Yarington, Robert · published 1601 · first performed or written 1594 [1594-c.1598] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
One that did kindle my misdoubting thoughts, With the large flame of his timidity. Oh then I know the tinder of your fear, Was young Allenso your white honey son: Confusion light upon his timorous head, For broaching this large stream of fearfulness, And all the plagues that damned furies feel, For their forepast bold iniquities: Afflict you both for thus preventing me. Preventing you, of what, Fallerio speak, For if you do not, my poor heart will break. Why of the good that I had purposed, To young Pertillo, which I would conceal, From you, and him, until the deed were done. If it were good, than we affect him dear, And would add furtherance to your enterprise. I say your close eavesdropping policies, Have hindered him of greater benefits, Than I can ever do him after this: If he live long, and grow to riper sin, he'll curse you both, that thus have hindered His freedom from this goal of sinful flesh: But let that pass, when went your harebrained son, That Cuckoo virtue-singing, hateful bird, To guard the safety of his better part, Which he hath penned within the childish coop, Of young Pertillo's sweet security. That lovely son, that comfort of my life, That root of virtuous magnanimity, That doth affect with an unfeigned love, That tender boy, which under heavens bright eye, Deserveth most to be affected dear, Went some two hours after the little boy Was sent away, to keep at Padua. What is a lovely? he's a loathsome toad, A one eyed Cyclops, a stigmatic brat, That durst attempt to contradict my will, And pry into my close intendments. Mas here 'a comes, his downcast sullen look, Is over weighed with mighty discontent, I hope the brat is posted to his sire, That he is grown so lazy of his pace: Forgetful of his duty, and his tongue, Is even fast tied with strings of heaviness. Come hither boy, sawst thou my obstacle, That little Dromus that crept into my son, With friendly hand, removed and thrust away, Say I, and please me with the sweetest note, That ever relished in a mortal's mouth. I am a Swan that sing before I die, Your note of shame and coming misery. Speak softly son, let not thy mother hear, She was almost dead before for very fear. Would I could roar as instruments of war, Wall battering Cannons, when the Gunpowder Is touched with part of Aetna's Element, Would I could bellow like enraged Bulls, Whose hearts are full of indignation, To be captived by humane policy: Would I could thunder like Almighty Ioue, That sends his far heard voice to terrific, The wicked hearts of earthly citizens: Then roaring, bellowing, thundering, I would say, Mother lament, Pertillo's made away. What is he dead, God give me leave to die, And him repentance for his treachery.
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)
One that did kindle y misdoubting thoughtes, With the large flame of his timiddity. Oh then I know the tinder of your fere, Was young Allenso your white honnie sonne: Confusion light vpon his timerous head, For broching this large streame of feaefulnesse, And all the plagues that damned fies feele, For their forepassed bold iniquities: Afflict you both for thus preuenting me. Preuenting you, of what, Fallerio speake, For if you doe not, my poore hart will breake. Why of the good hat I had purposed, To young Pertillo, which I would conceale, From you, and him, vntill the deed were done. If it were good, then we affect him deare, And would adde furtherance to your enterprise. I say your close ease-dropping pollicies, Haue hindred him of greater benefits, Then I can euer do him after this: If he liue long, and growe to riper sinne, Heele cursse you both, that thus haue hindered His freedome from this goale of sinfull flesh: But let that passe, when went your harebrainde sonne, That Cuckow vertue-singing, hatefull byrde, To guarde the safetie of his better part, Which he hath pend within the childish coope, Of young Pertillos sweete securitie. That louely sonne, that comfort of my life, That roote of vertuous magnamitie, That doth affect with an vnfained loue, That tender boy, which vnder heauens bright eye, Deserueth most to be affected deare, Went some two houres after the little boy Was sent away, to keepe at Padua. What is a louelie? he's a loathsome toade, A one eyde Cyclops, a stigmaticke brat, That durst attempt to contradict my will, And prie into my close intendements. Mas here a comes, his downcast sullen looke, Is ouer waigh'd with mightie discontent, I hope the brat is posted to his sire, That he is growne so lazie of his pace: Forgetfull of his dutie, and his tongue, Is euen fast tyde with strings of heauinesse. Come hether boye, sawst thou my obstacle, That little Dromus that crept into my sonne, With friendly hand, remoou'd and thrust away, Say I, and please me with the sweeest note, That euer relist in a mortals mouth. I am a Swan that singe before I dye, Your note of shame and comming miserie. Speake softly sonne, let not thy mother heare, She was almost dead before for very feare. Would I could roare as instruments of warre, Wall battring Cannons, when the Gun-powder Is toucht with part of Etnas Element, Would I could bellow like enraged Buls, Whose harts are full of indignation, To be captiu'd by humaine pollicie: Would I could thunder like Almightie Ioue, That sends his farre heard voice to terrific, The wicked hearts of earthly cittizens: Then roaring, bellowing, thundring, I would say, Mother lament, Pertillos made away. What is he dead, God giue me leaue to die, And him repentance for his treacherie.