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 T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 526 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Why dost thou come again? I bade thee go. If I say, Go, never return again. My blood, like to a troubled Ocean, Cuffed with the Winds, incertain where to rest, butts at the utmost share of every limb. My Husband's not the man I would have had: O my new thoughts to this brave sprightly Lord, Was fixed to that hid fire Lovers feel: Where was my mind before, that refined judgement, That represents rare objects to our passions? Or did my lust beguile me of my sense? Making me feast upon such dangerous cates, For present want, that needs must breed a surfeit: How was I shipwrecked? yet Isabella think Thy Husband is a noble Gentleman, young, wise, And rich: think what Fate follows thee, And nought but lust doth blind thy worthy love: I will desist. O no, it may not be. even as a headstrong Courser bears away His Rider, vainly striving him to stay. Or as a sudden gale thrusts into Sea The Heaven-touching Bark, now near the lee: So wavering Cupid brings me back again, And purple Love resumes his Darts again: Here of themselves, thy shafts come as if shot: Better than I thy quiver knows 'em not madam: the Count. So fell the Trojan wanderer on the Greek, And bore away his ravished prize to Troy: For such a beauty, brighter than his Dana. Ioue should (methinks) now come himself again: Lovely Isabella, I confess me mortal: Not worthy to serve thee in thought, I swear, Yet shall not this same overflow of favour Diminish my vowed duty to your beauty. Your love, my Lord, I blushingly proclaim it, Hath power to draw me through a wilderness, Were't armed with Furies, as with furious Beasts. Boy, bid our Train be ready, we'll to horse. My Lord, I should say something, but I blush, Courting is not befitting to our sex. I'll teach you how to woo, Say you have loved me long, And tell me that a woman's feeble tongue Was never tuned unto a wooing-string; Yet for my sake you will forget your sex, And court my Love with strained Immodesty, Then bid me make you happy with a kiss. Sir, though women do not woo, yet for your sake, I am content to leave that civil custom, And pray you kiss me. Now use some unexpect umbages, To draw me further into Vulcan's Net. You love not me so well as I love you. Fair Lady, but I do. Then show your love. Why in this kiss I show't, and in my vowed service, This wooing shall suffice, 'tis easier far To make the current of a silver-brook Convert his flowing backward to his Spring, Then turn a woman wooer. There's no cause Can turn the settled course of Nature's Laws. My Lord, will you pursue the plot? The Letter gives direction here for Pavie. To horse, to horse: thus once Eridace, With looks regardant, did the Thracian gaze, And lost his gift, while he desired the sight. But wiser I, lead by more powerful charm; I'd see the world win thee from out mine arm.
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)
Why dost thou come againe? I bad thee goe. If I say, Goe, neuer returne againe. My bloud, like to a troubled Ocean, Cuff'd vvith the Windes, incertaine where to rest, Buts at the vtmost share of euery limbe. My Husband's not the man I vvould haue had: O my new thoughts to this braue sprightly Lord, Was fixt to that hid fire Louers feele: Where vvas my minde before, that refin'd iudgement, That represents rare obiects to our passions? Or did my lust beguile me of my sence? Making me feast vpon such dangerous cates, For present want, that needes must breede a surfeit: How was I shipwrackt? yet Isabella thinke Thy Husband is a noble Gentleman, young, wise, And rich: thinke what Fate followes thee, And nought but lust doth blinde thy worthy loue: I will desist. O no, it may not be. Euen as a head-strong Courser beares away His Rider, vainely striuing him to stay. Or as a sodaine gale thrusts into Sea The Hauen-touching Barke, now neare the lea: So wauering Cupid brings me backe againe, And purple Loue resumes his Darts againe: Here of themselues, thy shafts come as if shot: Better then I thy quiuer knowes 'em not Madame: the Count. So fell the Troian wanderer on the Greeke, And bore away his rauisht prize to Troy: For such a beautie, brighter then his Dana. Ioue should (me thinkes) now come himselfe againe▪ Louely Isabella, I confesse me mortall: Not worthy to serue thee in thought, I sweare, Yet shall not this same ouer-flow of fauour Diminish my vow'd dutie to your beauty. Your loue, my Lord, I blushingly proclaime it, Hath power to draw me through a wildernesse, Wer't arm'd with Furies, as with furious Beasts. Boy, bid our Traine be ready, wee'll to horse. My Lord, I should say something, but I blush, Courting is not befitting to our sexe. Ile teach you how to woo, Say you haue lou'd me long, And tell me that a womans feeble tongue Was neuer tuned vnto a wooing-string; Yet formy sake you will forget your sexe, And court my Loue with strain'd Immodestie, Then bid me make you happy with a kisse. Sir, though women doe not woo, yet for your sake, I am content to leaue that ciuill custome, And pray you kisse mee. Now vse some vnexpect vmbages, To draw me further into Vulcanes Net. You loue not mee so well as I loue you. Faire Lady, but I doe. Then shew your loue. Why in this kisse I shew't, and in my vowed seruice, This wooing shall suffice, 'tis easier farre To make the current of a siluer-brooke Conuert his flowing backeward to his Spring, Then turne a woman wooer. There's no cause Can turne the setled course of Natures Lawes. My Lord, will you pursue the plot? The Letter giues direction here for Pauie. To horse, to horse: thus once Eridace, With lookes regardiant, did the Thracian gaze, And lost his gift, while he desir'd the sight. But wiser I, lead by more powerfull charme; Ide see the world winne thee from out mine arme.