The Atheist's Tragedy, or The Honest Man's Revenge · chunk 26 of 41
Tourneur, Cyril · published 1611 · first performed or written 1611 [1607-1611] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Sick indeed. A general weakness did surprise my health The very day I married Castabella. As if my sickness were a punishment, That did arrest me for some injury I then committed. Credit me (my Love) I pity thy ill fortune to be matched With such a weak unpleasing bedfellow. Believe me Sir; it never troubles me. I am as much respectless to enjoy Such pleasure as ignorant what it is. Thy sex's wonder. Unhappy Charlemont. Come, let's to supper. There we will confirm The eternal bond of our concluded love. COme Soquette; your work! let's examine your work. What's here? a Medlar with a Plum-tree growing hard by it; The leaves o' the Plum-tree falling off; the gum issuing out o' the perished joints; and the branches some of 'em dead, and some rotten; and yet but a young Plum-tree. In good sooth, very pretty. The Plum-tree (forsooth) grows so near the Medlar, that the Medlar sucks and draws all the sap from it; and the natural strength o' the ground, so that it cannot prosper. How conceited you are! But here thoust made a Tree to bear no fruit. Why's that? There grows a Savin-tree next it forsooth. Forsooth you are a little too witty in that. But this honeysuckle winds about this whitethorn very prettily and lovingly; sweet Mistress Cataplasma. Monsieur Sebastian! in good sooth very uprightly welcome this evening. What? moralising upon this Gentlewoman's needlework? let's see. No Sir. Only examining whether it be done to the true nature and life o' the thing? Here youhave set a Medlar with a Bachelors-button o' one side; and a Snail o' th'tother. The Batchelors-button should have held his head up more pertly towards the Medlar; the Snail o'th' other side, should ha'been wrought with an artificial laziness, doubling his tail, and putting out his horn but half the length. And then the Medlar falling (as it were) from the lazy Snail, and inclining towards the pert Bachelors-button; their branches spreading and winding one within another as if they did embrace. But here's a moral. A poppering Peartree growing upon the bank of a River; seeming continually to look downwards into the water, as if it were enamoured of it; and ever as the fruit ripens, lets it fall for love (as it were) into her lap. Which the wanton Stream, like a Strumpet, no sooner receives, but she carries it away, and bestows it upon some other creature she maintains: still seeming to play and dally under the poppering, so long, that it has almost washed away the earth from the root; and now the poor Tree stands as if it were ready to fall and perish by that whereon it spent all the substance it had. Moral for you that love those wanton running waters. But is not my Lady Levidulcia come yet? Her purpose promised us her company ere this. Lirie! your Lute and your Book.
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)
Sicke indeede. A gen'rall weakenesse did surprise my health The very day I married Castabella. As if my sicknesse were a punishment, That did arrest me for some iniurie I then committed. Credit me (my Loue) I pittie thy ill fortune to be match'd With such a weake vnpleasing bedfellow. Beleeue me Sir; it neuer troubles me. I am as much respectlesse to enioy Such pleasure as ignorant what it is. Thy Sexes wonder. Vnhappy Charlemont. Come, let's to supper. There we will confirme The eternall bond of our concluded loue. COme Soquette; your worke! let's examine your worke. What's here? a Medlar with a Plum-tree growing hard by it; The leaues o' the Plum-tree falling off; the gumme issuing out o' the perish'd ioynts; and the branches some of 'em dead, and some rotten; and yet but a young Plum-tree. In good sooth, very prettie. The Plum-tree (forsooth) growes so neare the Medlar, that the Medlar suckes and drawes all the sap from it; and the naturall strength o' the ground, so that it cannot prosper. How conceipted you are! But heere th'ast made a Tree to beare no fruit. Why's that? There growes a Sauin-tree next it forsooth. Forsooth you are a little too wittie in that. But this Honisuckle windes about this white-thorne very prettily and louingly; sweet Mistresse Cataplasma. Monsieur Sebastian! in good sooth very vprightly welcome this euening. What? moralizing vpon this Gentlewomans needleworke? let's see. No Sir. Onely examining whether it be done to the true nature and life o' the thing? Heere y'haue set a Medlar with a Batchelers-button o' one side; and a Snaile o' th'tother. The Batchelers-button should haue held his head vp more pertly towards the Medlar; the Snaile o'th'tother side, should ha'beene wrought with an artificiall lazinesse, doubling his taile, and putting out his horne but halfe the length. And then the Medlar falling (as it were) from the lazie Snaile, and enclining towards the pert Batchelers-button; their branches spreading and winding one within another as if they did embrace. But heere's a morall. A poppring Peare-tree growing vpon the banke of a Riuer; seeming continually to looke downewards into the water, as if it were enamour'd of it; and euer as the fruit ripens, lets it fall for loue (as it were) into her lap. Which the wanton Streame, like a Strumpet, no sooner receiues, but she carries it away, and bestowes it vpon some other creature she maintaines: still seeming to play and dally vnder the Poppring, so long, that it has almost wash'd away the earth from the roote; and now the poore Tree stands as if it were readie to fall and perish by that whereon it spent all the substance it had. Morall for you that loue those wanton running waters. But is not my Lady Leuidulcia come yet? Her purpose promis'd vs her companie ere this. Lirie! your Lute and your Booke.