Massinger, Philip · published 1623 · first performed or written 1621 [1621-1623] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 511 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Dear Lady, Great in your fortune, greater in your goodness, Make a superlative of excellence, In being greatest in your saving mercy. I do confess, humbly confess my fault, To be beyond all pity; my attempt, So barbarously rude, that it would turn A saintlike patience, into savage fury: But you that are all innocence and virtue, No spleen or anger in you of a woman, But when a holy zeal to piety fires you, May, if you please, impute the fault to love, Or call it beastly lust, for 'tis no better A sin, a monstrous sin, yet with it, many That did prove good men after, have been tempted, And though I am crooked now, 'tis in your power To make me straight again. Is't possible This can be cunning? But if no submission, Nor prayers can appease you, that you may know, 'Tis not the fear of death that makes me sue thus, But a loathed detestation of my madness, Which makes me wish to live to have your pardon. I will not wait the sentence of the Duke (Since his return is doubtful) but I myself Will do a fearful justice on myself, No witness by but you, there being no more When I offended: yet before I do it, For I perceive in you no signs of mercy, I will disclose a secret, which dying with me, May prove your ruin. Speak it, it will take from The burden of thy conscience. Thus then Madam, The warrant by my Lord signed for your death, Was but conditional, but you must swear By your unspotted truth, not to reveal it, Or I end here abruptly. By my hopes Of joys hereafter, on. Nor was it hate That forced him to it, but excess of love, And if I e'er return, so said great Sforza, No living man deserving to enjoy My best Marcelia. With the first news That I am dead, for no man after me Might e'er enjoy her, but till certain proof Assure thee I am lost (these were his words) Fail not to kill her Observe and honour her as if the seal Of woman's goodness only dwelled in hers. This trust I have abused and basely wronged, And if the excelling pity of your mind Cannot forgive it, as I dare not hope it, Rather than look on my offended Lord, I stand resolved to punish it. Hold, 'tis forgiven, And by me freely pardoned. In thy fair life. Hereafter study to deserve this bounty With thy true penitence (such I believe it) Against my resolution hath forced from me, But that my Lord, my Sforza should esteem, My life fit only as a page, to wait on The various course of his uncertain fortunes, Or cherish in himself that sensual hope In death to know me as a wife, afflicts me, Nor does his envy less deserve my anger, Which though such is my love, I would not nourish, Will stick the ardour that I had to see him Return in safety
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)
Deere Lady, Great in your fortune, greater in your goodnes, Make a superlatiue of excellence, In being greatest in your sauing mercie. I doe confesse, humbly confesse my fault, To be beyond all pittie; my attempt, So barberously rude, that it would turne A saint-like patience, into sauage furie: But you that are all innocence and vertue, No spleane or anger in you of a woman, But when a holy zeale to pietie fires you, May, if you please, impute the fault to loue, Or call it beastly lust, for 'tis no better A sinne, a monstrous sinne, yet with it, many That did proue good men after, haue bin tēpted, And thogh I am croked now, 'tis in your powre To make me straight againe. Is't possible This can be cunning? But if no submission, Nor prayers can appease you, that you may know, 'Tis not the feare of death that makes me sue thus, But a loathed detestation of my madnesse, Which makes me wish to liue to haue your pardon. I will not waite the sentence of the Duke (Since his returne is doubtfull) but I my selfe Will doe a fearefull iustice on my selfe, No witnesse by but you, there being no more When I offended: yet before I doe it, For I perceiue in you no signes of mercie, I will disclose a secret, which dying with me, May proue your ruine. Speake it, it will take from The burthen of thy conscience. Thus then Madam, The warrant by my Lord sign'd for your death, Was but conditionall, but you must sweare By your vnspotted truth, not to reueale it, Or I end here abruptly. By my hopes Of ioyes hereafter, on. Nor was it hate That forc'd him to it, but excesse of loue, And if I e're returne, so said great Sforza, No liuing man deseruing to enioy My best Marcelia. With the first newes That I am dead, for no man after me Might e're enioy her, but till certaine proofe Assure thee I am lost (these were his words) Faile not to kill her Obserue and honor her as if the seale Of womans goodnesse only dwelt in hers. This trust I haue abus'd and basely wrong'd, And if the excelling pittie of your mind Cannot forgiue it, as I dare not hope it, Rather then looke on my offended Lord, I stand resolu'd to punish it. Hold, 'tis forgiuen, And by me freely pardned. In thy faire life. Hereafter studie to deserue this bountie With thy true penitence (such I beleeue it) Against my resolution hath forc'd from me, But that my Lord, my Sforza should esteeme, My life fit only as a page, to waite on The various course of his vncertaine fortunes, Or cherish in himselfe that sensuall hope In death to know me as a wife, afflicts me, Nor does his enuie lesse deserue my anger, Which though such is my loue, I would not nourish, Will stick the ardor that I had to see him Returne in safetie