The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 13 of 38
Anonymous · published 1605 · first performed or written 1601 [1599-1604] (Annals) romance · Derby's (Strange's) Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.77 · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
I go, my Lord. Now blessed key, open unto my love, Do more than loving lines or words can do: My letters have been answered with disdain: Her father I have moved to gain my love, But he is frosty in my fervent suit, And now perforce I will obtain my love, Or ease her puling hatred by revenge. You stay too long, i'll help to turn the key. What do I see? the majesty of heaven, Sit in a maiden slumber on the earth? What, is my Bellamira turned a goddess, Within the table of her glorious face! methinks, the pure extraction of all beauty Flows in abundance to my lovesick eye. O, Roderick, she is admirably fair: And sleeping, if her beauty be so rare, How will her eyes enchant me if she wake! Here, take the poison, i'll not stain that face, For all the treasure of the Western Island. I see no such admired perfection. Waken her, Bourbon, and this loving charm, Which now hath led your senses prisoner, Will vanish, and her speech full of reproof, Beget a new phantasma all of hate: Thou wilt detest her when she shall deny thee. Waken her, Rodorick, for I want the power. I hope I am disguised sufficiently, That Bellamira cannot know my face. Madam, fair Bellamira. Here I am, who calls on Bellamira? ay, fair love, The Duke of Bourbon that doth honour thee. The Duke of Bourbon in my Tent so late? Where is my Guard? what Peter, Thomasin. Step to her, and restrain her, lest she call: I'll be a looker on, and be unknown. What needs your Highness call for any guard, Since you are guarded with a faithful friend? Behold me, Madam, humbly on my knee, Come to renew my suit, vouchsafe me love, Or with this weapon take away my life: Much better 'twere a thousand times to die, Then live in torment of your scorching eye. You have inflamed my heart, oh quench that flame, Or into cinders turn my hapless trunk: Hapless, in being unbeloved of you. My Lord of Bourbon, you presume too much On th'extremity of passion. Have I not answered many an idle letter, With full assurance that I cannot love? Have I not often, viva voce checked Your courtly kindness? frowned upon your smiles? Used you unkindly, all to wean your love? And do you still persever in your suit? I tell thee, Bourbon, this bold part of thine, To break into my Tent at dead of night, Deserves severe correction, and the more, Because it brings mine honour into question. I charge thee, as thou art a Gentleman, Betake thee to thine own Pavilion, And let this answer satisfy for all: Bourbon, I cannot, nor I will not love thee. Cannot, nor will not? zounds, Madam, but you must. Must I? And shall. You will not force me to it?
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I goe, my Lord. Now bleſſed key, open vnto my loue, Doe more then louing lynes or words can doe: My letters haue bin anſwerd with diſdayne: Her father I haue mou'd to gayne my loue, But he is froſty in my feruent ſuite, And now perforce I will obtayne my loue, Or eaſe her puling hatred by reuenge. You ſtay too long, ile help to turne the key. What do I ſee? the maieſty of heauen, Sit in a mayden ſlumber on the earth? What, is my Bellamira turnd a goddeſſe, Within the table of her glorious face! Me thinks, the pure extraction of all beauty Flowes in abundance to my loue-ſicke eye. O, Rodoricke, ſhe is admirably fayre: And ſleeping, if her beauty be ſo rare, How will her eyes inchaunt me if ſhe wake! Here, take the poyſon, ile not ſtayne that face, For all the treaſure of the Weſterne Iland. I ſee no ſuch admired perfection. Waken her, Burbon, and this louing charme, Which now hath led your ſences priſoner, Will vaniſh, and her ſpeach full of reproofe, Beget a new phantaſma all of hate: Thou wilt deteſt her when ſhe ſhall deny thee. Wakē her, Rodorick, for I want the power. I hope I am diſguiſde ſufficiently, That Bellamira cannot know my face. Madam, fayre Bellamira. Here I am, who calls on Bellamira? I, fayre loue, The Duke of Burbon that doth honour thee. The Duke of Burbon in my Tent ſo late? Where is my Gard? what Peter, Thomaſin. Step to her, and reſtrayne her, leſt ſhe call: Ile be a looker on, and be vnknowne. What needs your Highneſſe call for any gard, Since you are garded with a faythfull friend? Behold me, Madam, humbly on my knee, Come to renew my ſuite, vouchſafe me loue, Or with this weapon take away my life: Much better 'twere a thouſand times to dye, Then liue in torment of your ſcorching eye. You haue inflam'd my heart, oh quench that flame, Or into cinders turne my hapleſſe truncke: Hapleſſe, in being vnbelou'd of you. My Lord of Burbon, you preſume too much On th'extremity of paſſion. Haue I not anſwered many an idle letter, With full aſſurance that I cannot loue? Haue I not often, viua voce checkt Your courtly kindnes? frownd vpon your ſmiles? Vſde you vnkindly, all to weane your loue? And doe you ſtill perſeuer in your ſuite? I tell thee, Burbon, this bold part of thine, To breake into my Tent at dead of night, Deſerues ſeuere correction, and the more, Becauſe it brings mine honour into queſtion. I charge thee, as thou art a Gentleman, Betake thee to thine owne Pauilion, And let this anſwere ſatisfie for all: Burbon, I cannot, nor I will not loue thee. Cannot, nor wil not? zoūds, Madam, but you muſt. Muſt I? And ſhall. You will not force me to it?