Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1623 · first performed or written 1613 [Jun] (Annals) history · King's Men unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
To betray me. My Lords, I thank you both for your good wills, Ye speak like honest men, (pray God ye prove so) But how to make ye suddenly an Answer In such a point of weight, so near mine Honour, (More near my Life I fear) with my weak wit; And to such men of gravity and learning; In truth I know not. I was set at work, Among my Maids, full little (God knows) looking Either for such men, or such business; For her sake that I have been, for I feel The last fit of my Greatness; good your Graces Let me have time and Council for my Cause: Alas, I am a Woman friendless, hopeless. Madam, You wrong the King's love with these fears, Your hopes and friends are infinite. In England, But little for my profit can you think Lords, That any English man dare give me Council? Or be a known friend 'gainst his Highness' pleasure, (Though he be grown so desperate to be honest) And live a Subject? Nay forsooth, my Friends, They that must weigh out my affllictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here, They are (as all my other comforts) far hence In mine own Country Lords. I would your Grace Would leave your griefs, and take my Counsel. How Sir? Put your main cause into the King's protection, he's loving and most gracious. 'Twill be much, Both for your Honour better, and your Cause: For if the trial of the Law o'er take ye, You'll part away disgraced. He tells you rightly. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin: Is this your Christian Council? Out upon ye. Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge. That no King can corrupt. Your rage mistakes us. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye, Upon my Soul two reverend Cardinal Virtues: But Cardinal Sins, and hollow hearts I fear ye: Mend 'em for shame my Lords: Is this your comfort? The Cordial that ye bring a wretched Lady? A woman lost among ye, laughed at, scorned? I will not wish ye half my miseries, I have more Charity. But say I warned ye; Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, least at once The burden of my sorrows, fall upon ye. Madam, this is a mere distraction, You turn the good we offer, into envy. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye, And all such false Professors. Would you have me (If you have any justice, any Pity, If ye be any thing but Churchman's habits) Put my sick cause into his hands, that hates me? Alas, has banished me his Bed already, His Love, too long ago. I am old my Lords, And all the Fellowship I hold now with him Is only my Obedience. What can happen To me, above this wretchedness? All your Studies Make me a Curse, like this. Your fears are worse.
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)
To betray me. My Lords, I thanke you both for your good wills, Ye ſpeake like honeſt men, (pray God ye proue ſo) But how to make ye ſodainly an Anſwere In ſuch a poynt of weight, ſo neere mine Honour, (More neere my Life I feare) with my weake wit; And to ſuch men of grauity and learning; In truth I know not. I was ſet at worke, Among my Maids, full little (God knowes) looking Either for ſuch men, or ſuch buſineſſe; For her ſake that I haue beene, for I feele The laſt fit of my Greatneſſe; good your Graces Let me haue time and Councell for my Cauſe: Alas, I am a Woman frendleſſe, hopeleſſe. Madam, You wrong the Kings loue with theſe feares, Your hopes and friends are infinite. In England, But little for my profit can you thinke Lords, That any Engliſh man dare giue me Councell? Or be a knowne friend 'gainſt his Highnes pleaſure, (Though he be growne ſo deſperate to be honeſt) And liue a Subiect? Nay forſooth, my Friends, They that muſt weigh out my affllictions, They that my truſt muſt grow to, liue not heere, They are (as all my other comforts) far hence In mine owne Countrey Lords. I would your Grace Would leaue your greefes, and take my Counſell. How Sir? Put your maine cauſe into the Kings protection, Hee's louing and moſt gracious. 'Twill be much, Both for your Honour better, and your Cauſe: For if the tryall of the Law o're take ye, You'l part away diſgrac'd. He tels you rightly. Ye tell me what ye wiſh for both, my ruine: Is this your Chriſtian Councell? Out vpon ye. Heauen is aboue all yet; there ſits a Iudge. That no King can corrupt. Your rage miſtakes vs. The more ſhame for ye; holy men I thought ye, Vpon my Soule two reuerend Cardinall Vertues: But Cardinall Sins, and hollow hearts I feare ye: Mend 'em for ſhame my Lords: Is this your comfort? The Cordiall that ye bring a wretched Lady? A woman loſt among ye, laugh't at, ſcornd? I will not wiſh ye halfe my miſeries, I haue more Charity. But ſay I warn'd ye; Take heed, for heauens ſake take heed, leaſt at once The burthen of my ſorrowes, fall vpon ye. Madam, this is a meere diſtraction, You turne the good we offer, into enuy. Ye turne me into nothing. Woe vpon ye, And all ſuch falſe Profeſſors. Would you haue me (If you haue any Iuſtice, any Pitty, If ye be any thing but Churchmens habits) Put my ſicke cauſe into his hands, that hates me? Alas, ha's baniſh'd me his Bed already, His Loue, too long ago. I am old my Lords, And all the Fellowſhip I hold now with him Is onely my Obedience. What can happen To me, aboue this wretchedneſſe? All your Studies Make me a Curſe, like this. Your feares are worſe.