Anonymous / Fletcher, John / Massinger, Philip · published 1621 · first performed or written 1617 [1613-1621] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti typicality 0.82 · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Best Lady, We have no faculties which are not yours. Nor will be anything without you. Be so, And we will stand or fall together, for Since we have gone so far, that death must stay The journey which we wish should never end, And innocent, or guilty we must die, When we do so, let's know the reason why? The King. We'll be alone. I would I had A convoy too, to bring me safe off, For rage although it be allayed with sorrow, Appears so dreadful in him, that I shake To look upon it. Coward, I will meet it And know from whence t'as birth: son, kingly Thierry. Is cheating grown so common among men, And thrives so well here, that the gods endeavour To practise it above! Your mother. Ha! or are they only careful to revenge, Not to reward? or when for your offences We study satisfaction, must the cure Be worse than the disease? Will you not hear me? To lose th'ability to perform those duties For which I entertained the name of husband, asked more than common sorrow; but t'impose For the redress of that defect, a torture In marking her to death, for whom alone I felt that weakness as a want, requires More than the making the head bald? or falling Thus flat upon the earth, or cursing that way, Or praying this, oh such a scene of grief, And so set down, (the world the stage to act on) May challenge a Tragedian better practised Than I am to express it; for my cause Of passion is so strong, and my performance So weak, that though the part be good, I fear Th'ill acting of it, will defraud it of The poor reward it may deserve, men's pity. I have given you way thus long, a King, and what Is more, my son, and yet a slave to that Which only triumphs over coward's sorrow For shame look up. is't you, look down on me; And if that you are capable to receive it, Let that return to you, that have brought forth One marked out only for it: what are these? Come they upon your privilege, to tread on The tomb of my afflictions? No not we Sir. How dare you then omit the ceremony Due to the funeral of all my hopes, Or come unto the marriage of my sorrows, But in such colours as may sort with them? Alas, we will wear any thing. This is madness, Take but my counsel. Yours? dare you again Though armed with the authority of a mother, Attempt the danger, that will fall on you If such another syllable awake it? Go, and with yours be safe, I have such cause Of grief, nay more, to love it, that I will not Have such as these be sharers in it. Madam. Another time were better.
seed 43: T31 · seed 44: T44 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Best Lady, We haue no faculties which are not yours. Nor will be anything without you. Be so, And we will stand or fall together, for Since we haue gone so far, that death must stay The iourney which we wish should neuer end, And innocent, or guilty we must die, When we do so, let's know the reason why? The King. We'le be alone. I would I had A conuoy too, to bring me safe off, For rage although it be allaide with sorrow, Appeares so dreadfull in him, that I shake To looke vpon it. Coward, I will meete it And know from whence t'as bt: sonne, kingly Thierry. Is cheating growne so common among men, And thriues so well heere, that the gods endeauour To practice it aboue! Your mother. Ha! or are they only carefull to reuenge, Not to reward? or when for your offences We study satisfaction, must the cure Be worse then the disease? Will you not heare me? To lose th'ability to performe those duties For which I entertainde the name of husband, Askde more then common sorrow; but t'impose For the redresse of that defect, a torture In marking her to death, for whom alone I felt that weaknesse as a want, requires More then the making the head bald? or falling Thus flat vpon the earth, or cursing that way, Or praying this, oh such a sceane of griefe, And so set downe, (the world the stage to act on) May challenge a Tragedian better practisde Then I am to expresse it; for my cause Of passion is so strong, and my performance So weake, that though the part be good, I feare Th'ill acting of it, will defraude it of The poore reward it may deserue, mens pitty. I haue giuen you way thus long, a King, and what Is more, my sonne, and yet a slaue to that Which only triumphs ouer cowards sorrow For shame looke vp. I'st you, looke downe on me; And if that you are capable to receiue it, Let that returne to you, that haue brought forth One markde out only for it: what are these? Come they vpon your priueledge, to tread on The tombe of my afflictions? No not we Sir. How dare you then omit the ceremony Due to the funerall of all my hopes, Or come vnto the marriage of my sorrowes, But in such colours as may sort with them? Alas, we will weare any thing. This is madnesle, Take but my counsell. Yours? dare you againe Though armde with the authority of a mother, Attempt the danger, that will fall on you If such another sillable awake it? Go, and with yours be safe, I haue such cause Of griefe, nay more, to loue it, that I will not Hane such as these be sharers in it. Madam. Another time were better.