The Spanish Bawd (Calisto and Meliboea) (Celestina) · chunk 126 of 205
Mabbe, James / Rojas, Fernando de · published 1631 · first performed or written 1631 (Annals) tragicomedy; literary play unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 465 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Without any rupture, or renting of your garments, love did lance your breast; and therefore will not sunder your flesh, to cure your sore. How call you this grief, that hath seized on the better part of my body? Sweet Love. Tell me then, what thing this sweet Love may be? For only in the very hearing of it named, my heart leaps for joy. It is a concealed fire; a pleasing wound; a savoury poison; a sweet bitterness; a delightful grief; a cheerful torment; a sweet, yet cruel hurt; and a gentle death. O wretched, that I am! for if thy relation be true, I rest doubtful of my recovery: For, according to the contrariety which these names do carry, that which shall be profitable for one, shall to another being more passion. Let not your noble youth be diffident of recovery; be of good cheer; take a good heart to you; and doubt not of your welfare: For where heaven gives a wound, there it gives a remedy; and as it 〈◊〉, so it heals; and so much the sooner, because I know where the flower grows, that will free you from all this torment. How is it called? not tell you. and spare not. Calisto. O madam; Malibea; ah woe is me, why woman, what mean you? What a cowardly heart have you? What a fainting is here? O miserable that I am, hold up your head, I pray lift it up; O accursed old woman! Must my steps end this? If she go 〈◊〉 away in a swoon, they will kill me; if she revive, she will be much pained: For she will never endure to publish her pain, nor give me leave to exercise my cure. Why, Melibea, my sweet Lady; my fair Angel; What's the matter, Sweetheart? Where is your grief? why speak you not unto me? What is become of your gracious and pleasing speech? Where is that cheerful colour, that was wont to beautify your cheeks? Open those brightest Lamps, that ever nature tinded: Open your eyes, I say, those 〈◊〉 furnes, that are able to give light to darkness. Lucrecia, Lucrecia, Come hither quickly; come quickly, I say, you shall see your Lady lie here in a swoon in my arms; run down quickly for a Jar of water. Softly, speak softly I pray; I'll see if I can rise; In no case do not trouble the house. Ay me! Sweet Lady, do not sink any more: speak, speak unto me as you were wont. I will, and much more than I was wont. But peace, I pray a while, and do not trouble me. What will you have me to do (my precious pearl?) Whence arose this sudden qualm? I believe, my points are broken.
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)
Without any rupture, or renting of your garments, loue did lance your brest; and therefore will not sunder your flesh, to ure your sore. How call you this griefe, that hath seazed on the better part of my body? Sweet Loue. Tell mee then, what thing this sweete Loue may be? For onely in the very heaing of it nam'd, my heart leapes for ioy. It is a concealed fire; a pleasing wound; a sauoury poyson; a sweet bitternesse; a delightfull griefe; a cheerfull torment; a sweet, yet cruell hurt; and a gentle death. O wretched, that I am! for if thy relation be true, I rest doubtfull of my recouery: For, according to the contrariety which these names doe carry, that which shall be profitable for one, shall to another being more passion. Let not your noble youth be diffident of recouery; be of good cheere; take a good heart to you; and doubt not of your welfare: For where heauen giues a wound, there it giues a remedy; and as it , so it heales; and so much the sooner, because I know where the flowre growes, that will free you from all this torment. How is it called? not tell you. and spare not. Calisto. O Madame; Malibea; ah woe is mee, why woman, what meane you? What a cowardly heart haue you? What a fainting is heere? O miserable that I am, hold vp your head, I pray lift it vp; O accursed old woman! Must my steps end this? If she goe way in a swound, they will kill me; if shee reuiue, shee will be much pained: For she will neuer indure to publish her paine, nor giue mee leaue to exercise my cure. Why, Melibea, my sweete Lady; my faire Angel; What's the matter, Sweet-heart? Where is your griefe? why speake you not vnto me? What is become of your gracious and pleasing speach? Where is that cheerefull colour, that was wont to beautifie your cheekes? Open those brightest Lamps, that euer nature tinded: Open your eyes, I say, those furnes, that are able to giue light to darknesse. Lucrecia, Lucrecia, Come hither quickly; come quickely, I say, you shall see your Lady lye heere in a swound in my armes; runne downe quickly for a Iare of water. Softly, speake softly I pray; I'le see if I can rise; In no case doe not trouble the house. Ay me! Sweet Lady, doe not sinke any more: speake, speake vnto mee as you were wont. I will, and much more then I was wont. But peace, I pray a while, and doe not trouble mee. What will you haue me to doe (my precious pearle?) Whence arose this sudden qualme? I beleeue, my points are broken.