May, Thomas · published 1622 · first performed or written 1620 (Annals) comedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Still thou wilt not conceive me, I must deal plain With you, wilt thou lie with me, and I will seal his Pardon presently; nay more, I'll heap upon you Both all favours, all honours that a Prince can give. Oh me unhappy, in what a sad dilemma stands my choice. Either to lose the man my soul most loves, Or save him by a deed of such dishonour As he will ever loathe me for, and hate To draw that breath that was so basely kept. Name any thing but that to save his life, I know you do but tempt my frailty Sir, I know your royal thoughts could never stoop o such a soule dishonourable act. Bethink yourself, there is no way but that, I swear by Heaven never to pardon him But upon those conditions. Oh I am miserable. Thou art not if not wilful, yield Leucothoe, It shall be secret, Philocles for his life Shall thank thy love, but never know the price Thou paidst for it; be wise thou heardst me swear, I cannot now show mercy, thou mayst save him, And if he die, 'tis thou that art the Tyrant. I should be so if I should save him thus, Nay I should be a Traitor to your grace, Betray your soul to such a foe as lust, But since your oath is past, dear Philocles I'll show to thee an honest cruelty, And rather follow thee in spotless death, Then buy with sinning a dishonoured life. Yet pity me Leucothoe, cure the wound Thine eyes hath made, pity a begging King, Uncharm the charms of thy bewitching face, Or thou wilt leave me dead: will nothing move thee, Thou art a Witch, a Traitor, thou hast sought By unresisted spells thy sovereign's life: Who are about us there, call in the Lords again, Lord Polemetes, take your daughter to you, Keep her at home. I will my Liege, Rosio see her there I wonder what is done. Euphues I have ta'en a solemn oath Never to grant a pardon to thy son. O say not so my Liege, your grace I know Has mercy for a greater fault than this. My oath is past and cannot be recalled. This is beyond our wishes. What made him swear this I wonder. A heavy oath to me and most unlooked for, Your justice Sir has set the period Unto a loyal house, a Family That have been props of the Sicilian crown, That with their bloods in many an honoured field, 'gainst the hot French, and Neopolitan Have served for you and your great Ancestors, Their children now can never more do so, Farewell my Sovereign, whilst I in tears Spend the sad remnant of my childless age, I'll pray for your long life and happy reign, And may your Grace and your Posterity At need find hands as good and hearts as true As ours have ever been. Farewell good old man.
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)
Still thou wilt not conceiue me▪ I muſt deale plain With you, wilt thou lye with me, and I will ſeale his Pardon preſently; nay more, ileheape vpon you Both all fauours, all honours that a Prince can giue. Oh me vnhappy, in what a ſad dilemma ſtands my choiſe. Either to loſe the man my ſoule moſt loues, Or ſaue him by a deed of ſuch diſhonour As he will euer loath me for, and hate To draw that breath that was ſo baſely kept. Name any thing but that to ſaue his life, I know you doe but tempt my frailty Sir, I know your royall thoughts could neuer ſtoope o ſuch a ſoule diſhonourable act. Bethinke your ſelfe, there is no way but that, I ſweare by Heauen neuer to pardon him But vpon thoſe conditions. Oh I am miſerable. Thou art not if not wilfull, yeeld Leucothoe, It ſhall be ſecret, Philocles for his life Shall thanke thy loue, but neuer know the price Thou paidſt for it; be wiſe thou heardſt me ſweare, I cannot now ſhew mercy, thou maiſt ſaue him, And if he dye, tis thou that art the Tyrant. I ſhould be ſo if I ſhould ſaue him thus, Nay I ſhould be a Traytor to your grace, Betray your ſoule to ſuch a foe as luſt, But ſince your oath is paſt, deare Philocles Ile ſhew to thee an honeſt cruelty, And rather follow thee in ſpotleſſe death, Then buy with ſinning a diſhonoured life. Yet pitty me Leucothoe, cure the wound Thine eyes hath made, pitty a begging King, Vncharme the charmes of thy bewitching face, Or thou wilt leaue me dead: will nothing moue thee, Thou art a Witch, a Traytor, thou haſt ſought By vnreſiſted ſpels thy ſoueraignes life: Who are about vs there, call in the Lords againe, Lord Poltes, take your daughter to you, Keepe her at home. I will my Leige, Roſio ſee her there I wonder what is done. Euphues I haue tane a ſolemne oath Neuer to grant a pardon to thy ſnne. O ſay not ſo my Leige, your grace I know Has mercy for a greater fault then this. My oath is paſt and cannot be recalled. This is beyond our wiſhes. What made him ſweare this I wonder. A heauy oath to me and moſt vnlooked for, Your iuſtice Sir has ſet the period Vnto a loyall houſe, a Family That haue bin props of the Sicylian crowne, That with their blouds in many an honourd field, Gainſt the hot French, and Neopolitan Haue ſeru'd for you and your great Anceſtors, Their children now can neuer more doe ſo, Farewell my Soueraigne, whileſt I in teares Spend the ſd reman of my childleſſe age, Ile pray for your long life and happy raigne, And may your Grace and your Poſterity At neede finde hands as good and hearts as true As ours haue euer beene. Farewell good old man.