Davenant, William · published 1630 · first performed or written 1627 [licensed for stage, Jan 12] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
And I, Will join to make th'offence seem virtuous. Now interchange your souls. Where passion is So fond, it cannot well be counterfeit. Each unbusied Angel, hear me speak! O send, send down unto this youthful pair Celestial heat. Such serious love as makes A business of delight; Instruct her soul To practise duty in the humble strain. And furnish him with an acceptance prompt. Make her fruitful as the Vine; which grows Crooked with the weight of its own increase. So blessed in their Issue, that when time Shall think them fit to taste the privilege Of Death: they shall not need a Monument Yet dwell as chief i'th' memory of Fame. Amen, Amen. Such is my prayer too. O Foreste! Excessive joy disturbs my utterance. My words are parted on any tongue. O speak! Thou know'st my heart! Tell her, there may lie hope, I shall deserve those Tears that show like dew Upon the Morning cheek. Entreat her, that My years may not disgrace my love. Though I Am young, I cannot counterfeit, I ever speak my thoughts. I am o'ercome. Alas sir, so am I, There needs no Art, To help belief, where no suspicion is. Now; I'll leave you to yourselves. I've much to promise in my own behalf: Of my future love, and humble duty To you my dearest Lord. Time lays his hand On Pyramids of Brass, and ruins quite What all the fond Artificers did think Immortal workmanship. He sends his worms To Books, to old Records: and they devour Th' inscription. He loves Ingratitude, For he destroyed the memory of Man: But I shall ne'er forget on what strange terms You take me to your bed. Excellent wretch! I am undone with joy I will not blame the Coward to fear death, Since the world contains such joy as this. Why do you weep Lady? can you suppose Foreste would consent to what is done, Unless he knew there were no danger in't? Sure his Mother was a Sibyl; he sees With a prophetic aim; the end of his Designs; before they come to action. He is too wise to err. Why weep you then? It is a folly in my Eyes. I know not why they weep: unless they weep Because they now have lost their liberty; Heretofore each man, which chance presented, Was to them a lawful object: but now, They are to look on none but you. Mark then the bondage I impose on mine, My poor eyes have no object, but your face: Of which I will deprive them thus— Shroud thee in thy vestal ornaments. Creep, creep, my glorious Sun, behind a cloud. For else my eyes, will surfeit with delight. I never felt true joy till now. methinks A brisk alacrity, a nimble fire, conveys me strangely from my flesh. Not the Cannons, Iron-entrail, when wrapped Within a swarthy case of troubled Air, Could equall me in emphasis of Motion.
seed 43: T2 · 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 I, Will ioyne to make th'offence ſeeme virtuous. Now enterchange your ſoules. Where paſsion is So fond, it cannot well be counterfeit. Each vnbuſied Angel, heare me ſpeake! O ſend, ſend downe vnto this youthfull paire Celeſtiall heate. Such ſerious loue as makes A buſineſſe of delight; Inſtruct her ſoule To practiſe duty in the humble ſtraine. And furniſh him with an acceptance prompt. Make her fruitfull as the Vine; which growes Crooked with the weight of its owne encreaſe. So bleſſed in their Iſſue, that when time Shall thinke them fit to taſte the priuiledge Of Death: they ſhall not need a Monument Yet dwell as chiefe i'th' memory of Fame. Amen, Amen. Such is my prayer too. O Foreſte! Exceſsiue ioy diſturbs my vtterance. My words are parted on any tongue. O ſpeake! Thou know'ſt my heart! Tell her, there may lie hope, I ſhall deſerue thoſe Teares that ſhew like deaw Vpon the Morning cheeke. Intreat her, that My yeeres may not diſgrace my loue. Though I Am young, I cannot counterfeit, I euer ſpeake my thoughts. I am o'recome. Alas ſir, ſo am I, There needs no Art, To helpe beliefe, where no ſuſpition is. Now; I'le leaue you to your ſelues. I'ue much to promiſe in my owne behalfe: Of my future loue, and humble duty To you my deereſt Lord. Time layes his hand On Pyramides of Braſſe, and ruines quite What all the fond Artificers did thinke Immortall workemanſhip. He ſends his wormes To Bookes, to old Records: and they deuoure Th inſcription. He loues Ingratitude, For he deſtrod the memory of Man: But I ſhall neere forget on what ſtrange termes You ta me to your bed. Excellent wretch! I am vndone with ioy I will not blame the Coward to feare death, Since the world containes ſuch ioy as this. Why doe you weepe Lady? can you ſuppoſe Foreſte would conſent to what is done, Vnleſſe he knew there were no danger in't? Sure his Mother was a Sibyll; he ſees With a prophetique aime; the end of his Deſignes; before they come to action. He is too wiſe to erre. Why weepe you then? It is a folly in my Eies. I know not why they weepe: vnleſſe they weepe Becauſe they now haue loſt their libertie; Heeretofore each man, which chance preſented, Was to them a lawfull obiect: but now, They are to looke on none but you. Marke then the bondage I impoſe on mine, My poore eies haue no obiect, but your face: Of which I will depriue them thus— Shroude thee in thy veſtall ornaments. Creepe, creepe, my glorious Sunne, behind a cloud. For els my eies, will ſufeit with delight. I neuer felt true ioy till now. Me thinks A briske alacritie, a nimble fire, Conayes me ſtrangely from my fleſh. Not the Cannons, Iron-entraile, when wrapp'd Within a ſwarthy caſe of troubled Aire, Could quall me in emphaſis of Motion.