Sicily and Naples, or The Fatal Union · chunk 38 of 38
Harding, Samuel · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 515 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
'Tis poor revenge this, can he not live again? Start up from th'earth with life, and double strength? Were't centupled I'd meet him:— but oh my eyes! Look here Valenzo: which is Prince, which subject, Which is my loved Ferrando? I see there is No ceremonious state, no pomp in death; They all lie level, all quiet, the bad as well As the good, why should this traitor here This devilish arch, arch-traitor lie as silent As his Lord? should he not stare, and foam, Start up and howl, till he wakes all the dead? Lady: Her old passion returns again. Roar, and curse heavens, But they too have forgot to punish sinners, And reward virtue, here's an example on't; We were both virtuous, and deserved not this Bad usage; let me embrace thee:— Cold as the earth he lies on, and as dull too: Where is the soul, that busy flame that lent Him life and motion? affected such vain pomp And glorious noise: whither is't fled? poor liveless trunk, It was unkindly done to leave thee thus, A prey to worms and rottenness. Are you there fury, Megaera, Tisiphone, Allecto, Howle, howl, furies, I'll lash you. Kind death thouart welcome; I kiss thy dart. The Princess! she's slain, unlucky hand. Spite of our stars, and all rude opposition, We are one in death: Valenzo see us interred, Both in one tomb, that we may mingle ashes And be securely lodged, you know our souls Were one; our hearts were long united. A FATAL UNION. Draw, draw the curtains there, my love and I Must sleep;— uncivil I protest, put out the lights, We shall sleep best i'th' dark; pray don't disturb us, You may fright him from mine arms,— but— I'll— hold— him— fast. The ruined treasure of two Kingdoms In one heap. In the bedchamber! this way! Yes Lady, the cry was full of horror. 'Twas the physician's potion this my Lord. Done in revenge. Would 'thad been poison. Bless me! whence all these tragedies. Astonishment seizes me. The King: Ursini dead. ha! whom have we here, Frederico, Yes, and Felicia too. All slain; by what dire hand? I'll tell you that within.— Charintha is your Queen. May you be happy in her love. Remove the bodies, i'th' morning we will take order for the state, and funeral rites. Of these; the lasting story of whose wrongs Shall be all royal lover's evening songs. AFter these ruins, thus your Poet stands, Expecting his own destiny from your hands, By them he lives or dies; if it should hap That stead of a mild doom, applause or clap. (Your trivial allowance) his listening ears Meet with harsh whispers, or half stifled jeers, Such unkind censure kills him; his sad Muse unless you give her bay, has vowed to use The Cypress wreathes, her piety did allow Those only to encircle her own brow: Your candid acceptation will be New life and soul to his lost Poesy; His flame's but sickly yet, your breath no doubt Will either blow't up higher, or quite out.
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)
'Tis poore revenge this, can he not live againe? Start up from th'earth with life, and double ſtrength? Wer't centupled I'de meete him: —but oh my eyes! Looke here Valenzo: which is Prince, which ſubject, Which is my lov'd Ferrando? I ſee there is No ceremonious ſtate, no pompe in death; They all lye levell, all quiet, the bad as well As the good, why ſhould this traytour here This divelliſh arch, arch-traytour lye as ſilent As his Lord? ſhould he not ſtare, and foame, Start up and howle, till he wakes all the dead? Lady: Her old paſſion returnes againe. —Roare, and curſe heavens, But they too have forgot to puniſh ſinners, And reward vertue, here's an example on't; We were both vertuous, and deſerv'd not this Bad uſage; let mee embrace thee: — Cold as the earth he lyes on, and as dull too: Where is the ſoule, that buſie flame that lent Him life and motion? affected ſuch vaine pompe And glorious noyſe: whither is't fled? poore liveleſſe trunke, It was unkindly done to leave thee thus, A prey to wormes and rottenneſſe. Are you there fury, Megaera, Tiſiphone, Alecto, Howle, howle, furies, I'le laſh you. Kind death th'art welcome; I kiſſe thy dart. The Princeſſe! ſhe's ſlaine, unluckie hand. Spight of our ſtarres, and all rude oppoſition, We are one in death: Valenzo ſee us interr'd, Both in one tombe, that we may mingle aſhes And be ſecurely lodg'd, you know our ſoules Were one; our hearts were long united. A FATALL UNION. Draw, draw the curteines there, my love and I Muſt ſleepe; — uncivill I proteſt, put out the lights, We ſhall ſleepe beſt i'th darke; pray don't diſturbe us, You may fright him from mine armes, —but — I'le — hold — him — faſt. The ruin'd treaſure of two Kingdomes In one heape. In the bed-chamber! this way! Yes Lady, the cry was full of horrour. 'Twas the Phyſitians potion this my Lord. Done in revenge. Would 'thad bin poyſon. Bleſſe mee! whence all theſe tragedies. Aſtoniſhment ceizes mee. The King: Ʋrſini dead. ha! whom have we here, Frederico, Yes, and Felicia too. All ſlaine; by what dire hand? I'le tell you that within.— Charintha is your Queene. May you be happy in her love. Remove the bodies, i'th morning we will take order for the ſtate, and funerall rites. Of theſe; the laſting ſtory of whoſe wrongs Shall be all royall lovers evening ſongs. AFter theſe ruines, thus your Poët ſtands, Expecting his owne deſtiny from your hands, By them he lives or dies; if it ſhould hap That ſtead of a mild doome, applauſe or clap. (Your triviall allowance) his liſtening eares Meete with harſh whiſpers, or halfe ſtifled jeeres, Such unkinde cenſure kils him; his ſad Muſe Ʋnleſſe you give her bay, has vow'd to uſe The Cypreſſe wreathes, her pietie did allow Thoſe onely to incircle her owne brow: Your candid acceptation will be New life and ſoule to his loſt Poeſie; His flame's but ſicklie yet, your breath no doubt Will either blow't up higher, or quite out.