Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
My Lord. Have you performed what I commanded you concerning the Lady? Charintha? 'tis done Sir; Fungoso straight intends a visit there. Leave me— 'Tis well, if this slander can but pull on murder upon him, or any of my servants, from Valenzo's hand, his head shall answer for't; I am his judge, (My power over the King makes me so:) And he shall find me cruel; then the fort is mine, In which his soldiers are in garrison; This night the French, and Genowayes intend To seize our empty fleet, that rides i'th' harbour; Those men I have endeared,— Mount, mount my soul, let no fear weigh thee down. He stakes his life that thus casts at a Crown. This music's dull, strike higher, higher yet. Oh! oh! oh! I can hold no longer, furies, devils, oh! oh! What ails our Physician there? 'Tis an odd humour my Lord: any kind of music is less pleasing to him, than the voice of Mandrakes. Cease there, your accents are distasteful. I am abused, grossly abused, but i'll be revenged— Sir Your pardon. Rise and proceed. As I was telling you, you must in every thing humour her; in each word, each action, the nature of her disease requires it, which yields not unto cure, till it be wrought up toth' height. Still such a sadness Ladies dwell on your brows? trust me, it misbecomes you: shall's tread a lusty measure? I'm light, and active. But grief is heavy. Thus we'll shake it off, and thus. Pray, why d'ye use me so? you bind my arms, As if I meant to fight, an they were loose, Indeed I won't, trust me, I'll kill nobody. Pray unbind her. I never killed the poorest worm, or fly, Though 'twere against my will, but that I wept for't, And begged a pardon too, for sure 'twas murder. Marry was it. Poor Lady, she's distracted! Death on my fury, this sight brands my best actions with a stain too deep for penitence to wash away. This exceeds cruelty, they will not let me eat; Look I am pined almost to nothing. A mere skeleton. Had I but strength enough to struggle with heaven By prayer, I'd expiate their sins, though they Continued to be cruel. Good Lady weep not, for if you continue These tears, my eyes will drop. Yes, yes, they will drop out, oh happiness! Would mine would do so too; they smart extremely; Were't not a courtesy, I think ere this you'd pulled 'em forth. Lady, I say weep not. I say, ben't you a coxcomb. Take away the fool, we are much indisposed To laugh today, good heaven, they flour my miseries: 'Tis not well done, you may be sick yourselves, Before you die; want one to bid God comfort, When I am dead. My Lord, a word— you are not privileged To do men wrong: you have done me one, Pray take notice— Of what? 'Slife he won't challenge him. The old Lord's afraid on't. How patient I am.
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)
My Lord. Have you perform'd what I commanded you concerning the Lady? Charintha? 'tis done Sir; Fungoſo ſtreight intends a viſit there. Leave mee— 'Tis well, if this ſlander can but pull on murder upon him, or any of my ſervants, from Valenzo's hand, his head ſhall anſwer for't; I am his judge, (My power over the King makes mee ſo:) And he ſhall find mee cruell; then the fort is mine, In which his ſouldiers are in garriſon; This night the French, and Genowayes intend To ceize our emptie fleete, that rides i'th harbour; Thoſe men I have indear'd, — Mount, mount my ſoule, let no feare weigh thee downe. He ſtakes his life that thus caſts at a Crowne. This muſick'd dull, ſtrike higher, higher yet. Oh! oh! oh! I can hold no longer, furies, divels, oh! oh! What ailes our Phyſitian there? 'Tis an odde humour my Lord: any kinde of muſicke is leſſe pleaſing to him, than the voice of Mandrakes. Ceaſe there, your accents are diſtaſtfull. I am abus'd, groſſely abuſ'd, but i'le be reveng'd — Sir Your pardon. Riſe and proceed. As I was telling you, you muſt in every thing humour her; in each word, each action, the nature of her diſeaſe requires it, which yeelds not unto cure, till it be wrought up to'th height. Still ſuch a ſadneſſe Ladies dwell on your browes? truſt mee, it misbecomes you: ſhall's tread a luſty meaſure? I'me light, and active. But griefe is heavy. Thus wee'le ſhake it off, and thus. Pray, why de'e uſe mee ſo? you bind my armes, As if I meant to ſight, an they were looſe, Indeed I wo'not, truſt me, I'le kill no body. Pray unbind her. I never kill'd the pooreſt worme, or fly, Though 'twere againſt my will, but that I wept for't, And begg'd a pardon too, for ſure 'twas murder. Marry was it. Poore Lady, ſhe's diſtracted! Death on my fury, this ſight brands my beſt actions with a ſtaine too deepe for penitence to waſh away. This exceeds cruelty, they will not let mee eate; Looke I am pin'd almoſt to nothing. A meere skeleton. Had I but ſtrength enough to ſtruggle with heaven By prayer, I'de expiate their ſinnes, though they Continu'd to be cruell. Good Lady weepe not, for if you continue Theſe teares, my eyes will drop. Yes, yes, they will drop out, oh happineſſe! Would mine would do ſo too; they ſmart extreamly; Wer't not a curteſie, I thinke ere this y'had pull'd 'em forth. Lady, I ſay weepe not. I ſay, ben't you a coxcombe. Take away the foole, we are much indiſpos'd To laugh to day, good heaven, they flour my miſeries: 'Tis not well done, you may be ſicke your ſelves, Before you die; want one to bid God comfort, When I am dead. My Lord, a word— you are not priviledg'd To do men wrong: you have done me one, Pray take notice — Of what? S'life he won't challenge him. The old Lord's afraid on't. —How patient I am.