Greene, Robert · published 1594 · first performed or written 1591 (Annals) romance · Queen Elizabeth's Men (on tour); Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men (in London) · before the Court T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.80 · 471 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Pardon my Lord, my loves are overpast, So firmly is Orlando printed in my thoughts, As love hath left no place for any else. Why overweening Damsel, seest thou not, Thy lawless love unto this straggling mate. Hath filled our Afrique Regions full of blood, And wilt thou still persever in thy love? Tush leave the Palatine, and go with me. Brave County know where sacred Love unites, The knot of gordian at the shrine of Ioue, Was never half so hard or intricate, As be the bands which lovely Venus ties. Sweet is my love: and for I love my Lord, Seek not unless as Alexander did, To cut the plough-swains traces with thy sword, Or slice the slender fillets of my life: Or else my Lord, Orlando must be mine. Stand I on love? Stoop I to Venus' lure, That never yet did fear the God of war? Shall men report that County Sacrepant Held lovers pains for pining passions? Shall such a Siren offer me more wrong, Than they did to the Prince of Ithaca? No: as he his cares, so County stop thine eye. Go to your needle (Lady) and your clouts. Go to such milksops as are fit for love: I will employ my busy brains for war, Let not my Lord's denial breed offence, Love doth allow her favours but to one, Nor can there sit within the sacred shrine Of Venus, more than one installed heart. Orlando is the Gentleman I love, And more than he may not enjoy my love. Damsel be gone, fancy hath taken leave; Where I took hurt there have I healed myself, As those that with Achilles' lance were wounded, Fetched help at self same pointed spear. Beauty 'gan brave, and beauty hath repulse: And Beauty get ye gone to your Orlando. My Lord: hath love amated him whose thoughts Have ever been heroical and brave? Stand you in dumps like to the Myrmidon, Trapped in the tresses of Polixena: Who amid the glory of his chivalry, Sat daunted with a maid of Asia. Thinkst thou my thoughts are lunacies of love? No, they are brands fired in Pluto's forge, Where sits Tisiphone tempering in flames Those torches that do set on fire Revenge, I loud the Dame, but braved by her repulse, Hate calls me on to quittance all my ills: Which first must come by offering prejudice Unto Orlando her beloved Love. O how may that be brought to pass my Lord? Thus. Thou seest that Medor & Angelica Are still so secret in their private walks, As that they trace the shady lawns, And thickest shadowed groves; Which well may breed suspicion of some love. Now than the French no Nation under heaven Is sooner touched with stings of jealousy. And what of that my Lord?
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Pardon my Lord, my loues are ouer-past, So firmly is Orlando printed in my thoughts, As left no place for anie else. Why ouer-weening Damsel, seest thou not, Thy lawlesse loue vnto this stragling mate. Hath fild our Affrick Regions full of bloud, And wilt thou still perseuer in thy loue? Tush leaue the Palatine, and goe with mee. Braue Countie know where sacred Loue vnites, The knot of Gordion at the shrine of Ioue, Was neuer halfe so hard or intricate, As be the bands which louely Venus ties. Sweete is my loue: and for I loue my Lord, Seek not vnlesse as Alexander did, To cut the plough-swaines traces with thy sword, Or slice the slender fillets of my life: Or else my Lord, Orlando must be mine. Stand I on loue? Stoop I to Venus lure, That neuer yet did feare the God of warre? Shall men report that Countie Sacrepant Held louers paines for pining passions? Shall such a Syren offer me more wrong, Than they did to the Prince of Ithaca? No: as he his cares, so Countie stop thine eye. Goe to your needle (Ladie) and your clouts. Goe to such milk-sops as are fit for loue: I will imploy my busie braines for warre, Let not my Lords deniall breed offence, Loue doth allow her fauors but to one, Nor can there sit within the sacred shrine Of Venus, more than one installed hart. Orlando is the Gentleman I loue, And more than he may not inioy my loue. Damsell be gone, fancie hath taken leaue; Where I tooke hurt there haue I heald my selfe, As those that with Achilles lance were wounded, Fetcht helpe at selfe same pointed speare. Beautie gan braue, and beautie hath repulse: And Beautie get ye gone to your Orlando. My Lord: hath loue amated him whose thoughts Haue euer been heroycall and braue? Stand you in dumpes like to the Mirmydon, Trapt in the tresses of Polixena: Who amid the glorie of his chiualrie, Sat daunted with a maid of Asia. Thinkst thou my thoghts are lunacies of loue? No, they are brands fierd in Plutoes forge, Where sits Tsiphone tempring in flames Those torches that doo set on fire Reuenge, I lovd the Dame, but bravd by her repulse, Hate calls me on to quittance all my ills: Which first must come by offring preiudice Vnto Orlando her beloued Loue. O how may that be brought to passe my Lord? Thus. Thou seest that Medor & Angelica Are still so secret in their priuate walkes, As that they trace the shadie lawndes, And thickest shadowed groues; Which well may breed suspition of some loue. Now than the French no Nation vnder heauen Is sooner tutcht with stings of iealozie. And what of that my Lord?