Massinger, Philip · published 1624 · first performed or written 1623 [licensed for stage, Dec 3] (Annals) tragicomedy · Lady Elizabeth's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T34 Thebes and royal catastrophe: siege, sla · 467 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T34: thebes, antigone, polynices, creon, eteocles, war, theban, gods, dear, country.
O the gods! My ribs, though made of Brass can not contain My heart swollen big with rage. The lie! Whip? Let fury then disperse these clouds, in which I long have masked disguised; that when they know, Whom they have injured, they may faint with horror Of my revenge, which wretched men expect, As sure as fate to suffer. Ha! Pisander! 'Tis the bold Theban! There's no hope for me then: I thought I should have put in for a share, And borne Cleora from them both; but now This stranger looks so terrible, that I dare not So much as look on her. Now as myself, Thy equal, at thy best, Leosthenes. For you, Timagoras; praise heaven, you were borne Cleora's brother, 'tis your safest armour. But I lose time. The base lie cast upon me, I thus return: thou art a perjured man, False and perfidious: And hast made a tender Of love, and service to this Lady; when Thy soul (if thou hast any) can bear witness, That thou wert not thine own. For proof of this, Look better on this virgin, and consider This Persian shape laid by, and she appearing In a Greekish dress, such as when first you saw her, If she resemble not Pisander's sister, One, called Statilia? 'Tis the same! my guilt So chokes my spirits, I can not deny My falsehood, nor excuse it. This is she To whom thou wert contracted: this the Lady, That when thou wert my prisoner fairly taken In the Spartan war, that begged thy liberty, And with it gave herself to thee ungrateful. No more, Sir, I entreat you; I perceive True sorrow in his looks, and a consent To make me reparation in mine honour, And then I am most happy. The wrong done her, Drew me from Thebes with a full intent to kill thee: But this fair object, met me in my fury And quite disarmed more, being denied to have her By you my Lord Archidamus, and not able To live far from her, love (the Mistress of All quaint devices, prompted me to treat With a friend of mine, who as a Pirate sold me For a slave to you my Lord, and gave my Sister As a present to Cleora. Strange Meanders! There how I bore myself needs no relation. But if so far descending from the height Of my then flourishing fortunes, to the lowest Condition of a man, to have means only To feed my eye, with the sight of what I honoured, The dangers to I underwent; the sufferings; The clearness of my interest may deserve A noble recompense in your lawful favour. Now 'tis apparent that Leosthenes Can claim no interest in you, you may please To think upon my service.
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)
O the gods! My ribs, though made of Brasse can not containe My heart swolne big with rage. The lye! Whippe? Let fury then disperse these clouds, in which I long haue mask'd disguis'd; that when they know, Whom they haue iniur'd, they may faint with horror Of my reuenge, which wretched men expect, As sure as fate to suffer. Ha! Pisander! 'Tis the bold Theban! There's no hope for me then: I thought I should haue put in for a share, And borne Cleora from them both; but now This stranger lookes so terrible, that I dare not So much as looke on her. Now as my selfe, Thy equall, at thy best, Leosthenes. For you, Timagoras; praise heau'n, you were borne Cleora's brother, 'tis your safest armour. But I loose time. The base lie cast vpon me, I thus returne: thou art a periur'd man, False and perfidious: And hast made a tender Of loue, and seruice to this Lady; when Thy soule (if thou hast any) can beare witnesse, That thou wert not thine owne. For proofe of this, Looke better on this virgin, and consider This Persian shape laid by, and she appearing In a Greekish dresse, such as when first you saw her, If she resemble not Pisanders sister, One, call'd Statilia? 'Tis the same! my guilt So chokes my spirits, I can not denie My falshood, nor excuse it. This is shee To whom thou wert contracted: this the Lady, That when thou wert my prisoner fairely taken In the Spartan warre, that beg'd thy libertie, And with it gaue her selfe to thee vngratefull. No more, Sir, I intreate you; I perceiue True sorrow in his lookes, and a consent To make me reparation in mine honour, And then I am most happy. The wrong done her, Drew mee from Thebes with a full intent to kill thee: But this faire obiect, met me in my furie And quite disarm'd mo, being deni'd to haue her By you my Lord Archidamus, and not able To liue farre from her, loue (the Mistrisse of All quaint deuices, prompted me to treat With a friend of mine, who as a Pirate sold me For a slaue to you my Lord, and gaue my Sister As a present to Cleora. Strange Meanders! There how I bare my selfe needs no relation. But if so farre descending from the height Of my then flourishing fortunes, to the lowest Condition of a man, to haue meanes only To feed my eye, with the sight of what I honour'd, The dangers to I vnderwent; the suffrings; The cleerenesse of my interest may deserue A noble recompence in your lawfull fauour. Now 'tis apparent that Leosthenes Can claime no interest in you, you may please To thinke vpon my seruice.