A Looking Glass for London and England · chunk 10 of 39
Lodge, Thomas / Greene, Robert · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1588] (Annals) biblical play; moral · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Thou hast confirmed my doubts kind Radagon. Now open ye folds where Queen of favour sits, Carrying a Net within her curled locks, Wherein the Graces are entangled oft: Open like th'imperial gates where Phoebus sits, When as he means to woo his Clitia. Necternall Cares, ye blemishers of bliss, Cloud not mine eyes whilst I behold her face. Remilia my delight, she answereth not. How pale? as if bereaved in fatal méedes, The balmy breath hath left her bosom quite, My Hesperus by cloudy death is blended, Villains away, fetch Sircopes of the Ind, Fetch Balsomo the kind preserve of life, Fetch wine of Greece, fetch oils, fetch herbs, fetch all To fetch her life, or I will faint and die. Herbs, Oils of Ind, alas there nought prevails. Shut are the day-bright eyes, that made me see, Locked are the gems of joy in dens of death, Yet triumph I on fate, and he on her. Malicious mistress of inconstancy, Dammed be thy name, that hast obscured my joy, Kings, Uiceroyes, Princes, rear a royal tomb For my Remilia, bear her from my sight, Whilst I in tears, weep for Remilia. What maketh Rasni moody? Loss of one? As if no more were left so fair as she? Behold a dainty minion for the nonce, Fair Aluida the Paphlagonian Queen, Woo her, and leave this weeping for the dead. What woo my subjects wife that honoureth me? Tut Kings this meum tuum should not know. Is she not fair? Is not her husband hence? Hold, take her at the hands of Radagon. A pretty peat to drive your mourn away. She smiles on me, I see she is mine own. Wilt thou be Rasnes royal Paramour? She blushing yields consent, make no dispute: The King is sad, and must be gladded strait. Let Paphlagonian King go mourn meanwhile. Pride hath his judgement, London look about, 'tis not enough in show to be devout, A Fury now from heaven to lands unknown, Hath made the Prophet speak, not to his own, The wantoness fly, this pride and vain attire, The seals to set your tender hearts on fire. Be faithful in the promise you have past, Else Cod will plague and punish at the last. When lust is hid in shroud of wretched life, When craft doth dwell in bed of married wife. Mark but the Prophets, we that shortly shows, After death expect for many woes. I need not sir discourse unto you the duty of Lawyers in tendering the right cause of their Clients, nor the conscience you are tied unto by higher command. Therefore suffice the Usurer hath done me wrong, you know the Case, and good sir, I have strained myself to give you your fees. Sir if I should any way neglect so manifest a truth, I were to be accused of open perjury, for the case is evident.
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)
Thou hast confirmd my doubts kinde Radagon. Now ope ye foldes where Quéene of fauour sits, Carrying a Net within her curled locks, Wherein the Graces are entangled oft: Ope like th'imperiall gates where Phoebus sits, When as he meanes to wooe his Clitia. Necternall Cares, ye blemishers of blisse, Cloud not mine eyes whilst I behold her face. Remilia my delight, she answereth not. How pale? as if bereau'd in fatall méedes, The balmy breath hath left her bosome quite, My Hesperus by cloudie death is blent, Uillaines away, fetch Sircopes of the Inde, Fetch Balsomo the kind preserue of life, Fetch wine of Greece, fetch oiles, fetch herbes, fetch all To fetch her life, or I will faint and die. Herbes, Oyles of Inde, alasse there nought preuailes. Shut are the day-bright eyes, that made me sée, Lockt are the Iems of ioy in dens of death, Yet triumph I on fate, and he on her. Malicious mistresse of inconstancie, Damd be thy name, that hast obscur'd my ioy, Kings, Uiceroyes, Princes, reare a royall tombe For my Remilia, beare her from my sight, Whilst I in teares, wéepe for Remilia. What maketh Rasni moodie? Losse of one? As if no more were left so faire as she? Behold a daintie minion for the nonce, Faire Aluida the Paphlagonian Quéene, Wooe her, and leaue this wéeping for the dead. What wooe my subiects wife that honoreth me? Tut Kings this meum tuum should not know. Is she not faire? Is not her husband hence? Hold, take her at the hands of Radagon. A prittie peate to driue your mourne away. She smiles on me, I sée she is mine owne. Wilt thou be Rasnes royall Paramour? She blushing yéelds concent, make no dispute: The King is sad, and must be gladded straight. Let Paphlagonian King go mourne meane-while. Pride hath his iudgement, London looke about, Tis not inough in shovv to be deuout, A Furie novv from heauen to lands vnknovvne, Hath made the Prophet speake, not to his ovvne, The wantons flie, this pride and vaine attire, The seales to set your tender hearts on fire. Be faithfull in the promise you haue past, Else Cod will plague and punish at the last. When lust is hid in shroude of wretched life, When craft doth dwell in bed of married wife. Marke but the Prophets, we that shortly showes, After death exspect for many woes. I need not sir discourse vnto you the dutie of Lawiers in tendering the right cause of their Clients, nor the conscience you are tied vnto by higher command. Therefore suffise the Usurer hath done me wrong, you know the Case, and good sir, I haue strained my selfe to giue you your fées. Sir if I should any way neglect so manifest a truth, I were to be accused of open periury, for the case is euident.