Anonymous / Fletcher, John / Massinger, Philip · published 1621 · first performed or written 1617 [1613-1621] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
fall'n thus, once more she smiled, as if that death For her had studied a new way to sever The soul and body, without sense of pain; And then tell him quoth she what you have seen, And with what willingness 'twas done: for which My last request unto him is, that he Would instantly make choice of one (most happy In being so chosen) to supply my place, By whom if heaven bless him with a daughter, In my remembrance let it bear my name, Which said she died. I hear this, and yet live, Heart art thou thunder proof, will nothing break thee? She's dead, and what her entertainment may be In th'other world without me is uncertain, And dare I stay here unresolved? Oh Sir! Dear son: Great King. Unhand me, am I fall'n So low, that I have lost the power to be Disposer of my own life? Be but pleased To borrow so much time of sorrow, as To call to mind her last request, for whom (I must confess a loss beyond expression) You turn your hand upon yourself, 'twas hers And dying hers, that you should live and happy In seeing little models of yourself, By matching with another, and will you Leave any thing that she desired ungranted? And suffer such a life that was laid down For your sake only to be fruitless? Oh thou dost throw charms upon me, against which I cannot stop my ears; bear witness heaven That not desire of life, nor love of pleasures Nor any future comforts, but to give Peace to her blessed spirit in satisfying Her last demand, makes me defer our meeting, Which in my choice, and sudden choice shall be To all apparent. How? do I remove one mischief To draw upon my head a greater? Go, thou only good man, to whom for herself Goodness is dear, and prepare to inter it In her that was; o my heart! my Ordella, A monument worthy to be the casket Of such a jewel. Your command that makes way Unto my absence is a welcome one, For but yourself there's nothing here Martell Can take delight to look on; yet some comfort Goes back with me, to her, who though she want it, Deserves all blessings. So soon to forget The loss of such a wife, beleeuen it will Be censured in the world. Pray you no more, There is no argument you can use to cross it, But does increase in me such a suspicion I would not cherish,--- who's that? One, no guard Can put back from access, whose tongue no threats Nor prayers can silence, a bold suitor and For that which if you are yourself, a King, You were made so to grant it, justice, justice. With what assurance dare you hope for that Which is denied to me? or how can I Stand bound to be just, unto such as are Beneath me, that find none from those that are Above me?
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)
Falne thus, once more she smilde, as if that death For her had studied a new way to seuer The soule and body, without sence of paine; And then tell him quoth she what you haue seenē, And with what willingnesse 'twas done: for which My last request vnto him is, that he Would instantly make choice of one (most happy In being so chosen) to supply my place, By whom if heauen blesse him with a daughter, In my remembrance let it beare my name, Which sayd she dide. I heare this, and yet liue, Hart art thou thunder proofe, will nothing breake thee? She's dead, and what her entertainement may be In th'other world without me is vncertaine, And dare I stay heere vnresolude? Oh Sir! Deare son: Great King. Vnhand me, am I falne So low, that I haue lost the powre to be Disposer of my owne life? Be but pleasde To borrow so much time of sorrow, as To call to mind her last request, for whom (I must confesse a losse beyond expression) You turne your hand vpon your selfe, 'twas hers And dying hers, that you should liue and happy In seeing little models of your selfe, By matching with another, and will you Leaue any thing that she desirde vngranted? And suffer such a life that was layd downe For your sake only to be fruitelesse? Oh thou doest throw charmes vpon me, against which I cannot stop my eares; beare witnesse heauen That not desire of life, nor loue of pleasures Nor any future comforts, but to giue Peace to her blessed spirit in satisfying Her last demand, makes me defer our meeting, Which in my choice, and suddaine choice shall be To all apparant. How? do I remoue one mischiefe To draw vpon my head a greater? Go, thou only good man, to whom for her selfe Goodnesse is deare, and prepare to interre it In her that was; o my hart! my Ordella, A monument worthy to be the casket Of such a iewell. Your command that makes way Vnto my absence is a welcome one, For but your selfe there's nothing here Martell Can take delight to looke on; yet some comfort Goes backe with me, to her, who though she want it, Deserues all blessings. So soone to forget The losse of such a wife, beleeuē it will Be censurde in the world. Pray you no more, There is no argument you can vse to crosse it, But does increase in me such a suspition I would not cherish, ---who's that? One, no guarde Can put backe from accesse, whose tongue no threats Nor praiers can silence, a bould suitor and For that which if you are your selfe, a King, You were made so to grant it, Iustice, Iustice. With what assurance dare you hope for that Which is denide to me? or how can I Stand bound to be iust, vnto such as are Beneath me, that find none from those that are Aboue me?