Armin, Robert · published 1609 · first performed or written 1606 [c.1606-1608] (Annals) comedy · Children of the King's Revels unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
'tis true. And yet methinks it should not be, How hardly will this scandal take impression, Where resolved christianity does dwell? But I will try the gold, perhaps 'tis base, Who knows the heart's affection by the face. Scarlet is scarlet, and her sin blood red, Will not be washed hence with a sea of water, Is this my hand, or is the fire fire? whose scorching heat dissolves relenting metal, whenas it tries the substance; yes, and I Make known my mother is an alien, From my blood, so to fall off, and perish Even in her pride of bliss, damned be the slave That so attempts her spotless chastity To ruin, I know that yet smooth look, Plotted, contrived, and won her with device, She never knew a double character till now, But single singler she ever ruled, Even modesty herself, Vesta resigned to her, And virtue hand in hand at barleybreak, Ran the swift course, none but a hound of hell, Hunted this fawn of fortune to his kennel, But my mother, forgetting her degree, does captivate love, life and liberty, By one deeds practise, wicked, nay far worse, Fatal disgrace, honours created course. Fool, fool, fool. Ha. Light bubble swell and break, wouldst thou believe all this, and give a gloss to slanders cruelty: ripening reproach itself with thy fond ear, o Humil, Humil. Sir. Thou art a villain, and hast cast up hills against heaven itself: when sons unto their mothers are so false, O where is grace? hoodwinked from honour, shamed to show her face. Is it not so? Trust thy own eyes, go, thou shalt see a sight Will melt thy stubborn spleen in pity, Sweetly she sleeps, whose innocent respect Smiles in her dreams, the childlike govern, Laughing loud in their simplicity, While waking, mischief seeks that to undo, Which true required, stands sentinel unto, Go and return with shame. With shame, devil of mischance what's this? Did I not see their cutted guilt look big? Was I in trance of my belief, ha, was I? Can be no juggling in it: can there? No thou art constant as the northern star, And I as giddy as the untamed Leopard, That sees no means but dire destruction, Flinging his foam to poison in his way Man's mischief, plotted to his overthrow: He told me true, o that I live to think so, Or they so wretched to deserve the thought, Soundly they slept, whose slumbers killed me waking, Yet to recover half slain reputation, Done have I, what to purpose practiseth If it prevail, our honour so reserved Will kick at all malignant cruelty That taints our name with ever living scorn, Fortune be for me, I will that recover, Which devil himself cries guilty too, my fame The flight it wings, imps feathers of renown, That left als lost, my birthright tumbles down,
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)
Tis true. And yet me thinkes it should not be, How hardlie will this scandall take impression, Where resolu'd christianity dos dwell? But I will trie the gold, perhaps tis base, Who knowes the hearts affection by the face. Scarlet is scarlet, and her sin blood red, Wil not be washt hence with a sea of water, Is this my hand, or is the fire fire? whose scorching heate dissolues relēting mettall, When as it tries the substance; yes, and I Make knowne my mother is an alien, From my blood, so to fall off, and perish Euen in her pride of blisse, damn'd be the slaue That so attempts her spotlesse chastitie To ruine, I know that yet smooth looke, Plotted, contriu'd, and woon her with deuise, She neuer knew a double character till now, But single singler she euer rulde, Euen modesty her selfe, Vesta resignd to her, And vertue hand in hand at barly-breake, Ran the swift course, none but a hound of hell, Hunted this fawne of fortune to his kennell, But my mother, forgetting her degree, Dos captiuate loue, life and liberty, By one deedes practise, wicked, nay farre worse, Fatall disgrace, honours created course. Foole, foole, foole. Ha. Light bubble swell and breake, would'st thou beleeue all this, and giue a glosse to slaunders crueltie: ripening reproch it selfe with thy fond eare, o Humil, Humil. Sir. Thou arta villaine, and hast cast vp hilles against heauen it selfe: when sonnes vnto their mothers are so false, O where is grace? hud winekt from honour, sham'd to shew her face. Is it not so? Trust thy owne eies, go, thou shalt see a sight Will melt thy stubborne spleene in pittie, Sweetely she sleepes, whose innocent respect Smiles in her dreames, the childlike gouerne, Laughing lowd in their simplicitie, While waking, mischiefe seekes that to vndoe, Which true requir'd, stands centinell vnto, Goe and returne with shame. With shame, diuell of mischance whats this? Did I not see their cutted guilt looke big? Was I in traunce of my beleefe, ha, was I? Can be no iugling in it: can there? No thou art constant as the northren starre, And I as giddy as the vntam'd Leopard, That sees no meanes but dire destruction, Flinging his foame to poison in his waie Mans mischiefe, plotted to his ouerthrow: Heto'd me true, o that I liue to thinke so, Or they so wretched to deserue the thought, Soundly they slept, whose slūbers kild me waking, Yet to recouer halfe slaine reputation, Done haue I, what to purpose practiseth If it preuaile, our honour so reseru'd Will kicke at all malignant crueltie That taints our name with euer liuing skorne, Fortune be for me, I will that recouer, Which diuell him selfe cries guilty too, my fame The flight it wings, imps feathers of renowne, That left al's lost, my birth-right tumbles downe,