Davenant, William · published 1630 · first performed or written 1627 [licensed for stage, Jan 12] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 475 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
To wrong my boy, unkind, incestuous heat! Why is Copulation legal; it gives Authority to lust, for chastity Would soon conclude the World. O virtuous Prejudice, when error, prevents folly! fiends, Devils, that do live in liquid fire, Have constitutions not half so hot, So riotous as mine. But why this? The beauteous Corsa is not yet defiled. He that repents ere he commits a fault, Doth like a thirsty, sinner store his Soul With mercy, to absolve that sin himself; Which he may afterwards, more securely Fall into. Enough this soon Initiates. The credulous Count her husband, I have sent To Lucca. And tomorrow he returns. My plots are limited too short a time To become Actions. Nor was it skill To send the jewel by her sister. Mark! My Soul and brain, are perfect Courtiers grown; In my declension, and my greatest want They leave me to instruct, and help myself. These fancies are not old: the whole Court Observes him strangely altered. But why Am I sent for? that I must know, by safe, And cautelous insinuation. How soon, I've profited in discipline Of Hell I must through What I did mean Adultery at first; will now I fear Become a Rape. Hah! still upon that string? I like it well, 'tis musical. Castruchio! art thou come? Thou hast been a Courtier long; but whether 'Twas want of skill in me to choose a Man, Or want of luck in thee to be my choice; Suspense makes neutral. But know; my love Was tardy, because still void of leisure; To warrant passion well bestowed; by safe (Though tedious) trials. Affection That is slow, is sure: And now, I wear my heart Not in mine own breast, but thine. I have but one life, it is some error In your Grace, thus t'oblige me to the loss Of more, in your dear service. I am not skilled in words. But I affect Thy fury. For thou art the bold satire, That whips Foreste, and the wanton Count, In thy tart Verse. My gracious Lord! I shall conceive much grief, If my zeal mistake in accusation Of those Men, which th'uncertain Tongue of Fame Delivers to my charge. Nay, make not thy confession an excuse Rather than a story: For there needs none. I hate Foreste, and the Count, and would device succinct ways to my revenge. Heaven forbid: I'd rather far disgrace The skill of my subject; call accusation Slander: then that the busy multitude Should note inconstancy in you, This is a damned Hypocrite. Chameleons Changes, are not so intricate to sense. Castruchio! ease me with nimble apprehension. I have not leisure, to be modest now. Speak; haste no acquaintance with any near Corsa's person; the Count's fair wife? I humbly beg, your Grace would not mistake The conditions of my duty.
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 wrong my boy, vnkinde, inceſtuous heate! Why is Copulation legal; it giues Authoritie to luſt, for chaſtetie Would ſoone conclude the World. O virtuous Predice, when error, preuents folly! Fiendes, Deuils, that doe liue in liquid fire, Haue conſtitutions not halfe ſo hot, So riotous as mine. But why this? The beautious Corſa is not yet defil'd. He that repents e're he commits a fault, Doth like a thirſty, ſinner ſtore his Soule With mercy, to abſolue that ſinne himſelfe; Which he may afterwards, more ſecurely Fall into. Enough this ſoone Initiates. The credulous Count her husband, I haue ſent To Lucca. And tomorrow he returnes. My plots are limmited too ſhort a time To become Actions. Nor was it skill To ſend the Iewell by her ſiſter. Marke! My Soule and braine, are perfect Courtiers growne; In my declention, and my greateſt want They leaue me to inſtruct, and helpe my ſelfe. Theſe fancies are not old: the whole Court Obſerues him ſtrangely altered. But why Am I ſent for? that I muſt know, by ſafe, And cautelous inſinuation. How ſoone, I'ue profited in diſcipline Of Hell I muſt through What I did meane Adultery at firſt; will now I feare Become a Rape. Hah! ſtill vpon that ſtring? I like it well, T'is muſicall. Caſtrucho! art thou come? Thou haſt bin a Courtier long; but whether 'Twas want of skill in me to chooſe a Man, Or want of lucke in thee to be my choyce; Suſpence makes neutrall. But know; my loue Was tardy, becauſe ſtill voyde of leaſure; To warrant paſsion well beſtowed; by ſafe (Though tedious) trials. Affection That is ſlow, is ſure: And now, I weare my heart Not in mne owne breaſt, but thine. I haue but one life, it is ſome error In your Grace, thus t'oblige me to the loſſe Of more, in your deare ſeruice. I am not skil'd in words. But I affect Thy fury. For thou art the bold Satyr, That whips Foreſte, and the wanton Count, In thy tart Verſe. My gracious Lord! I ſhall conceiue much griefe, If my zeale miſtake in accuſation Of thoſe Men, which th'vncertaine Tongue of Fame Deliuers to my charge. Nay, make not thy confeſsion an excuſe Rather then a ſtory: For there needs none. I hate Foreſte, and the Count, and would Deuiſe ſuccinct ways to my reuenge. Heauen forbid: I'de rather farre diſgrace The skill of my ſubiect; call accuſation Slander: then that the buſie multitude Should note inconſtancy in you, This is a damn'd Hypocrite. Chamellons Changes, are not ſo intricate to ſenſe. Caſtruchio! eaſe me with nimble apprehenſion. I haue not leaſure, to be modeſt now. Speake; haſt no acquaintance with any neere Corſa's perſon; the Counts faire wife? I humbly beg, your Grace would not miſtake The conditions of my duty.