Heywood, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [1592-1599] (Annals) history · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 539 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
My soueraigne Lord with patience beare her spl Your princely mother's zeal is like a river, That from the free abundance of the waters, Breaks out into this inundation, From her abundant care this rage proceeds, O'er swollen with the extremity of love. My Lord, my Lord, avoid a woman's humour, If you resist this tumour of her will, Here you shall have her dwell upon this passion, Until she lade and dull our ears again: Seem you but sorry for what you have done, And straight she'll put the finger in the eye, With comfort now, since it cannot be helped: But make you show to justify the act If ever other language in her lips, Then out upon it, it is abominable, I dare be hanged, Say any thing it makes no matter what, Than thus be wearied with a woman's chat. ay, ay, you are the spaniels of the Court, And thus you fawn and soothe your wanton king, But Edward hadst thou prizde thy maicie, Thou never wouldst have stained thy princely state, with the base leavings of a subjects bed: Nor borne the blemish of her Bigamy. A widow, is't not a goodly thing? Gray's children come ask blessing of the King. Nay I beseech your Grace my Lady York, Even as you are a Princess and a widow, Think not so meanly of my widowhood, A spotless virgin came I first to Grey, With him I lived a true and faithful wife: And since his high imperial majesty, Hath pleased to bless my poor dejected state With the high Sovereign title of his Queen, I here protest before the host of heaven, I came as chaste a widow to his bed, As when a virgin I to Grey was wed. Come, come have done, now have you chid enough, God's foot, we were as merry ere she came, as any people in Christendom, I with the mistress, and these with the maids: only we have no fiddlers at our feast, but mother you have made a fit of mirth: welcome to Grafton mother, by my troth you are even just come as I wished you here, let us go to supper, and in Charity give us your blessing ere we go to Bed. O Edward, Edward, fly and leave this place, Wherein poor Gllie King thou art enchanted, This is her dam of Bedford's work her mother, That hath bewitched thee Edward my poor child, Dishonour not the Princes of thy land, To make the them kneel with reverence at her feet, That ere thou dost empale with sovereignty, They would have scorned to have looked upon, There's no such difference twixt the greatest Peer, And the poor silliest kitchen maid that lives, Als bet wirt thy worthines and hers. I do confess it, yet my Lady York, M mother is a duchesse as you are, A Princess borne, the Duke of Bedford's wife, And as you know, a daughter and a sister, Unto the royal blood of Burgundie. But you cannot so basely think on me, As I do think of these vain worldly titles, God from soul my sin as far divide. As I am far from boasting in this pride,
seed 43: T40 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My soueraigne Lord with patience beare her spl Your princely mothers zeale is like a riuer, That from the free aboundance of the waters, Breakes out into this inundation, From her aboundant care this rage proceeds, O'er swolne with the extremitie of loue. My Lord, my Lord, auoid a womans humor, If you resist this tumor of her will, Here you shall haue her dwell vpon this passion, Untill she lade and dull our eares againe: Séeme you but sorie for what you haue done, And straight shéele put the finger in the ee, With comfort now, since it cannot be helpt: But make you shew to iustifie the act If euer other language in her lips, Then out vpon it, it is abhominable, I dare be hangde, Say any thing it makes no matter what, Then thus be wearied with a womans chat. I, I, you are the spamels of the Court, And thus you sawn and sooth your wantn king, But Edward hadst thou prizde thy maicie, Thou neuer wouldst haue staind thy princely state, with the base leauings of a subiects bed: Nor borne the blemish of her Bigamie. A widow, ist not a goodly thing? Grayes children come aske blessing of the King. Nay I beséech your Grace my Lady York, Euen as you are a Princesse and a widow, Thinke not so meanely of my widowhood, A spotlesse virgin came I first to Gray, With him I ude a true and faithfull wife: And since his hie emperiall maiestie, Hath please to blesse my poore deled state With the high Soueraigne title of his Quéene, I here protest before the host of heauen, I came as chasse a widow to his bed, As when a virgin to Gray was wed. Come, come haue done, nw haue you chd nough, Gds ote, we were as merie ere she came, as any people in Chrstendome, I with the mists, and these with the maes: onely wee haue no fidlers at our feast, but mother you haue mde a sit of mirth: welcome to Grafton mother, by my troth you are euen ust come as I wished you here, let vs go to supper, and in Charitie giue vs your blessing ere we go to Bedde. O Edward, Edward, stic and leaue this place, Wherein poore Gllie King thou art inchanted, This is her dm of Bedtords worke her mother, That hath be wtcht thée Edwad my poore childe, Dhonour not the Princes of thy land, To make the kneele with reuerence at her féete, That ere thou dlst epale with soueraintie, The would haue scorned to haue looked vpon, Teres no such differene twixt the greatest Péere, And the poore sillst kitching maide that liues, Als bet wirt thy worthines and hers. I do confesse it, yet my Ladie Yorke, M mother is a duchesse as you are, A Princesse borne, the Duke of Bedfords wie, And as you no, a daughter and a sister, Uto the royall bloud of Burgundie. But you cannot so basely thinke on me, As I do thinke of these vaine worldly titles, God fro soule my sinne as farre dcuide. As I am farre rom boasting in this pride,