Daniel, Samuel · published 1615 · first performed or written 1614 [Feb 2] (Annals) pastoral; tragicomedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Tell her (said he) that I desire she would Redeem herself at any price she could, And never let her think on me, who am But even the bark, and outside of a man, That trades not with the living, neither can Nor ever will keep other company. Then with the dead. My Sylvia's memory Is all that I must ever live withal. With that his tears, which likewise forced mine, Set me again upon another rack Of passion so, that of myself I sought To comfort him the best I could devise. And I besought him that he would not be Transported thus. But know that with the dead He should no more converse: and how his love Was living, that would give him all content, And was all his entire, and pure, and wished To live no longer than she should be so. When more I would have said, he shook his head And wild me speak no further at that time, But leave him to himself, and to return Again anon, and he would tell me more; Commending me for having done the part Both of a true and moving messenger. And so I took my leave, and came my way. Return again? no, to what end, If he be so conceited, and so fond To entertain a shadow; I have done, And wish, that I had never done so much. Shall I descend below myself, to send To one is not himself? Let him alone With his dead image: you shall go no more Have I here framed with all the art I could This garland decked with all the various flowers, Arcadia yields, in hope he would send back Some comfort, that I might therewith have crowned His love, and witnessed mine, in th'endless round Of this fair ring, the Character of faith? But now he shall have none of it, I rather will Rend it in pieces, and dishatter all Into a Chaos, like his formless thoughts. But yet thou saist he wild thee to return, And he would tell thee more. Yes so he said. Perhaps thy words might yet so work with him As that he takes this time to think on them, And then I should do wrong to keep thee back. Well thou shalt go, and carry him from me This garland, work it what effect it will. But yet I know it will do nothing. Stay Thou shalt not go, for sure he said but that To put thee off, that he might be alone At his idolatry, in worshipping A nothing, but his self made images. But yet he may be wearied with those thoughts As having worn them long, and end they must: And this my message coming in fit time, And movingly delivered, may take hold: He said thou wert a moving messenger Clarindo, did he not? Yes so he said.
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)
Tell her (said hee) that I desire shee would Redeeme her selfe at any price shee could, And neuer let her thinke on mee, who am But euen the barke, and outside of a man, That trades not with the liuing, neither can Nor euer will keepe other company. Then with the dead. My Siluias memory Is all that I must euer liue withall. With that his teares, which likewise forced mine, Set me againe vpon another racke Of passion so, that of my selfe I sought To comfort him the best I could deuise. And I besought him that he would not be Transported thus. But know that with the dead He should no more conuerse: and how his loue Was liuing, that would giue him all content, And was all his intire, and pure, and wisht To liue no longer then shee should be so. When more I would haue said, he shooke his head And wild me speake no further at that time, But leaue him to himselfe, and to returne Againe anone, and he would tell me more; Commending me for hauing done the part Both of a true and mouing messenger. And so I tooke my leaue, and came my way. Returne againe? no, to what end, If hee be so conceited, and so fond To intertaine a shadow; I haue done, And wish, that I had neuer done so much. Shall I descend below my selfe, to send To one is not himselfe? Let him alone With his dead image: you shall goe no more Haue I here fram'd with all the art I could This garland deckt with all the various flowres, Arcadia yeelds, in hope he would send backe Some cofort, that I might therwith haue crown'd His loue, and witness'd mine, in thendles round Of this faire ring, the Character of faith? But now he shall haue none of it, I rather will Rend it in peeces, and dishatter all Into a Chaos, like his formeles thoughts. But yet thou faist he wild thee to returne, And he would tell thee more. Yes so he saide. Perhaps thy words might yet so worke with him As that hee takes this time to thinke on them, And then I should doe wrong to keepe thee backe. Well thou shalt goe, and carry him from mee This garland, worke it what effect it will. But yet I know it will doe nothing. Stay Thou shalt not goe, for sure hee said but that To put thee off, that he might be alone At his idolatrie, in worshipping A nothing, but his selfe made images. But yet he may be wearied with those thoughts As hauing worne them long, and end they must: And this my message comming in fit time, And moouingly deliuered, may take hold: He said thou wert a moouing messenger Clarindo, did he not? Yes so he said.