Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1605 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour · 499 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
I know no answer. Will you with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dow'rd with our curse, and strangered with our oath, Take her or, leave her. Pardon me Royal Sir, Election makes not up in such conditions. Then leave her sir, for by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. For you great King, I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you T' avert your liking a more worthier way, Then on a wretch whom Nature is ashamed Almost t' acknowledge hers. This is most strange, That she whom even but now, was your object. The argument of your praise, balm of your age, The best, the dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour: sure her offence Must be of such unnatural degree, That monsters it: Or your fore-voucht affection Fall into taint, which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should never plant in me. I yet beseech your Majesty. If for I want that glib and oily Art, To speak and purpose not, since what I will intent, I'll do't before I speak, that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action or dishonoured step That hath deprived me of your Grace and favour, But even for want of that, for which I am richer, A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue, That I am glad I have not, though not to have it, Hath loft me in your liking. Better thou hadst Not been borne, than not t have pleased me better. Is it but this? A tardiness in nature, Which often leaves the history unspoken That it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy, What say you to the Lady? love's not love When it is mingled with regards, that stands Aloof from th' entire point, will you have her? She is herself a Dowry. Royal King, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy. Nothing, I have sworn, I am firm. I am sorry than you have so lost a Father, That you must lose a husband. Peace be with Burgundy, Since that respect and Fortunes are his love, I shall not be his wife. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor, Most choice forsaken, and most loved despised, Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon, Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their coldest neglect My Love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, thrown to my chance, Is Queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the Dukes of waterish Burgundy, Can buy this unprized precious Maid of me. Bid them farewell Cordelia, though unkind, Thou losest here a better where to find.
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)
I know no anſwer. Will you with thoſe infirmities ſhe owes, Vnfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dow'rd with our curſe, and ſtranger'd with our oath, Take her or, leaue her. Pardon me Royall Sir, Election makes not vp in ſuch conditions. Then leaue her ſir, for by the powre that made me, I tell you all her wealth. For you great King, I would not from your loue make ſuch a ſtray, To match you where I hate, therefore beſeech you T' auert your liking a more worthier way, Then on a wretch whom Nature is aſham'd Almoſt t' acknowledge hers. This is moſt ſtrange, That ſhe whom euen but now, was your obiect. The argument of your praiſe▪ balme of your age, The beſt, the deereſt, ſhould in this trice of time Commit a thing ſo monſtrous, to diſmantle So many folds of fauour: ſure her offence Muſt be of ſuch vnnaturall degree, That monſters it: Or your fore-voucht affection Fall into taint, which to beleeue of her Muſt be a faith that reaſon without miracle Should neuer plant in me. I yet beſeech your Maieſty. If for I want that glib and oylie Art, To ſpeake and purpoſe not, ſince what I will intend, Ile do't before I ſpeake, that you make knowne It is no vicious blot, murther, or fouleneſſe, No vnchaſte action or diſhonoured ſtep That hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour, But euen for want of that, for which I am richer, A ſtill ſoliciting eye, and ſuch a tongue, That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it, Hath loft me in your liking. Better thou had'ſt▪ Not beene borne, then not t haue pleas'd me better. Is it but this? A tardineſſe in nature, Which often leaues the hiſtory vnſpoke That it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy, What ſay you to the Lady? Loue's not loue When it is mingled with regards, that ſtands Aloofe from th' intire point, will you haue her? She is herſelfe a Dowrie. Royall King, Giue but that portion which your ſelfe propos'd, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Dutcheſſe of Burgundie. Nothing, I haue ſworne, I am firme. I am ſorry then you haue ſo loſt a Father, That you muſt looſe a husband. Peace be with Burgundie, Since that reſpect and Fortunes are his loue, I ſhall not be his wife. Faireſt Cordelia, that art moſt rich being poore, Moſt choiſe forſaken, and moſt lou'd deſpis'd, Thee and thy vertues here I ſeize vpon, Be it lawfull I take vp what's caſt away. Gods, Gods! 'Tis ſtrange, that from their cold'ſt neglect My Loue ſhould kindle to enflam'd reſpect. Thy dowreleſſe Daughter King, throwne to my chance, Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire France: Not all the Dukes of watriſh Burgundy, Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me. Bid them farewell Cordelia, though vnkinde, Thou looſeſt here a better where to finde.