The True Chronicle of King Leir (King Lear and his Three Daughters) · chunk 11 of 43
Anonymous · published 1605 · first performed or written 1590 [c.1588-1594] (Annals) history · Queen Elizabeth's Men (?) unassigned nearest T58 Gallant talk and courtship: an Epicene-c · 468 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T58: jack, john, daw, dauphine, amorous, mistress, trve, ladies, wit, madame.
O brave! God willing, thou shalt have my custom, By sweet S. Denis, here I sadly swear, For all the shirts and night gear that I wear. I will profess and vow a maidens life. Then I protest thou shalt not have my custom. I can forbear no longer for to speak: For if I do, I think my heart will break. 'sblood, Will, I hope you are not in love with my Sempster. I am in such a labyrinth of love, As that I know not which way to get out. You'll ne'er get out, unless you first get in, I prithee Jack, cross not my passions. Prithee Will, to her, and try her patience. Thou fairest creature, whatsoe'er thou art, That ever any mortal eyes be held, Vouchsafe to me, who have o'erheard thy woes, To show the cause of these thy sad laments. Ah Pilgrims, what avails to show the cause, When there's no means to find a remedy? To utter grief, doth ease a heart o'er charged. To touch a sore, doth aggravate the pain. The silly mouse, by virtue of her teeth, Released the princely Lion from the net. Kind Palmer, which so much desir'st to hear The tragic tale of my unhappy youth: Know this in brief, I am the hapless daughter Of Leir, sometimes King of Brittany. Why, who debars his honourable age, From being still the King of Brittany? None, but himself hath dispossessed himself, And given all his Kingdom to the Kings Of Cornwall and of Cambria, with my sisters. Hath he given nothing to your lovely self? He loved me not, & therefore gave me nothing, Only because I could not flatter him: And in this day of triumph to my sisters, Doth Fortune triumph in my overthrow. Sweet Lady, say there should come a King, As good as either of your sisters' husbands, To crave your love, would you accept of him? Oh, do not mock with those in misery, Nor do not think, though fortune have the power, To spoil mine honour, and debase my state, That she hath any interest in my mind: For if the greatest Monarch on the earth, Should sue to me in this extremity, Except my heart could love, and heart could like, Better than any that I ever saw, His great estate no more should move my mind, Than mountains move by blast of every wind. Think not, sweet Nymph, 'tis holy Palmer's guise, To grieved souls fresh torments to devise: Therefore in witness of my true intent, Let heaven and earth bear record of my words: There is a young and lusty Gallian King, So like to me, as I am to myself, That earnestly doth crave to have thy love, And join with thee in Hymen's sacred bonds.
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)
O braue! God willing, thou shalt haue my custome, By sweet S. Denis, here I sadly sweare, For all the shirts and night geare that I weare. I will professe and vow a maydens life. Thē I protest thou shalt not haue my custom. I can forbeare no longer for to speak: For if I do, I think my heart will breake. Sblood, Wil, I hope you are not in loue with my Sēpster. I am in such a laborinth of loue, As that I know not which way to get out. You'l ne're get out, vnlesse you first get in, I prithy lacke, crosse not my passions. Prithy Wil, to her, and try her patience. Thou fairest creature, whatsoere thou art, That euer any mortall eyes be held, Vouchsafe to me, who haue o'reheard thy woees, To shew the cause of these thy sad laments. Ah Pilgrims, what auailes to shew the cause, When there's no meanes to find a remedy? To vtter griefe, doth ease a heart o're charg'd. To touch a sore, doth aggravate the payne. The silly mouse, by vertue of her teeth, Releas'd the princely Lyon from the net. Kind Palmer, which so much defir'st to heare The tragick tale of my vnhappy youth: Know this in briefe, I am the haplesse daughter Of Leir, sometimes King of Btittany. Why, who debarres his honourable age, From being still the King of Brittany? None, but himselfe hath dispossest himselfe, And giuen all his Kingdome to the Kings Of Cornwall and of Cambria, with my sisters. Hath he giuen nothing to your louely selfe? He lou'd me not, & therfote gaue me nothing, Only because I could not flatter him: And in this day of tryumph to my sisters, Doth Fortune tryumph in my ouerthrow. Sweet Lady, say there should come a King, As good as eyther of your sisters husbands, To craue your loue, would you accept of him? Oh, doe not mocke with those in misery, Nor do not think, though fortune haue the power, To spoyle mine honour, and debase my state, That she hath any interest in my mind: For if the greatest Monarch on the earth, Should sue to me in this extremity, Except my heart could loue, and heart could like, Better then any that I euer saw, His great estate no more should moue my mind, Then mountaynes moue by blast of euery wind. Think not, sweet Nymph, tis holy Palmers guise, To grieued soules fresh torments to deuise: Therefore in witnesse of my true intent, Let heauen and earth beare record of my words: There is a young and lusty Gallian King, So like to me, as I am to my selfe, That earnestly doth craue to haue thy loue, And ioyne with thee in Hymens sacred bonds.