Philaster, or Love Lies a-Bleeding · chunk 23 of 40
Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1620 · first performed or written 1609 [May(?)] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Globe unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 460 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Oh my dearest servant, I have a war within me. He must be more than man that makes these crystals run into rivers, sweetest fair the cause, and as I am your slave, tied to your goodness, your creature made again from what I was, and newly spirited, I'll right your honour. O my best love, that boy. What boy? The pretty boy you gave me, What of him? Must be no more mine. Why? They are jealous of him. jealous, who? The King. Oh my misfortune, Then 'tis no idle jealousy, let him go. O cruel, are you hard hearted too? Who shall now tell you how much I loved you? Who shall swear it to you, and weep the tears I send? Who shall now bring you letters, rings, bracelets, Lose his health in service, make tedious nights, In stories of your praise? Who shall now sing Your crying Elegies, and strike a sad soul Into senseless pictures, and make them warm? Who shall take up his lute, and touch it, Till he crown a silent sleep upon my eyelids, Make me dream and cry: O my dear, dear Phylaster. O my heart, would he had broken thee, That made thee know this Lady was not loyal. Mistress forget the boy, I'll get you a far better. Oh never, never, such a boy again, as my Bellario. 'tis but your fond affection. With thee, my boy, fare well for ever, All service in servants, farewell faith and all Desires to do well, for thy sake, let all that Shall succeed thee, for thy wrongs, Sell and betray chaste love. And all this passion for a boy. He was your boy, and you put him unto me, And the loss of such must have a mourning for. O thou forgetful woman. How, my Lord? False Arethusa. Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits, When I have lost 'em, if not, leave to talk, and do thus. Do what sir, would you sleep? For ever Arethusa, O ye gods, ye gods: Give me a wealthy patience, have I stood naked Above the shock of many fortunes? have I seen mischief, Numberless, and mighty, grow like a sea upon me: Have I taken danger as deep as death, into my bosom, And laughed upon it, made it but a mirth, And flowing it by, do I live now like him under this tyrant King, That languishing here his sad bell, and sees his Mourners, Do I bear all this bravely? and sink at length Under a woman's falsehood, O that boy, that cursed boy, None but a villain boy, to ease your lust. Nay, than I am betrayed, I feel the plot cast for my overthrow: O I am wretched.
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)
Oh my deerest seruant, I haue a warre within me. He must be more then man that makes these christals runne into riuers, sweetest faire the cause, and as I am your slaue, tied to your goodnesse, your creature made againe from what I was, and newly spirited, I'le right your honour. O my best loue, thatboy. What boy? The pretic boy you gaue me, What of him? Must be no more mine. Why? They are iealous of him. Iealous, who? The King. Oh my misfortune, Then tis no idle iealousie, let him goe. O cruell, are you hard hearted too? Who shall now tell you how much I loued you? Who shall sweare it to you, and weepe the teares I send? Who shall now bring you letters, rings, braslets, Loose his health in seruice, make tedious nights, In stories ofyour praise? Who shall now sing Your crying Elegies, and strike a sad soule Into senselesse pictures, and make them warme? Who shall take vp his lute, and touch it, Till he crowne a silent sleepe vpon my eye-lids, Make me dreame and crie: O my deere, deere Phylaster. O my heart, would he had broken thee, That made thee know this Lady was not loyall. Mistresse forget the boy, I'le get you a farre better. Oh neuer, neuer, such a boy againe, as my Bellario. Tis but your fond affection. With thee, my boy, fare well for euer, All seruice in seruants, farewell faith and all Desires to doe well, for thy sake, let all that Shall succeede thee, for thy wrongs, Sell and betray chaste loue. And all this passion for a boy. He was your boy, and you put him vnto me, And the losse ofsuch must haue a mourning for. O thou forgetfull woman. How, my Lord? False Arethusa. Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits, When I haue lost vm, if not, leaue to talke, and doe thus. Doe what sir, would you sleepe? For euer Arethusa, O ye gods, ye gods: Giue me a wealthy patience, haue I stood naked Aboue the shocke of many fortunes? haue I seene mischiefe, Numberlesse, and mighty, grow like a sea vpon me: Haue I taken danger as deepe as death, into my bosome, And laught vpon it, made it but a mirth, And flowing it by, do I liue now like him vnder this tyrant King, That languishing heare his sad bell, and sees his Mourners, Doe I beare all this brauely? and sinke at length Vnder a womans falsehood, O that boy, that cursed boy, None but a villaine boy, to ease your lust. Nay, then I am betraid, I feele the plot cast for my ouerthrow: O I am wretched.