Field, Nathan · published 1612 · first performed or written 1609 [1609-1610] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queens Revels (Children of the Whitefriars) (?) · before the Court unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Introth you were too blame to venture so, Mischiefs find us, we need not mischiefs seek; I am not tied to that opinion, They are like women, which do always shun Their lovers and pursuers, and do follow With most rank appetites them that do fly: All mischief that I had is but one woman, and that one woman all mischance to me, Who speaks worst of them, then's the best of men, They are like shadows, mischiefs are like them. Death fears me, for in troth I seek him out; The Sun is stale to me, tomorrow Morn as this, 'twill rise, I see no difference; The night doth visit me, but in one robe, She brings as many thoughts as she wears Stars When she is pleasant, but no rest at all, For what new strange thing should I covet life then? Is not she false, whom only I thought true? Shall time to show his strength make Scudmore live. Till (perish the vicious thought) I love not thee, Or thou dear friend, remove thy heart from me. Time is as weak for that, as he is old, Take comfort, and attend this counsel friend, This match is neither Sacred nor sure, Close Fate annihilates what Opinion makes, and since she is resolved this night to die, If you do not redeem her, give the means, Or her blood (credit me) will spring heavier griefs, Sorer and stranger in thy oppressed heart Then her false love before. Besides, 'tis you My Scudmore that are false, if you will not Consent to let her make Vows good, which were But in a possibility to be broke, This her Repentance casts her vice quite off: and if you leave her now, you take it on, Nay you incur a bloody mortal sin, You do become an actual murderer. If you neglect her, she will kill herself This night, by poison, knife, or other means, God gives you power to cross her desperate will, and if you save not where you may, you kill. Why can my Noble and wise friend, think still That what a woman says, her heart doth mean? Can you believe that she will kill herself. 'tis a full hour since she spoke the word, and God forbid, that any woman's mind Should not be changed and changed in a long hour. She is by this time in her Lordly arms, and like pleased Iuno, clasped by Iupiter, Forgets the plaints of poor mortality, Such state, such pride, as Poets show her in, Incensed with Ioues loose scapes upon the earth, She cast on me at our encountering; As cold and heavy, as a Rock of Ice In her love to me, which while I there staid, My bitter and hot words resolved a little, (Just as the Sun doth Ice) I softened her, and made her drown her fault in her own tears, But think you she holds this flexible vain: No, I me removed, and she's congealed again.
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)
Introth you were too blame to venter so, Mischiefes finde vs, we need not mischiefes seeke; I am not ti'de to that opinion, They are like women, which do alwaies shun Their louers and pursuers, and do follow With most ranke appetites them that do flye: All mischiefe that I had is but one woman, and that one woman all mischance to me, Who speaks worst of them, then's the best of men, They are like shaddowes, mischiefes are like them. Death feares me, for introth I seeke him out; The Sun is stale to me, to morrow Morne as this, t'will rise, I see no difference; The night doth visit me, but in one roabe, She brings as many thoughts as she weares Starres When she is pleasant, but no rest at all, For what new strange thing should I couet life then? Is not she false, whom onely I thought true? Shall time to shew his strength make Scudmore liue. Till (perish the vicious thought) I loue not thee, Or thou deere friend, remoue thy heart from me. Time is as weake for that, as he is old, Take comfort, and attend this counsell friend, This match is neither Sacred nor sure, Close Fate annihilates what Opinion makes, and since she is resolu'd this night to die, If you do not redeeme her, giue the meanes, Or her bloud (credit me) will spring heauier greefes, Sorer and stranger in thy oppressed hart Then her false loue before. Besides, tis you My Scudmore that are false, if you will not Consent to let her make Vowes good, which were But in a possibility to be broke, This her Repentance casts her vice quite off: and if you leaue her now, you take it on, Nay you incurre a bloody mortall sinne, You do become an actuall murtherer. If you neglect her, she will kill her selfe This night, by poyson, knife, or other meanes, God giues you power to crosse her desperate will, and if you saue not where you may, you kill. Why can my Noble and wise friend, thinke still That what a woman saics, her heart doth meane? Can you beleeue that she wil kil hir selfe. Tis a full houre since she spake the word, and God forbid, that any womans minde Should not be chang'd and chang'd in a long houre. She is by this time in her Lorldly armes, and like pleas'd Iuno, claspt by Iupiter, Forgets the plaints of poore mortality, Such state, such pride, as Poets shew her in, Incenst with Ioues loose scapes vpon the earth, She cast on me at our encountering; As cold and heauie, as a Rocke of Ice In her loue to me, which while I there staide, My bitter and hot words resolu'd a little, (Iust as the Sun doth Ice) I soften'd her, and made her drowne her fault in her owne teares, But thinke you she holds this flexible vaine: No, I me remou'd, and shee's congeal'd againe.