Massinger, Philip · published 1623 · first performed or written 1621 [1621-1623] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T59 Spanish courts: war, honour and courtshi typicality 0.76 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
And my life to serve you. A Horn. Another Post? Go hang him, hang him I say, I will not interrupt my present pleasures, Although his message should import my Head: Hang him I say. Nay, good Sir, I am pleased, To grant a little intermission to you; Who knows, but he brings news, we wish to hear, To heighten our delights. As wise as fair. From Gaspero? That was, my Lord. How, dead? With the delivery of this, and prayers, To guard your Excellency from certain dangers. He ceased to be a Man. All that my fears Could fashion to me or my enemy's wish Is fall'n upon me. Silence, that harsh music, 'Tis now unseasonable; A tolling Bell, As a sad Harbinger to tell me, that, This pampered lump of Flesh, must feast the Worms. 'Tis fitter for me, I am sick. My Lord. Sick to the death, Marcelia, Remove These signs of mirth, they were ominous, and but ushered Sorrow and ruin. Bless us Heaven! My Son. What sudden change is this? All leave the room; I'll bear alone the burden of my grief, And must admit no partner. I am yet Your Prince, where's your obedience? Stay Marcelia I cannot be so greedy of a sorrow, In which you must not share. And cheerfully, I will sustain my part. Why look you pale? Where is that wonted constancy, and courage, That dared the worst of Fortune? Where is Sforza? To whom all dangers that fright common men, Appeared but panic terrors? Why do you eye me With such fixed looks? Love, counsel, duty, service, May flow from me, not danger. O Marcelia! It is for thee I fear: For thee, thy Sforza Shakes like a coward; For myself, unmoved: I could have heard my troops were cut in pieces, My General slain; And he; on whom my hopes Of Rule, of State, of Life, had their dependence; The King of France, my greatest friend, made prisoner To so proud enemies. Then you have just cause To show you are a Man. All this were nothing, Though I ad to it, that I am assured For giving aid to this unfortunate King, The Emperor incensed, lays his command On his victorious Army, fleshed with spoil, And bold of conquest, to march up against me, And seize on my Estates: Suppose that done too, The City ta'en, the Kennels running blood, The ransacked Temples, falling on their Saints: My Mother in my sight, tossed on their Pikes, And Sister ravished: And myself bound fast In Chains, to grace their Triumph: Or what else, An enemy's insolence could load me with, I would be Sforza still; But when I think, That my Marcelia (to whom, all these Are but as atoms to the greatest Hill) Must suffer in my cause: And for me suffer All Earthly torments; Nay, even those the damned howl for in Hell, are gentle strokes, compared To what I feel Marcelia.
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)
And my life to serue you. A Horne. Another Post? Goe hang him, hang him I say, I will not interrupt my present pleasures, Although his message should import my Head: Hang him I say. Nay, good Sir, I am pleas'd, To grant a little intermission to you; Who knowes, but he brings newes, we wish to heare, To heighten our delights. As wise as faire. From Gaspero? That was, my Lord. How, dead? With the deliuerie of this, and prayers, To guard your Excellencie from certaine dangers. He ceast to be a Man. All that my feares Could fashion to me or my enemies wish Is falne vpon me. Silence, that harsh musicke, 'Tis now vnseasonable; A tolling Bell, As a sad Harbinger to tell me, that, This pamper'd lumpe of Flesh, must seast the Wormes. 'Tis fitter for me, I am sick. My Lord. Sick to the death, Marcelia, Remoue These signes of mirth, they were ominous, and but vsherd Sorrow and ruine. Blesse vs Heauen! My Sonne. What suddaine change is this? All leaue the roome; Ile beare alone the burthen of my griefe, And must admit no partner. I am yet Your Prince, wher's your obedience? Stay Marcelia I cannot be so greedie of a sorrow, In which you must not share. And chearefully, I will sustaine my part. Why looke you pale? Where is that wonted constancie, and courage, That dar'd the worst of Fortune? Where is Sforza? To whom all dangers that fright common men, Appear'd but Panicque terrors? Why doe you eye me With such fix'd lookes? Loue, counsell, dutie, seruice, May flow from me, not danger. O Marcelia! It is for thee I feare: For thee, thy Sforza Shakes like a coward; For my selfe, vnmou'd: I could haue heard my troupes were cut in peeces, My Generall slaine; Ano' he; on whom my hopes Of Rule, of State, of Life, had their dependance; The King of France, my greatest friend, made prisoner To so proud enemies. Then you haue inst cause To show you are a Man. All this were nothing, Though I ad to it, that I am assur'd For giuing ayd to this vnfortunate King, The Emperour incenc'd, layes his command On his victorious Army, flesh'd with spoyle, And bold of conquest, to march vp against me, And sease on my Estates: Suppose that done too, The Citie tane, the Kennels running blood, The ransick'd Temples, falling on their Saints: My Mother in my sight, toss'd on their Pikes, And Sister rauish'd: And my selfe bound fast In Chaines, to grace their Triumph: Or what else, An Enemies insolence could load me with, I would be Sforza still; But when I thinke, That my Marcelia (to whom, all these Are but as Atomes to the greatest Hill) Must suffer in my cause: And for me suffer All Earthly torments; Nay, euen those the damn'd Houl for in Hell, are gentle strokes, compar'd To what I feele Marcelia.