Anonymous / Fletcher, John / Massinger, Philip · published 1621 · first performed or written 1617 [1613-1621] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Your grace doth wrong your stars; if this be yours, You may have children. Speak it again. You may have fruitful issue. By whom? when? how? It was the fatal means first struck my blood With the cold hand of wonder, when I read it, Printed upon your birth. Can there be any way unsmooth, has end So fair and good? We that behold the sad aspects of heaven, Leading sense blinded, men feel grief enough To know, though not to speak their miseries. Sorrow must lose a name, where mine finds life, If not in thee, at least ease pain with speed, Which must know no cure else. Then thus, The first of females which your eye shall meet Before the sun next rise, coming from out The Temple of Diana, being slain, you live Father of many sons. Callst thou this sadness, can I beget a son Deserving less than to give recompense Unto so poor a loss? what e'er thou art, Rest peaceable blessed creature, borne to be Mother of Princes, whose grave shall be more fruitful Than others marriage bends: methinks his art Should give her form and happy figure to me, I long to see my happiness; he is gone, As I remember he named my brother's daughter, Were it my mother, 't were a gainful death Could give Ordella's virtue living breath. Your grace is early stirring. How can he sleep, Whose happiness is laid up in an hour. He knows comes stealing toward him, o Martell! is't possible the longing bride, whose wishes Outruns her fears, can on that day she is married Consume in slumbers, or his arms rust in ease, That hears the charge, and sees the honoured purchase Ready to gild his valour? Mine is more A power above these passions; this day France, France that in want of issue withers with us; And like an aged river runs his head Into forgotten ways, again I ransom, And his fair course turn right: this day, Thierry, The son of France, whose manly powers like prisoners Have been tied up, and fettered, by one death Give life to thousand ages; this day beauty The envy of the world, pleasure the glory, Content above the world, desire beyond it Are made mine own and useful. Happy woman That dies to do these things. But ten times happier That lives to do the greater; o Martell, The gods have heard me now, and those that scorned me Mothers of many children, and blessed fathers That see their issues like the stars unnumbered, Their comfort more than them, shall in my praises Now teach their infants songs; and tell their ages From such a son of mine, or such a queen, That chaste Ordella brings me blessed marriage, The chain that links two holy loves together, And in thee marriage, more than blessed Ordella, That comes so ne'er the sacrament itself, The Priests doubt whether purer. Sir, year' lost.
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)
Your grace doth wrong your stars; if this be yours, You may haue children. Speake it againe. You may haue fruitefull issue. By whom? when? how? It was the fatall meanes first strooke my bloud With the cold hand of wonder, when I read it, Printed vpon your birth. Can there be any way vnsmooth, has end So faire and good? We that behold the sad aspects of heauen, Leading sence blinded, men feele griese enough To know, though not to speake their miseries. Sorrow must lose a name, where mine finds life, If not in thee, at least ease paine with speede, Which must know no cure else. Then thus, The first of femalls which your eye shall meete Before the sun next rise, comming from out The Temple of Diana, being slaine, you liue Father of many sonnes. Callst thou this sadnes, can I beget a son Deseruing lesse then to gine recompence Vnto so poore a losse? what eare thou art, Rest peaceable blest creature, borne to be Mother of Princes, whose graue shall be more fruitefull Then others marriage bends: me thinkes his art Should giue her forme and happy figure to me, I long to see my happines; he is gone, As I remember he named my brothers daughter, Were it my mother, 't were a gainfull death Could giue Ordellas virtue liuing breath. Your grace is early stirring. How can he sleepe, Whose happinesse is lay'd vp in an houre. Hee knowes comes stealing toward him, o Martell! I'st possible the longing bride, whose wishes Outrunnes her feares, can on that day she is married Consume in slumbers, or his armes rust in ease, That heares the charge, and sees the honor'd purchase Ready to gild his valor? Mine is more A power aboue these passions; this day France, France that in want of issue withers with vs; And like an aged riuer runnes his head Into forgotten wayes, againe I ransome, And his faire course turne right: this day, Thierry, The son of France, whose manly powers like prisoners Haue bin tyed vp, and fetter'd, by one death Giue life to thousand ages; this day beauty The enuy of the world, pleasure the glory, Content aboue the world, desire beyoud it Are made mine owne and vsefull. Happy woman That dies to do these things. But ten times happier That liues to do the greater; o Martell, The gods haue hard me now, and those that scorn'd me Mothers of many children, and biest fathers That see their issues like the stars vnnumber'd, Their comfort more then them, shall in my prayses Now teach their infants songs; and tell their ages From such a son of mine, or such a queene, That chast Ordella brings me blessed marriage, The chaine that linkes two holy loues together, And in thee marriage, more then blest Ordella, That comes so ne're the sacrament it selfe, The Preists doubt whether purer. Sir, year'lost.