Master Arden of Faversham in Kent · chunk 22 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 · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Nay if thou ban, let me breathe curses forth, And if you stand so nicely at your fame: Let me repent the credit I have lost, I have neglected matters of import, That would have stated me above thy state: forslowed advantages, and spurned at time. I Fortune's right hand Mosbie hath forsooth, To take a wanton giglot by the lest. I left the Marriage of a honest maid, Whose dowry would have weighed down all thy wealth, Whose beauty and demeanour far exceeded thee. This certain good I lost for changing bad, And wrapped my credit in thy company. I was bewitched, that is no theme of thine, And thou unhallowed hast enchanted me: But I will break thy spells, and exorcisms, And put another sight upon these eyes, That showed my heart, a raven for a dove. Thou art not fair, I viewed thee not till now, Thou art not kind, till now I knew thee not. And now the rain hath beaten of thy gilt, Thy worthless copper shows thee counterfeit. It grieves me not to see how foul thou art, But mads me that ever I thought thee fair, Go get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hinds. I am too good to be thy favourite. I now I see, and too soon find it true, Which often hath been told me by my friends: That Mosbie loves me not but for my wealth, Which too incredulous I near believed. Nay hear me speak Mosbie a word or two, I'll bite my tongue, if it speak bitterly: Look on me Mosby, or I'll kill myself, Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy look: If thou cry war, there is no peace for me I will do penance for offending thee, And burn this prayer book, where I here use, The holy word that had converted me, See Mosbie I will tear away the leaves. And all the leaves, and in this golden cover, Shall thy sweet phrases, and thy letters dwell, And thereon will I chiefly meditate, And hold no other sect, but such devotion, Wilt thou not look? is all thy love overwhelmed? Wilt thou not hear? what malice stops thine ears? Why speaks thou not? what silence ties thy tongue? Thou hast been sighted, as the eagle is, And heard as quickly as the fearful hare: And spoke as smoothly as an orator. When I have bid thee hear, or see, or speak. And art thou sensible in none of these? Weigh all thy good turns, with this little fault, And I deserve not Mosby's muddy looks. A fence of trouble is not thickened still, Be clear again, I'll near more trouble thee, O no, I am a base artificer, My wings are feathered for a lowly sight, Mosby fie no, not for a thousand pound, Make love to you, why 'tis unpardonable, We beggars must not breathe where gentiles are.
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)
Nay if thou ban, let me breath curses forth, And if you stand so nicely at your fame: Let me repent the credit I have lost, I have neglected matters of import, That would haue stated me aboue thy state: Forslowde aduantages, and spurnd at time. I Fortunes right hand▪ Mosbie hath forsoohe, To take a wanton gilote by the lest. I left the Mariage of n honest maid, VVhose dowry would haue weyed down all thy wealth, VVhose beauty and demianor farre exceeded thee. This certaine good I lost for changing bad, And wrapt my credit in thy company. I was bewitcht, that is no theame of thine, And thou vnhallowed hast enchaunted me: But I will breake thyspels, and excirsimes, And put another sight vpon these eyes, That shewed my hart, a rauen for a dowe. Thou art not faire, I vieud thee not till now, Thou art not kinde, till now I knew the not. And now the raine hath beaten of thy gilt, Thy worthles copper showes thee conterset. It grieues me not to see how foull thou art, But maddes me that euer I thought thee faire, Go get thée gone, a copesmate for thy hyndes. I am too good to be thy fauorite. I now I see, and too soone find it trew, Which often hath béene tould me by my fréends: That Mosbie loues me not but for my wealth, Which too incredulus I nere beleeued. Nay heare me speake Mosbie a word or two, Ile byte my tongue, if it speake bitterly: Looke on me Mosby, or Ile kill my selfe, Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy looke: If thou cry warre, there is no peace for me I will do pennance for offending thee, And burne this prayer booke, where I here vse, The holy word that had conuerted me, See Mosbie I will teare away the leaues. And al the leaues, and in this golden couer, Shall thy sweete phrases, and thy letters dwell, And thereon will I chiefly meditate, And hould no other sect, but such deuotion, Wilt thou not looke? is all thy loue ouerwhelmde? Wilt thou not heare? what malice stopes thine eares? Why speaks thou not? what silence ties thy tongue? Thou hast bene sighted, as the eagle is, And heard as quickly as the fearefull hare: And spoke as smoothly as an orator. When I haue bid thee heare, or sée, or speak. And art thou sensible in none of these? Waigh all thy good turns, with this little fault, And I deserue not Mosbies muddy lookes. A fence of trouble is not thickned still, Be cleare againe, Ile nere more trouble thée, O no, I am a base artificer, My winges are feathred for a lowly sight, Mosby fy no, not for a thousand pound, Make loue to you, why tis vnpardonable, We beggers must not breath where gentiles are.