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 T24 Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.
NIght like a solemn Mourner frowns on earth, Envying that Day should force her doff her robes, Or Phoebus chase away her Melancholy. heavens eyes look faintly through her sable mask, And silver Cinthia hies her in her Sphere, Scorning to grace black night's solemnity. Be unpropitious Night to villain thoughts, But let thy Diamonds shine on virtuous love: This is the lower house of high-built heaven, Where my chaste Phoebe sits, enthroned 'mong thoughts So purely good, brings her to heaven on earth. Such power hath souls in contemplation. Sing boy (though night yet) like the morning's Lark: A soul that's clear is light, though heaven be dark. Who speaks in Music to us? Sweet, 'tis I. Boy, leave me, and to bed. I thank you for your Music: now good-night. Leave not the World yet, Queen of Chastity, Keep promise with thy Love Endymion, And let me meet thee there on Latmus' top. 'Tis I whose virtuous hopes are firmly fixed On the fruition of thy chaste vowed love. My Lord, your honour made me promise your ascent into my house, since my vow barred my doors, By some wit's engine, made for theft and lust: Yet for your Honour, and my humble fame, check your bloods passions, and return dear Lord: Suspicion is a Dog that still doth bite. Without a cause, this act gives food to Envy; Swollen big, it bursts, and poisons our clear flames. Envy is stingless when she looks on thee. Envy is blind, my Lord, and cannot see. If you break promise, fair, you break my heart. Then come. Yet stay. Ascend. Yet let us part. I fear, yet know not what I fear: Your love's precious, yet mine honour's dear. If I do stain thy Honour with foul lust, May Thunder strike me, to show Ioue is just. Then come my Lord, on earth your vow is given. This aid I'll lend you. Thus I mount my heaven. Receive me sweet. O me unhappy wretch. How fares your Honour? speak Fate-crossed Lord. If life retain his seat within you, speak; Else like that Sestian Dame, that saw her Love, Cast by the frowning billows, on the sands, And lean death swollen big with the Hellespont, In bleak Leander's body, like his Love, Come I to thee, one grave shall serve us both. Stay miracle of women, yet I breath, Though death be entered in this Tower of flesh, He is not conqueror, my heart stands out, And yields to thee, scorning his tyranny. My doors are vowed shut, and I cannot help you. Your wounds are mortal, wounded is mine Honour, If there the Town-guard find you. Unhappy Dame, Relief is perjured, my vow kept, shame. What hellish Destiny did twist my fate? Rest cease thine eyelids; be not passionate: Sweet sleep secure, I'll remove myself. That Viper Envy shall not spot thy fame: I'll take that poison with me, my soul's rest, For like a Serpent, I'll creep on my breast.
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)
NIght like a solemne Mourner frownes on earth, Enuying that Day should force her doffe her roabes, Or Phoebus chase away her Melancholy. Heauens eyes looke faintly through her sable masque, And siluer Cinthia hyes her in her Sphaere, Scorning to grace blacke nights solemnitie. Be vnpropitious Night to villaine thoughts, But let thy Diamonds shine on vertuous loue: This is the lower house of high-built heauen, Where my chaste Phaebe sits, inthron'd 'mong thoughts So purely good, brings her to heauen on earth. Such power hath soules in contemplation. Sing boy (though night yet) like the mornings Larke: A soule that's cleare is light, though heauen be darke. Who speakes in Musicke to vs? Sweet, 'tis I. Boy, leaue me, and to bed. I thanke you for your Musicke: now good-night. Leaue not the World yet, Queene of Chastitie, Keepe promise with thy Loue Endimion ▪ And let mee meete thee there on Latmus top. 'Tis I whose vertuous hopes are firmely fixt On the fruition of thy chaste vow'd loue. My Lord, your honor made me promise your ascent into my house, since my vow barr'd my doores, By some wits engine, made for theft and lust: Yet for your Honour, and my humble fame, Checke your blouds passions, and returne deare Lord: Suspition is a Dogge that still doth bite. Without a cause, this act giues foode to Enuy; Swolne big, it bursts, and poysons our cleare flames. Enuy is stinglesse when she lookes on thee. Enuy is blinde, my Lord, and cannot see. If you breake promise, faire, you breake my hart. Then come. Yet stay. Ascend. Yet let vs part. I feare, yet know not what I feare: Your Loue's precious, yet mine Honor's deare. If I doe staine thy Honor with foule lust, May Thunder strike me, to shew Ioue is iust. Then come my Lord, on earth your vow is giuen. This aide Ile lend you. Thus I mount my heauen. Receiue me sweete. O me vnhappy wretch. How fares your Honour? speake Fate-crost Lord. If life retaine his seate within you, speake; Else like that Sestian Dame, that saw her Loue, Cast by the frowning billowes, on the sands, And leane death swolne big with the Hellespont, In bleake Leanders body, like his Loue, Come I to thee, one graue shall serue vs both. Stay miracle of women, yet I breathe, Though death be enter'd in this Tower of flesh, Hee is not conquerour, my heart stands out, And yeelds to thee, scorning his tyranny. My doores are vow'd shut, and I cannot helpe you. Your wounds are mortall, wounded is mine Honour, If there the Towne-guard finde you. Vnhappy Dame, Reliefe is periur'd, my vow kept, shame. What hellish Destinie did twist my fate? Rest ceaze thine eye-lids; be not passionate: Sweet sleepe secure, Ile remoue my selfe. That Viper Enuy shall not spot thy fame: Ile take that poyson with me, my soules rest, For like a Serpent, Ile creepe on my breast.