Jack Drum's Entertainment (Katherine and Pasquil) · chunk 18 of 32
Marston, John · published 1601 · first performed or written 1600 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Tut rail not at me, turn your eye upon the leprosy of your own judgement, loathe it, hate it, scorn it, and love this young Gentleman, who is a Fool in nothing but in loving thee: mad in nothing but affecting thee: and cursed in eternity if he marry thee. Sir you ha' spoke exceeding pleasingly, For which I love you, as I love a dull dead eye. Brabant I do conjure thee Court not me, Do not presume to love or fancy me. How not presume to love or fancy you? Heart, I will love you, by this light I will Whether you will or no, I'll love you still. Spite of your teeth I will your love pursue, I will by heaven, and so sweet soul adieu. Farewell, and never view my face again. Hark you fair Winifrid, sweet gentle maid, I have but feigned with you all this while, I dote upon the sweet Camelia, And if your favour will but second me, I vow when I shall wed Camelia, To endow you with a hundred pound a year, And what I have shall stand at your command. Sir I will undertake to forward your fair love, So you'll remember what you here do vow. If I forget it, heaven forget me: Do you but praise me, let not her once know I love, or do affect her for the world. Well fear no rubs, farewell fair bounteous Sir. It works, it works, magnificent delight, Laughter, triumph, for ere the Sun go down, Thy forehead shall be wreathed, with pleasure's crown. Now my kind Page, canst thou nor hear, nor see, Which way my Katherine hath bent her steps? Sir I can. What canst thou my sweet Page? What canst thou Boy? Oh how my soul doth burn in longing hope, And hangs upon thy lips for pleasing news. Sir I can tell ye. What? o how my heart doth quake & throb with fear. Sir I can tell you nothing of her in good faith. Oh thou hast tortured me with lingering hope, Go haste away, fly from the pestilence Of my contagious grief, it will infect thee boy, Murder thy youth, and poison thy life's joy. Run search out Katherine, in her eyes dwell Heavens of joy; but in Pasquil hell. Oh thou omnipotent, infinity, Crack not the sinews of my patience With racking torment: Insist not thus to scourge My tender youth with sharp affliction, If I do love that glory of thy hand, That rich Idea of perfection, With any lustful or profane intent, Crossed be my love, murdered be all my hopes: But if with chaste and virtuous arm I clip The rarest model of thy workmanship, Be then propitious: o eternal light, And bless my fortunes, maugre hellish spite. Black sorrow, nurse of plaints, of tears, & groans, Evaporate my spirit with a sigh, That it may hurry after his sweet breath, Who made thee dote on life, now hunt for death.
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)
Tut raile not at me, turn your eie vpō the leprosie of your own iudgement, loath it, hate it, scorn it, and loue this yong Gentleman, who is a Foole in nothing but in louing thee: madde in nothing but affecting thee: and curst in eternitie if he marry thee. Sir you ha spoke exceeding pleasingly, For which I loue you, as I loue a dull dead eye. Brabant I do coniure thee Court not mee, Do not presume to loue or fancie mee. How not presume to loue or fancie you? Hart, I will loue you, by this light I will Whether you will or no, I'le loue you still. Spight of your teeth I will your loue pursue, I will by heauen, and so sweet soule adieu. Farewell, and neuer view my face againe. Harke you faire Winifride, sweet gentle maide, I haue but fained with you all this while, I doate vpon the sweet Camelia, And if your fauour will but second me, I vowe when I shall wed Camelia, To indowe you with a hundred pound a yeare, And what I haue shall stand at your commaund. Sir I wil vndertake to forward your faire loue, So you'le remember what you here do vowe. If I forget it, heauen forget mee: Do you but praise me, let not her once know I loue, or do affect her for the world. Well feare no rubbes, farwell faire bounteous Sir. It workes, it workes, magnificent delight, Laughter, triumph, for ere the Sume godowne, Thy forehead shall be wreath'd, with pleasures crowne. Now my kinde Page, canst thou nor heare, nor see, Which way my Katherine hath bent her steppes? Sir I can. What canst thou my sweet Page? What canst thou Boy? Oh how my soule doth burne in longing hope, And hangs vpon thy lippes for pleasing newes. Sir I can tell ye. What▪ ô how my hart doth quake & throb with feare. Sir I can tell you nothing of her in good faith. Oh thou hast tortur'de me with lingring hope, Go haste away, flie from the pestilence Of my contagious griefe, it will infect thee boy, Murder thy youth, and poison thy lifes ioy. Run search out Katherine, in her eies dwell Heauens of ioy; but in Pasquil hell. Oh thou omnipotent, infinitie, Crack not the sinewes of my patience With racking torment: Insist not thus to scourge My tender youth with sharpe affliction, If I do loue that glorie of thy hand, That rich Idea of perfection, With any lustfull or prophane intent, Crost be my loue, murdred be all my hopes: But if with chaste and vertuous arme I clip The rarest modell of thy workemanship, Be then propitious: ô eternall light, And blesse my fortunes, maugre hellish spight. Black sorrow, nurse of plaints, of teares, & grones, Evaporate my spirit with a sigh, That it may hurrey after his sweete breath, Who made thee doate on life, now hunt for death.