you both; renew Your spring, and let him thinke you young againe, And let me beg but this for all my duty; Against that day you marry him to provide My Com, for I fear Isha, not have after, to pray for you. The herbs that shall adorne your Bridall chamber, Will serve my Funerall, and deck my Merse; Beneath which you should say, there lies your daughter That dies to shew obedience. Why shouldst thou Continue thus to him? I know he loves me, yet hereafter your affections May not. But never procure thee one sad thought; Now I have tried you both; assure my childe, I loved him but for thee, dispose thy selfe To be his Bride: This newes, at his returne, Will make all well to rest. Can this be true? 'Twere sin to mocke thee any more: To bed. I'll spend all night In prayers for you, mother: Oh my Hartwell I am bound ever to thee. Does she not become her rich cloathes too? The morning never look'd So fresh, nor Venus with more charmes upon her: Adon would melt before her eye, and wooe her Her kisses, at expence of his last breath: Cupid himselfe, could he but see, would fall In love with her, and throwing away his shafts, Offer the empty quiver to her eyes, Ambitious to fill it with her beames; The least of which, would wound more hearts, than His stocke of golden Arrowes. No more Raptures. Didst thou not know before, that love is able, Without the helpe of Sacke, to make a Poet, My nimble Mercury, Ioes Herald in Reversion? I must confesse I had a trick of Mercury when I pick'd His pocket for the Keyes. He never mist 'em? His eyes were drench'd in fuds, and I return'd em Ere they recover'd light. 'Twas excellent; He walkes in darknesse still. D'ee think he'll know her? His cloathes already have Made him forget himselfe, or if he have But the remembrance of such a woman; The more he sees her now, the more he'l thinke The change impossible.