Heywood, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1603 [Feb 12-Mar 6, payment] (Annals) tragedy · Worcester's Men unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
O sir to see that nothing may be left That ever was my wives, I loved her dearly, And when I do but think of her unkindness, My thoughts are all in Hell, to avoid which torment I would not have a Bodkin or a Cuff, A bracelet, necklace, or Rebato wire, Nor any thing that ever was hers, Left me, by which I might remember her, Seek round about? 'sblood master, here's her lute stung in a cornet, Her Lute, oh God upon this instrument, Her fingers have run quick division, Sweeter than that which now divides our hearts. These frets have made me pleasant, that have now, Frets of my heartstrings made, oh master Cranwell, Oft hath she made this melancholy wood, Now mute and dumb for her disastrous chance, Speak sweedy many a note, sound many a strain, To her own ravishing voice which being well strung, What pleasant strange airs have they jointly sung. Post with it after her, now nothings left, Of her, and hers, I am at once bereft. I'll ride and overtake her, do my message, And come back again. Mean time sir, if you please, I'll to sir Francis Acton, and inform him Of what hath passed betwixt you and his sister. Do as you please how ill am I bestead To be a widower ere my wife be dead. Bid my Coach stay, why should I ride in state? Being hurled so low down by the hand of fate. A seat like to my Fortunes let me have, Earth for my chair, and for my bed a grave. Comfort good mistress, you have watered your Coach with tears already, you have but two mile now to go to your manor, a Man cannot say by my old Master Frankford as he may say by me, that he wants manners, for he hath three or four, of which this is one, that we are going to. Good mistress be of good cheer, sorrow you see hurts you, but helps you not, we all mourn to see you so sad. Mistress I spy one of my Landlord's men Come riding post, 'tis like he brings some news. Comes he from master Frankford, he is welcome, So are his news, because they come from him. There. I know the Lute, oft have I sung to thee, We both are out of tune, both out of time. Would that had been the worst instrument that ere you played on: my master commends him to ye, their's all he can find that was ever yours, he hath nothing left that ever you could claim to lay, but 〈◊〉 heart, & he could afford you that: All that I have to deliver you is this, he prays you to forget him, and so he bids your farewell. I thank him, he is kind and ever was, All you that have true feeling of my grief, That know my loss, and have relenting hearts, Gird me about, and help me with your tears, To wash my spotted sins, my Lute shall grove It cannot weep, but shall lament my moan.
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 sir to see that nothing may be left That euer was my wiues, I loued her deerely, And when I do but thinke of her vnkindnesse, My thoughts are all in Hell, to avod which orment I would not haue a Bodkin or a Cufe, A bracelet, necklace, or Rebato wier, Nor any thing that euer was hers, Left me, by which I might remember her, Seeke round about? Sbloud master, heres her lute stonge in a cornet, Her Lute, oh God vpon this instrument, Her fingers haue run quicke diuision, Sweeter then that which now deuides our harts. These frets haue made me pleasant, that haue now, Frets of my hart-strings made, oh maister Cranwell, Oft hath she made this melancholy wood, Now mute and dumbe for her disastrous chance, Speake sweedy many a note, sound many a straine, To her owne rauishing voyce which being well strung, What pleasant strange ayres haue they ioyntly sung. Post with it after her, now nothings left, Of her, and hers, I am at once bereft. Ile ride and ouertake her, do my message, And come backe againe. Meane time sir, if you please, Ile to sir Francis Acton, and informe him Of what hath past betwixt you and his sister. Do as you please how ill am I bestad To be a widower ere my wife be dead. Bid my Coach stay, why should I ride in state? Being hurld so low downe by the hand of fate. A seat like to my Fortunes let me haue, Earth for my chaire, and for my bed a graue. Comfort good mistris, you haue watered your Coach with teares aready, you haue but two myle now to goe to your mannor, a Man cannot say by my olde Maister Franckford as he may say by me, that he wants maners, for he hath three or foure, of which this is one, that we are going to. Good mistris be of good cheere, sorrow you see hurtes you, but helpes you not, we all mourne to see you so sad. Mistris I spy one of my Landlords men Come riding post, tis like he brings some newes. Comes he from maister Franckford, he is welcome, So are his newes, because they come from him. There. I know the Lute, oft haue I sung to thee, We both are out of tune, both out of time. Would that had beene the worst instrument that ere you played on: my maister commends him to ye, theirs all hee can find that was euer yours, he hath nothing left that euer you could claim to lay, but hart, & he could afford you that: Al that I haue to deliuer you is this, he prayes you to forget him, and so he bids your farwell. I thanke him, he is kind and euer was, All you that haue true feeling of my griefe, That know my losse, and haue relenting harts, Gird me about, and help me with your teaes, To wash my spoted sins, my Lute shall groue It cannot weepe, but shall lament my moe.