Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1619 · first performed or written 1610 [c.1610-1611] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
My hard fortunes Deserve not scorn, for I was never proud When they were good. how's this. You are mistaken sir, she is not married. You said Amintor was. 'tis true, but Pardon me, I did receive Letters at Patria from my Amintor That he should marie her. And so it stood, In all opinion long, but your arrival Made me imagine you had heard the change. Who has he taken then? A Lady sir, That bears the light above her, and strikes dead With flashes of her eye, the fair Euadne Your virtuous sister. Peace of heart betwixt them, But this is strange. The King my brother did it To honour you, and these solemnities Are at his charge. 'tis royal like himself, But I am sad, my speech bears so infortunate a sound To beautiful Aspasia, there is rage Hid in her father's breast Calianax, Bent long against me and 'a should not think, Could I but call it back, that I would take Such base revenges as to scorn the state Of his neglected daughter. O 'twere pity, for this Lady sir, Sits discontented with her watery eyes bent on the ear In unfrequented woods are her delight, Where when she sees a bank stuck full of flowers, Than she will sit, and sigh, and tell Her servants, what a pretty place it were To bury lovers in, and make her maids Pluck'em, and strew them over her like a corpse, She carries with her an infectious grief, That strikes all her beholders, she will sing The Mournfulst things that ever ear hath heard, And swoon, and sing again, and when the rest Of your young Ladies in their wanton blood, Tell mirthful tales in course that fills the room With laughter, she will with so sad a look Bring forth a story of the silent death Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief Will put in such a phrase, that ere she end she'll send them weeping one by one away. She has a brother under my command Like her, a face as womanish as hers, But with a spirit that hath much outgrown The number of his years. My Lord the Bridegroom. I might run fiercely, not more hastily, Upon my foe, I love thee well Amintor, My mouth is much too narrow for my heart, I joy to look upon those eyes of thine, Thou art my friend, but my disordered speech Cuts off my love. Thou art Melantius, All love is spoke in that, a sacrifice To thank the gods, Melantius is returned In safety, victory sits on his sword As she was wont, may she build there, and dwell, And may thy armour be as it hath been, Only thy valour and thine innocence, What endless treasures would our enemies give, That I might hold thee still thus.
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)
My hard fortunes Deserue not scorne, for I was neuer proud When they were good. Howes this. You are mistaken sir, she is not married. You said Amintor was. Tis true, but Pardon me, I did receiue Letters at Patria from my Amintor That he should marie her. And so it stood, In all opinion long, but your arriuall Made me imagine you had heard the change. Who has he taken then? A Ladie sir, That beares the light aboue her, and strikes dead With flashes of her eye, the faire Euadne Your vertuous sister. Peace of heart betwixt them, But this is strange. The King my brother did it To honour you, and these solemnities Are at his charge. Tis royall like himselfe, But I am sad, my speech beares so infortunate a sound To beautifull Aspatia, there is rage Hid in her fathers breast Calianax, Bent long against me and 'a should not thinke, Could I but call it backe, that I would take Such base reuenges as to scorne the state Of his neglected daughter. O t'were pittie, for this Lady sir, Sits discontented with her watrie eyes bent on the ear In vnfrequented woods are her delight, Where when she sees a bancke stucke full of flowers, Then she will sit, and sigh, and tell Her seruants, what a prittie place it were To burie louers in, and make her maides Pluck'em, and strow them ouer her like a corse, She carries with her an infectious griefe, That strikes all her beholders, she will sing The mournulst things that euer eare hath heard, And swound, and sing againe, and when the rst Of your young Ladyes in their wanton blood, Tell mirthfull tales in course that fils the roome With laughter, she will with so sad a looke Bring forth a storie of the silent death Of some forsaken virgin, which her griefe Will put in such a phrase, that ere she end Shee'le send them weeping one by one away. She has a brother vnder my command Like her, a face as womanish as hers, But with a spirit that hath much outgrowne The number of his yeares. My Lord the Bridegroome. I might run fiercely, not more hatily, Vpon my foe, I loue thee well Amintor, My mouth is much too narrow for my heart, I ioy to looke vpon those eyes of thine, Thou art my friend, but my disordred speech Cuts off my loue. Thou art Melantius, All loue is spoke in that, a sacrifice To thanke the gods, Melantius is return'd In safty, victory sits on his sword As she was wont, may she build there, and dwell, And may thy armour be as it hath beene, Onely thy valour and thine innocence, What endlesse treasures would our enemies giue, That I might hold thee till thus.