The Misfortunes of Arthur (Certain Devices and Shows Presented to Her Majesty) · chunk 2 of 35
Hughes, Thomas / Fulbecke, William · published 1587 · first performed or written 1588 [Feb 28] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 544 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
AND dares he after nine years space return, And see her face, whom he so long disdained? Was I then chose and wedded for his stale, To look and gape for his retireless sails, Puffed back, and flittering spread to every wind? O wrong content with no revenge: seek out Undared plagues, teach Mordred how to rage. Attempt some bloody dreadful, irksome fact, And such as Mordred would were rather his. Why stayest? it must be done: let bridle go, Frame out some trap beyond all vulgar guile, Beyond Medea's wiles: attempt some fact, That any wight unwieldy of herself, That any spouse unfaithful to her fere, Durst ever attempt in most despair of weal. Spare no revenge, beit poison, knife, or fire. Good madam, temper these outrageous moods, And let not will usurp, where wit should rule. The wrath, that breatheth blood, doth loathe to lurk. What reason most with holds, rage wrings perforce. I am disdained: so will I not be long: very hour, that he shall first arrive, last, that shall afford him life. seas, nor lands, nor wars abroad Sufficed for thy foil: yet shalt thou find Far worse at home: Thy deep displeased spouse. whate'er thou hast subdued in all thy stay, This hand shall now subdue: then stay thy fill. What's this? my mind recoils, and irks these threats: Anger delays, my grief gins to assuage, My fury faints, and sacred wedlocks faith Presents itself. Why shun'st thou fearful wrath? Add coals a fresh, preserve me to this venge. At lest exile thyself to realms unknown, And steal his wealth to help thy banished state, For flight is best. O base and heartless fear. Theft? exile? flight? all these may Fortune send Unsought: but thee beseems more high revenge. Come spiteful fiends, come heaps of furies fell, Not one, by one, but all at once: my breast Raves not enough: it likes me to be filled With greater monsters yet. My heart doth throb: My liver boils: some what my mind portends, Uncertain what: but whatsoever, it's huge. So it exceed, be what it will: it's well. Omit no plague, and none will be enough. Wrong cannot be revenged, but by excess. O spare this heat: you yield too much to rage, You're too unjust: is there no mean in wrong? Wrong claims a mean, when first you offer wrong. The mean is vain, when wrong is in revenge. Great harms cannot be hid, the grief is small, That can relieve advise, or rule itself. Hatred concealed doth often hap to hurt, But once professed, it oftener fails revenge. How better though, wert to repress your ire? A lady's best revenge is to forgive. What mean is in your hate? how much soe'er You can invent, or dare: so much you hate. And would you know what mean there is in hate? Call love to mind, and see what mean is there. My love, redoubled love, and constant faith Engaged unto Mordred works so deep: That both my heart and marrow quite be burnt, And sinews dried with force of wontless flames, Desire to joy him still, torments my mind: Fear of his want doth and a double grief. Lo here the love, that stirs this meanless hate.
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)
AND dares he after nine yeares space returne, And seé her face, whom he so long disdain'de? Was I then chose and wedded for his stale, To looke and gae for his retirelesse sayles, Puft backe, and flittering spread to euery winde? O wrong content with no reuenge: seeke out Undared plagues, teach Mordred how to rage. Attempt some bloodie dreadfull, irkesome fact, And such as Mordred would were rather his. Why stayest? it must be done: let bridle goe, Frame out some trap beyonde all vulgar guile, Beyonde Medea's wiles: attempt some fact, That any wight vnwildie of her selfe, That any spowse vnfaithfull to her phere, Durst euer attempt in most dispaire of weale. Spare no reuenge, b'it poyson, knyfe, or fire. Good Madame, temper these outragious moodes, And let not will vsurpe, where wit should rule. The wrath, that breatheth bloode, doth loath to lurke. What reason most with holdes, rage wringes perforce. I am disdainde: so will I not be long: , that he shall first arriue, shall aforde him life. lands, nor warres abrode Sufficed for thy foyle: yet shalt thou finde Farre woorse at home: Thy deépe displeased spowse. What e'r thou hast ubdude in all thy stay, This hand shall nowe subdue: then stay thy fill. What's this? my mind recoyls, and yrkes these threats: Anger delayes, my griefe gynnes to asswage, My furie faintes, and sacred wedlockes faith Presents it selfe. Why shunst thou fearefull wrath? Add coales a freshe, preserue me to this venge. At lest exyle thy selfe to realmes vnknowen, And steale his wealth to helpe thy banisht state, For flight is best. O base and hartlesse feare. Theft? exyle? flight? all these may Fortune sende Unsought: but thee beséemes more high reuenge. Come spitefull fiends, come heapes of furies fell, Not one, by one, but all at once: my breast Raues not inough: it likes me to be filde With greater monsters yet. My hart doth throbbe: My liuer boyles: some what my minde portendes, Uncertayne what: but whatsoeuer, it's huge. So it excéede, be what it will: it's well. Omit no plague, and none will be inough. Wrong cannot be reueng'd, but by excesse. O spare this heate: you yeélde too much to rage, Y'are too vniust: is there no meane in wrong? Wrong claymes a meane, when first you offer wronge. The meane is vaine, when wrong is in reuenge. Great harmes cannot be hidde, the griefe is small, That can reeaue aduise, or rule it selfe. Hatred concealde doth often happe to hurte, But once profest, it oftner failes reuenge. How better tho, wert to represse your yre? A Ladies best reuenge is to forgiue. What meane is in your hate? how much soe'r You can inuent, or dare: so much you hate. And would you knowe what meane there is in hate? Call loue to minde, and seé what meane is there. My loue, redoubled loue, and constant faith Engaged vnto Mordred workes so deépe: That both my hart and marrow quite be burnt, And synewes dried with force of woontlesse flames, Desire to ioy him still, torments my mynde: Feare of his want doth and a double griefe. Loe here the loue, that stirres this meanelesse hate.