Markham, Gervase / Machin, Lewis · published 1608 · first performed or written 1608 [1607-1608] (Annals) tragicomedy · Children of the King's Revels unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Enough, these loud sounds deafs my passions How long shall love make me a slave to hope, And mix my calm desires with tyranny? O Phylocles 'tis heresy I hold, Thought and affection cannot be controlled. Yet may't be bend and suppled with extremes, Sith few dare see the end of violence What makes the skilful Leech to use the fire, Or war her engines, or state's policy, But to recover things most desperate? Revolt is recreant when pursuit is brave, Never to faint doth purchase what we crave True my Phylocles, yet my recreant soul, Slaved to her beauty, would renounce all war, And yield her right to love, did not thy spirit Mixed with my longing, fortify these arms. But I am now resolved and this sad hour, Shall give an end to my distemperature. Summon a parley. What says our tyrant suitor, our disease in love, That makes our thoughts a slave unto his sword: What says my Lord? Madame attend me, this is my latest summons, The many suns my sorrows have beheld, And my sad nights of long, all through hope, T'enjoy the joy of earth, (your own dear self) Are grown so infinite in length and weight, That like to wearied Atlas, I enforce These wars as Hercules, to bear my load: Briefly I must enjoy you, or else lose The breath of life, which to prevent, behold, My sword must be my Cupid, and with feathered steel, Force pity from your breast, your city's walls, Chidden with my Canons, have set open a path And boldly bids me enter, all your men of war, Feebled with famine, and a weary siege, Take danger from mine actions, only yourself, Strong in your will, oppose even destiny: And like the giant's war offend the heavens, Which to prevent, do but descend and give Peace to my love-suit, and as o'ercome thereby, I'll yield myself your prisoner, and be drawn, A thrall in your triumphant victory. If otherwise, behold these fatal swords, Shall never be sheathed, till we be conquerors: And not respecting innocence nor sex, The cries of infants, nor the prayers of age, All things shall perish, till within my arms I fold yourself my thrall and conqueror. Thou Mayest be master of my body's tomb But for my soul and mind, they are as free As their creation: and with Angels wings Can soar beyond thy reach; trust me king of cypress Those coals the Roman Portia did devour, Are not burnt out, nor have th'Egyptian worms, Yet lost their stings, steel holds his temper still, And these are ransoms from captivity. But art thou noble, hast thou one royal thought? Approve me by your question. Then briefly thus: To shun the great effusion of their bloods, Who feel no touch in mine affections, Dare you to single combat, two to two, Refer your right in love?
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)
INnough, these loud sounds deafes my passions How long shall loue make me a slaue to hope, And mixe my calme desires with tyranny? O Phylocles t'is heresie I hold, Thought and affection cannot be controld. Yet mai't be bent and suppled with extreames, Sith few dare see the end of violence What makes the skilfull Leech to vse the fire, Or warre her engines, or states policie, But to recouer things most desperate? Reuolt is recreant when pursuit is braue, Neuer to faint doth purchase what we craue True my Phylocles, yet my recreant soule, Slaued to her beauty, would renounce all warre, And yeeld her right to loue, did not thy spirit Mixt with my longing, fortifie these armes. But I am now resolud and this sad houre, Shall giue an end to my disemprature. Summon a parley. What saies our tyrant sutor, our disease in loue, That makes our thoughts a slaue vnto his sword: What saies my Lord? Madame attend me, this is my latest summons, The many sunnes my sorrowes haue beheld, And my sad nights of longings, all through hope, T'enioy the ioy of earth, (your owne deare selfe) Are growne so infinite in length and waight, That like to wearied Atlas, I inforce These warres as Hercules, to beare my loade: Briefly I must enioy you, or else loose The breath of life, which to preuent, behold, My sword must be my Cupid, and with feathered steele, Force pity from your breast, your Cities walles, Chidden with my Canons, haue set ope a path And boldly bids me enter, all your men of warre, Feebled with famine, and a weary siege, Take danger from mine actions, onely your selfe, Strong in your will, oppose euen destiny: And like the giants warre offend the heauens, Which to preuent, do but discend and giue Peace to my loue-suit, and as orecome thereby, I'le yeeld my selfe your prisoner, and be drawne, A thrall in your triumphant victory. If otherwise, behold these fatall swords, Shall neuer be sheath'd, till we be conquerours: And not respecting innocence nor sexe, The cries of infants, nor the prayers of age, All things shall perish, till within my armes I fould your selfe my thrall and conquerour. Thou maiest be maister of my bodies Tombe But for my soule and minde, they are as free As their creation: and with Angels wings Can soare beyond thy reach; trust me king of Cypres Those coales the Roman Portia did deuour, Are not burnt out, nor haue th'Egiptian wormes, Yet lost their stings, steele holds his temper still, And these are ransomes from captiuity. But art thou noble, hast thou one royall thought? Approue me by your question. Then briefly thus: To shun the great effusion of their bloods, Who feele no touch in mine affections, Dare you to single combate, two to two, Referre your right in loue?