Philaster, or Love Lies a-Bleeding · chunk 34 of 40
Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1620 · first performed or written 1609 [May(?)] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Globe T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation typicality 0.85 · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
My dearest, say not so. A piece of you, he was not borne of woman, that can cut it, and look on. Take me in tears betwixt you, For my heart will break with shame and sorrow. Why? 'tis well. Lament no more. Why? what would you have done? If you had wronged me basely, and had found My life no whit compared to yours for love, Sirs, deal with me truly. 'Twas mistaken Sir. Why, if it were? Then sir we would have asked you pardon. And have hope to enjoy it. Enjoy it, I. Would you indeed? be plain. We would my Lord. Forgive me then. So, so. 'tis as it should be now. Lead to my death. Gentlemen, who saw the Prince? So please you Sir, he's gone to see the City, And the new Plot-form, with some Gentlemen Attending on him. Is the Princess ready to bring her prisoner out? She waits your grace. Tell her we stay. King, you may be deceived yet, the head you aim at, Cost more setting on, than to lose it so lightly: If it must off like a wild overflow, that soopes before him, A golden stock, and with it shakes down bridges, Cracks the strong hearts of pines, whose cable roots Held out a thousand storms, a thousand thunders, And so made weightier, takes whole villages upon his back, And in the heat of pride charges strong Towns, Towers, Castles, Palaces, and leaves them desolate. So shall thy head, thy noble head, bury the lives Of thousands, that must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, In thy red ruins. How now, what mask is this? Right royal Sir, I shall sing you an epithalamion, but having lost my best airs with my fortunes, and wanting a celestial harp to strike this blessed onion; thus in glad story I give you all these two fair Cedar branches. The noblest of the mountains where they grew, straightest and tallest, under whose still shades, the worthier beasts have made their layers, and slept free from the fervour of the sirian star, and the fell thunderstroke, free from the Clouds, when they were big with humour, and deliver in thousand spouts, that issues to the earth: O there was none but silent quiet there, till never-pleased fortune shot up shrubs base under branches, to devour these branches, and for a while they did so, and did reign over the Mountain, and did choke up his beauty with brakes, rud, thorns and thistles, till the Sun scorched them to the root, and dried 'em there, and now a gentle gale has blown again, that made these branches meet and twine together, never to be unarmed: The god that sings his Number over marriage beds, has knit their noble hearts, and here they stand, your children, worthy king, and I have done. How, how?
seed 43: T14 · seed 44: T9 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My deerest, say not so. A peece of you, he was not borne of woman, that can cut it, and looke on. Take me in teares betwixt you, For my heart will breake with shame and sorrow. Why? tis well. Lament no more. Why? what would you haue done? If you had wrong'd me basely, and had found My life no whit compar'd to yours for loue, Sirs, deale with me truely. 'Twas mistaken Sir. Why, if it were? Then sir we would haue askt you pardon. And haue hope to inioy it. Inioy it, I. Would you indeed? be plaine. We would my Lord. Forgiue me then. So, so. Tis as it should be now. Leade to my death. Gentlemen, who saw the Prince? So please you Sir, he's gone to see the Citie, And the new Plot-forme, with some Gentlemen Attending on him. Is the Princesse ready to bring her prisoner out? She waites your grace. Tell her we stay. King, you may be deceiu'd yet, the head you ayme at, Cost more setting on, then to lose it so lightly: If it must off like a wild ouer-flow, that soopes before him, A golden stocke, and with it shakes downe bridges, Cracks the strong hearts of Pynes, whose cable rootes Held out a thousand stormes, a thousand thunders, And so made weightier, takes whole villages vpon his back, And in the heate of pride charges strong Townes, Towers, Castels, Pallaces, and leaues them desolate. So shall thy head, thy noble head, bury the liues Of thousands, that must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, In thy red ruines. How now, what maske is this? Right royall Sir, I shal sing you an Epethelamon, but hauing lost my best aires with my fortunes, and wanting a celestiall harpe to strike this blessed vnyon; thus in glad story I giue you all these two faire Caedor branches. The noblest of the mountaines where they grew, straightest and tallest, vnder whose still shades, the worthier beasts haue made their layers, and slept free from the firuer of the Serian starre, and the fell thunder-stroke, free from the Clouds, when they were big with humour, and deliuer in thousand spouts, that issues to the earth: O there was none but silent quiet there, till neuer-pleased fortune shot vp shrubs base vnder branches, to deuour these branches, and for a while they did so, and did raigne ouer the Mountaine, and did choake vp his beauty with brakes, rud, thornes and thistles, till the Sunne scorcht them to the roote, and dride vm there, and now a gentle gaile has blowne againe, that made these branches meete and twine together, neuer to be vnarmde: The god that sings his Number ore marriage beds, has knit their noble hearts, and heere they stand, your children, worthy king, and I haue done. How, how?