Heywood, Thomas · published 1608 · first performed or written 1607 [1606-1608] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men · Red Bull unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
No, those moist tears, contending with my fire, Quench not my heat, but make it climb more higher: I'll drag thee hence. Oh! If thou raise these cries, lodged in thy slaughtered arms some base Groom dies, And Rome that hath thy name admired so long, Shall blot thy death with scandal from my tongue. Ioue guard my innocence. Lucrece, thou'rt mine In spite of Ioue & all the powers divine. What's o'clock trow? my Lord bade me be early ready with his Gelding, for he would ride betimes in the morning: now had I rather be up an hour before my time then a minute after, for my Lord will be so infinitely angry if I but over sleep myself a moment, that I had better be out of my life then in his displeasure: but soft, some of my Lord Collatine's men lie in the next chamber, I care not if I call them up, for it grows towards day: what Pompey, Pompey. Who is that calls? 'tis I. whose's that, my Lord Sextus his man? what a pox make you up before day? I would have the key of the Gate to come at my Lord's horse in the stable. I would my Lord Sextus & you were both in the hayloft, for Pompey can take none of his natural rest amongst you, here's eine Ostler, rise & give my horse another peck of hay. Nay good Pompey help me to the Key of the stable. Well, Pompey was borne to do Rome good, in being so kind to the young PRINCE's Gelding, but if for my kindness in giving him Pease and oats, he should kick me, I should scarce say god a mercy horse: but come, i'll go with thee to the stable. Nay, weep not sweet, what's done is past recall, Call not thy name in question, by this sorrow Which yet is without blemish, what hath passed Is hid from the worlds eye, and only private Twixt us fair Lucrece, pull not on my head, The wrath of Rome if I have done thee wrong, Love was the cause, thy fame is without blot, And thou in Sextus hast a true friend got, Nay sweet look up, thou only hast my heart, I must be gone Lucrece a kiss and part. Oh! No? peevish dame farewell, then be the bruiter Of thy own shame, which Tarquin would conceals I am armed against all can come, let mischief frown, With all his terror armed with ominous fates, To all their spleens a welcome I'll afford, With this bold heart, strong hand, and my good sword. What so early Valer. and your voice not up yet? thou wast wont to be my Lark and raise me with thy early notes. I was never so hard set yet my Lord, but I had ever a fit of mirth for my friend.
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)
No, those moist teares, contending with my fire, Qench not my heate, but mak it climbe more higher: Ile drag thee hence. Oh! If thou raise these cries, lodg'd in thy flaughtered arm some base Groome dies, And Rome that hath thy name admired so long, Shal blot thy death with scandal from my tung. Ioue garde my innocence. Lucrece, thar't mine In spight of Ioue & all the powers diuine. What's a clocke tro? my Lord bad me be earely ready with his Gelding, for he would ride betimes in the morning: now had I rather be vp an houre before my time then a minute after, for my Lord will bee so infinitely eangrie if I but ouer sleepe my selfe a moment, that I had better bee out of my life then in his displeasure: but foft, some of my Lord Colatines menlye in the next chamber, I care not if I call them vp, for it growes towards day: what Pompy, Pompy. Who is that cal's? Tis I. Whose that, my Lord Sextus his man? what a poxe make you vp before day? I would haue the key of the Gate to come at my Lords horse in the stable. I wold my Lord Sextus & you were both in the hayloft, for Pompy can take none of his naturall rest amongst you, heres Ostlr, rise & giue my horse another pecke of hay. Nay good Pompy helpe me to the Key of the stable. Well, Pompy was borne to doe Rome good, in beeing so kinde to the young Princes Gelding, but if for my kindenesse in giuing him Pease and Oates, hee should kick mee, I should scarse say god a merie horse: but come, ile goe with thee to the stable. Nay, weepe not sweete, what's done is pastrecall, Call not thy name in question, by this sorrow Which yet is without blemish, what hath past Is hid from the worldes eye, and only priuate Twixt vsfaire Lucrece, pull not on my head, The wrath of Rome if I haue done thee wrong, Loue was the cause, thy fame is without blot, And thou in Sextus hast a true friend got, Nay sweete looke vp, thou only hast my hart, I must be gone Lucrece a kisse and part. Oh! No? peuish dame farwell, then be the bruter Of thy owne shame, which Tarquin would conceales I am armd against all can come, let mischiefe frown, With all his terror ard with ominous fates, To all their spleenes a welcome Ile affoord, With this bold hart, strong hand, and my good sword. What so early Valer. and your voyce not vp yet? thou wast wont to be my Lark and raise me with thy early notes. I was neuer so hard set yet my Lord, but I had euer a fit of mirth for my friend.