Rutter, Joseph / Desfontaines, Nicolas-Marc · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1637-1639] (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
But since thou hast the very same advantage Serve thyself of it, and as his great honours Alter his passions, so let thine Cimena Take the same flight, and do not think thou shalt For that, be called inconstant or less faithful, Or that thy change should stick a crime upon thee, The wills of Kings can render all things lawful. Besides thy father's death may well excuse thee, And I remember with how much constraint Thou mad'st a promise of thy love to him Which was no more than hope; the King has power To cancel that, nor must thy virtue suffer So great a stain as to prefer the man Who killed thy father to the King. But Madam. You know how strong a conflict I had in me Before I gave consent, whilst his great love Did less than my obedience, I resisted Till in the end I saw I must obey What the King willed, he said, I must forget His Crime and my revenge: your father Madam Gave me into his hands, and since I am His prisoner, the same bonds shall end my life And fortune both at once. But hear my reasons. To what purpose. Should we dispute of what's resolved already? Well you may think of it at better leisure. Yes: and I know the object of my Choice: If the Cid's glory do put out his flame; And that's great lustre quench the heat of this I shall not stay the progress of his fortune, Let him be on a Throne, me in my grave, Yet if this head must ever wear a Crown From none but Cid himself shall I accept it. But what's the reason that he writes not to me? I had some letters from him at the first, When the same hand which was bedewed in blood Dried up my tears, but yet (alas) I fear lest distance of our eyes estrange our hearts: For of late (save the conquest of the Rebels) I can hear nothing from him, he destroys His enemies and my hopes both at one time, His glory makes him to forget his duty; But yet dear heart excuse my sad complaint True love was never yet without some fear Thou canst not be so generous and inconstant, And I should fear less, loved I not so much. Come then my foul and make no longer trial Both of my passion and my patience: Come to deliver me from those my doubts Or know that here I cannot live without thee. WHo's this Don Sancho? what may his business be? The best of news unto the best of women. What news? Is Cid returned? Not yet sweet Madam, He's still expected, but a greater joy Attends you, which will soon dispel these clouds, How glorious is your fortune like to be?
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)
But ſince thou haſt the very ſame advantage Serve thy ſelfe of it, and as his great honours Alter his paſſions, ſo let thine Cimena Take the ſame flight, and do not thinke thou ſhalt For that, be calld inconſtant or leſſe faithfull, Or that thy change ſhould ſtick a crime upon thee, The wils of Kings can render all things lawfull. Beſides thy fathers death may well excuſe thee, And I remember with how much conſtraint Thou mad'ſt a promiſe of thy love to him Which was no more then hope; the King has power To cancell that, nor muſt thy vertue ſuffer So great a ſtain as to preferre the man Who kild thy father to the King. But Madam. You know how ſtrong a conflict I had in me Before I gave conſent, whilſt his great love Did leſſe then my obedience, I reſiſted Yill in the end I ſaw I muſt obey What the King will'd, he faid, I muſt forget His Crime and my revenge: your father Madam Gave me into his hands, and ſince I am His priſoner▪ the ſame bonds ſhall end my life And fortune both at once. But heare my reaſons. To what purpoſe. Should we diſpute of what's reſolv'd already? Well you may think of it at better leaſure. Yes: and I know the object of my Choice: If the Cids glory do put out his flame; And that's great luſtre quench the heat of this I ſhall not ſtay the progreſſe of his fortune, Let him be on a Throne, me in my grave, Yet if this head muſt ever weare a Crown From none but Cid himſelfe ſhall I accept it. But what's the reaſon that he writes not to me? I had ſome letters from him at the firſt, When the ſame hand which was bedewd in bloud Dry'd up my teares, but yet (alas) I feare Leaſt diſtance of our eyes eſtrange our hearts: For of late (ſave the conqueſt of the Rebels) I can heare nothing from him, he deſtroyes His enemies and my hopes both at one time, His glory makes him to forget his dutie; But yet deare heart excuſe my ſad complaint True love was never yet without ſome feare Thou canſt not be ſo generous and inconſtant, And I ſhould feare leſſe, lov'd I not ſo much. Come then my foule and make no longer triall Both of my paſſion and my patience: Come to deliver me from thoſe my doubts Or know that here I cannot live without thee. WHo's this Don Sancho? what may his buſineſſe be? The beſt of news unto the beſt of women. What news? Is Cid return'd? Not yet ſweet Madam, He's ſtill expected, but a greater joy Attends you, which will ſoon diſpell theſe clouds, How glorious is your fortune like to be?