Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
We must disarm you Lady;— 'tis a duty to our Prince Was never till now unwillingly performed! You must back toth' Court, whither we'll wait upon you. villains, cowards, The Princess! what made she abroad so late? Did she not say that she had killed the King too? Come let's walk the round; things are yet unsettled. 'Tis so dark now, an the devil should lie perdieu I should go near to stumble on's horns. Too much of this sad story, Oh these men How are they degenerate from the goodness Of their creation! they have been always false— Silly as we are, We know it; their vows and oaths are traitors To us, and yet we hug them, let them into our bosoms, Into our hearts, till they undo us? But madam, why d'ye desire us to leave you? Fear you not his fury, what it may prompt him too, When he shall see you are not his Calantha. He never was acquainted with that passion, He's violent in nothing,— But in love. And yet he may dissemble that too As well as his vows. Should he? were his hand Lift up to strike me, I can charm it there! Who can look on a lady's bended knees, Wet cheeks, swollen eyes, hear her sighs, her prayers, And yet be cruel: If there be one that can, That one is not Ferrando; his bosom is Passable to every groan; it strikes his heart: He would tell me (when he was absent) If I sigh't, or wept, for then he said He wept and sighed by sympathy. Yet now he loves you not. Can he not love himself? here, here I bear him, Himself in a less model, this I'll show him, If he mistrust 'tis none of his; let him But rip me up, there he shall see each limb As like to his, as his one hand, one eye, One cheek is like the other: besides there lies Folded by his own name, he told me he Would call it so, (Ferrando,) and lest I Should chance forget, I wrote it in my heart, There he will find it. Good Lady! 'tis a sad nuptial night, this, I'll tell him too how he Would grieve if I were dead, go hanging down His head, vailing his eyes from heaven, ashamed To look up to the place, where his Felicia is: Or poring on the ground, as he would find Where my neglected ashes lay a sport To th' winds; where some rude blast might blow me up Into his eyes, and then he'd weep to find, Me there; weep till the fretting brine had burned His eyeballs out. He told me of his dreams, what pleasure he Had to find me in 'em: alas they will Be terrible now: I shall affright him, appear A thin pale ghost, make him start out in his sleep; (Alas! I will not) yet he'll dream he heard me. Cry out, Ferrando! revenge upon Ferrando: This cannot choose but startle him.—
seed 43: T14 · seed 44: T9 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
We muſt diſarme you Lady; — t'is a duty to our Prince Was never till now unwillingly perform'd! You muſt backe to'th Court, whither we'le waite upon you. Villaines, cowards, The Princeſſe! what made ſhee abroad ſo late? Did ſhe not ſay that ſhee had kill'd the King too? Come let's walke the round; things are yet unſetled. 'Tis ſo darke now, an the divell ſhould lye perdieu I ſhould go neere to ſtumble on's hornes. Too much of this ſad ſtory, Oh theſe men How are they degenerate from the goodneſſe Of their creation! they have beene alwaies falſe — Silly as we are, We know it; their vowes and othes are traytours To us, and yet we hugge them, let them into our boſomes, Into our hearts, till they undoe us? But Madame, why do'e deſire us to leave you? Fear you not his fury, what it may prompt him too, When he ſhall ſee you are not his Calantha. He never was acquainted with that paſſion, He's violent in nothing, — But in love. And yet he may diſſemble that too As well as his vowes. Should hee? were his hand Lift up to ſtrike mee, I can charme it there! Who can looke on a Ladies bended knees, Wet cheekes, ſwolne eyes, heare her ſighs, her prayers, And yet be cruell: If there be one that can, That one is not Ferrando; his boſome is Paſſable to every grone; it ſtrikes his heart: He would tell mee (when he was abſent) If I ſigh't, or wept, for then he ſaid He wept and ſigh'd by ſympathy. Yet now he loves you not. Can hee not love himſelfe? here, here I beare him, Himſelfe in a leſſe modell, this I'le ſhew him, If he miſtruſt t'is none of his; let him But rip mee up, there he ſhall ſee each limbe As like to his, as his one hand, one eye, One cheeke is like the other: beſides there lyes Folded by his owne name, he told mee hee Would call it ſo, (Ferrando,) and leſt I Should chance forget, I wrote it in my heart, There he will finde it. Good Lady! T'is a ſad nuptiall night, this, I'le tell him too how hee Would grieve if I were dead, goe hanging downe His head, vailing his eyes from heaven, aſham'd To looke up to the place, where his Felicia is: Or poring on the ground, as he would finde Where my neglected aſhes lay a ſport To th' windes; where ſome rude blaſt might blow mee up Into his eyes, and then hee'd weepe to finde, Mee there; weepe till the fretting brine had burn'd His eye-bals out. He told mee of his dreames, what pleaſure hee Had to finde me in 'em: alas they will Be terrible now: I ſhall affright him, appeare A thin pale ghoſt, make him ſtart out in his ſleepe; (Alas! I will not) yet he'le dreame he heard mee. Cry out, Ferrando! revenge upon Ferrando: This cannot chuſe but ſtartle him. —