Marston, John / Machin, Lewis / Barkstead, William · published 1613 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1607-1608; revised 1609-1613] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Queen's Revels (?); Children of the King's Revels (?) · Whitefriars unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 521 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
WHat should we do in this Countesses dark hole? She's sullenly retired, as the Turtle: Every day has been a black day with her since her husband died, and what should we unruly members make here? As melancholy night masks up heavens face, So doth the Evening-star present herself Unto the careful shepherds gladsome eyes, By which unto the fold he leads his flock. Zounds what a sheepish beginning is here? 'tis said true, Love is simple; and it may well hold, and thou art a simple lover. See how yond Star like beauty in a cloud, Illumines darkness, and beguiles the Moon Of all her glory in the firmament. Well said man i'the Moon. Was ever such Astronomers? Marry I fear none of these will fall into the right Ditch. madam. Ha Anna, what are my doors unbarred? I'll assure you the way into your Ladyship is open. And God defend that any profane hand Should offer sacrilege to such a Saint. Lovely Isabella, by this duteous kiss, That draws part of my Soul along with it, Had I but thought my rude intrusion Had waked the dove-like spleen harboured within you, Life and my first born should not satisfy Such a transgression, worthy of a check, But that Immortals wink at my offence, Makes me presume more boldly: I am come To raise you from this so infernal sadness. My Lord of Cypress, do not mock my grief: Tears are as due a Tribute to the dead, As fear to God, and duty unto Kings. Love to the Just, or hate unto the Wicked. Surcease. Believe it is a wrong unto the Gods: They sail against the wind that wail the dead. And since his heart hath wrestled with death's pangs, From whose stern Cave none tracts a backward path. Leave to lament this necessary change, And thank the Gods, for they can give as good. I wail his loss! Sink him ten cubits deeper, I may not fear his resurrection: I will be sworn upon the holy Writ I morn thus fervent cause, he died no sooner: He buried me alive, And mewed me up like Cretan Dedalus, And with wall-eyed jealousy kept me from hope Of any waxen wings to fly to pleasure. But now his soul her Argos eyes hath closed, And I am free as air. You of my sex, In the first flow of youth use you the sweets Due to your proper beauties, ere the ebb And long wain of unwelcome change shall come. Fair women play: she's chaste whom none will have. Here is a man of a most mild aspect, Temperate, effeminate, and worthy love, One that with burning ardour hath pursued me: A donative he hath of every God; Apollo gave him locks, Ioue his high front, The God of Eloquence his flowing speech, The feminine Deities strowed all their bounties And beauty on his face: that eye was Iuno's, Those lips were his that won the golden Ball, That virgin-blush Diana's: here they meet, As in a sacred Synod. My Lords, I must entreat A while your wished forbearance.
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)
WHat should we doe in this Countesses darke hole? She's sullenly retyred, as the Turtle: Euery day has beene a blacke day with her since her husband dyed, and what should wee vnruly members make here? As melancholy night masques vp heauens face, So doth the Euening-starre present her selfe Vnto the carefull Shepheards gladsome eyes, By which vnto the folde he leades his flocke. Zounds what a sheepish beginning is here? 'tis said true, Loue is simple; and it may well hold, and thou art a simple louer. See how yond Starre like beauty in a cloud, Illumines darknesse, and beguiles the Moone Of all her glory in the firmament. Well said man i'the Moone. Was euer such Astronomers? Marry I feare none of these will fall into the right Ditch. Madame. Ha Anna, what are my doores vnbarr'd? Ile assure you the way into your Ladiship is open. And God defend that any prophane hand Should offer sacriledge to such a Saint. Louely Isabella, by this dutious kisse, That drawes part of my Soule along with it, Had I but thought my rude intrusion Had wak'd the Doue-like spleene harbour'd within you, Life and my first borne should not satisfie Such a transgression, worthy of a checke, But that Immortals wincke at my offence, Makes me presume more boldly: I am come To raise you from this so infernall sadnesse. My Lord of Cypres, doe not mocke my griefe: Teares are as due a Tribute to the dead, As feare to God, and duty vnto Kings. Loue to the Iust, or hate vnto the Wicked. Surcease. Beleeue it is a wrong vnto the Gods: They saile against the winde that waile the dead. And since his heart hath wrestled with deaths pangs, From whose sterne Caue none tracts a backward path. Leaue to lament this necessary change, And thanke the Gods, for they can giue as good. I waile his losse! Sinke him tenne cubites deeper, I may not feare his resurrection: I will be sworne vpon the holy Writ I morne thus feruent cause, he di'd no sooner: Hee buried me aliue, And mued mee vp like Cretan Dedalus, And with wall-ey'd Ielousie kept me from hope Of any waxen wings to flye to pleasure. But now his soule her Argos eyes hath clo'sd, And I am free as ayre. You of my sexe, In the first flow of youth vse you the sweets Due to your proper beauties, ere the ebbe And long waine of vnwelcome change shall come. Faire women play: she's chaste whom none will haue. Here is a man of a most milde aspect, Temperate, effeminate, and worthy loue, One that with burning ardor hath pursued me: A donatiue he hath of euery God; Apollo gaue him lockes, Ioue his high front, The God of Eloquence his flowing speech, The feminine Deities strowed all their bounties And beautie on his face: that eye was Iuno's, Those lips were his that wonne the golden Ball, That virgin-blush Diana's: here they meete, As in a sacred Synod. My Lords, I must intreate A while your wisht forbearance.