Master Arden of Faversham in Kent · chunk 21 of 40
Anonymous / Kyd, Thomas / Shakespeare, William / Watson, Thomas · published 1592 · first performed or written 1591 [1588-1592] (Annals) tragedy · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 471 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
But whither doth contemplation carry me. The way I seek to find where pleasure dwells, Is hedged behind me that I cannot back, But needs must on, although to danger's gate: Then Arden perish thou by that decree. For Green doth err the land and weed thee up, To make my harvest nothing but pure corn. And for his pains I'll heave him up a while, And after smother him to have his wax. Such bees as Green, must never live to sting. Then is there Michael and the Painter to, Chief actors to Arden's overthrow: Who when they shall see me sit in Arden's seat, They will insult upon me for my meed, Or fright me by detecting of his end. He none of that, for I can cast a bone, To make these curs pluck out each others throat, And then am I sole ruler of mine own: Yet mistress Arden lives, but she's myself, And holy Church rites makes us two, but one, But what for that I may not trust you Alice, You have supplanted Arden for my sake, And will extirpen me to plant another: 'tis fearful sleeping in a serpent's bed. And I will cleanly rid my hands of her. But here she comes and I must flatter her. How now Alice? what sad, and passionate? Make me partaker of thy pensiveness: Fire divided burns with lesser force. But I will damn that fire in my breast. Till by the force thereof, my part consume, ah Mosbie. Such deep pathaires like to a cannon's burst, discharged against a ruinated wall, Breaks my relenting heart in thousand pieces, Ungentle Alice thy sorrow is my sore, Thou know'st it well, and 'tis thy policy, To forge distressful looks, to wound a breast, Where lies a heart, that dies where thou art sad, It is not love, that loves to anger love. It is not love, that loves to murder love. How mean you that? Thou knowest how dearly Arden loved me. And then. And then conceal the rest, for 'tis too bad, lest that my words be carried with the wind. And published in the world to both our shames, I pray thee Mosby let our spring-time wither, Our harvest else will yield but loathsome weeds. Forget I pray thee what hath passed betwixt us, For now I blush and tremble at the thoughts, What are you changed? I to my former happy life again. From title of an odious strumpet's name, To honest Arden's wife, not Arden's honest wife, Ha Mosby 'tis thou hast rifled me of that, And made me slanderous to all my kin: Even in my forehead is thy name engraven, A mean artificer, that low borne name, I was bewitched, woe worth the hapless hour, And all the causes that enchanted me:
seed 43: T2 · 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 whether doeth contemplation carry me. The way I seeke to finde where pleasure dwels, Is hedged behinde me that I cannot back, But needs must on, although to dangers gate: Then Arden perish thou by that decre. For Greene doth erre the land and weede thée vp, To make my haruest nothing but pure corne. And for his paines Ile heaue him vp a while, And aftersmother him to haue his waxe. Such bees as Greene, must neuer liue to sting. Then is there Michael and the Painter to, Chrefe actors to Ardens overthrow: Who when they shall see me sit in Ardens seat, They wil insult upon me for my mede, Or fright me by detecting of his end. He none of that, for I can cast a bone, To make these curres pluck out each others throat, And then am I sole ruler of mine owne: Yet mistres Arden liues, but she's my selfe, And holy Churchrites makes vs two, but one, But what for that I may not trust you Ales, You have supplanted Arden for my sake, And will extirpen me to plant another: Tis feareful sleeping in a serpents bed. And I wil cleanely rid my hands of her. But here she comes and I must flatter her. How now Ales? what sad, and passionat? Make me pertaker of thy pensiuenes: Fyre deuided burnes with lesser force. But I will damne that fire in my breast. Till by the force therof, my part consume, ah Mosbie. Such depe pathaires lyke to a cannons burst, Dischargde against a ruinated wall, Breakes my relenting hart in thousand pieces, Ungentle Ales thy sorrow is my sore, Thou knowst it wel, and tis thy pollicy, To forge distressefull looks, to wound a breast, Where lyes a hart, that dies where thou art sad, It is not loue, that loues to anger loue. It is not loue, that loues to murther loue. How meane you that? Thou knowest how dearly Arden loued me. And then. And then conceale the rest, for tis too bad, Least that my words be carried with the wind. And publisht in the world to both our shames, I pray thée Mosbye let our springtime wither, Our harvest els will yeald but lothsome weedes. Forget I pray thée what hath past betwix vs, For now I blushe and tremble at the thoughts, What are you changde? I to my former happy lyfe againe. From tytle of an odious strumpets name, To honest Ardens wife, not Ardens honest wife, Ha Mosbye tis thou hast rifled me of that, And made me slaundrous to all my kin: Euen in my forehead is thy name ingraueu, Ameane Artifiecer, that lowe borne name, I was bewitched, woe worth the haples howre, And all the causes that inchaunted me: