Anonymous · published 1570 · first performed or written 1568 [before 1569] (Annals) moral · Children of Paul's (first)(?) unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Give a leg, give an arm, arise, arise, Hold up thy head, lift us thy eyes, 1 A leg to stand up right, 2 An arm to fight a main, 1 The head to hold thy brains in plight, 2 The eyes to look again. A wake ye drowned powers. You spirits for dull with toil: Resyne to me this care of yours, And from dead sleep recoil. Think not upon your loathsome luck, But arise and dance with us a pluck. 2 What though thou hast not hit, The top of thy desire, Time is not so far spent as yet To 'cause the to retire, A rise and ease thyself of pain, And make thee strong to fight again, Let not thy foes rejoice, Let not thy friends lament, Let not thy Ladies rueful voice, In sobs and sighs be spent, Thy fayth is plight forget it not, Twixt her and the to knit the knot. give a leg etc. This is no deadly wound, It may be cured well. See here what Physic we have found, Thy sorrows to expel. The way is plain, the mark is fair, Lodge not thyself in deep despair. What noise is this that ringeth in my ears, Her noise that grieveth my mishap with tears, Ah my mishap my desperate mishap, In whom ill fortune poureth down, all mishap at a clap, What shall become of me, where shall I hide my head? O what a death is it to live for him that would be dead? But since it chanceth so, what ever wight thou be, That findeth me here, in heavy plight, go tell her this from me. causeless I perish here, and cause to curse I have. The time that erst I lived to love, and now must die her slave, The match was over much for me, she understood, Alas why hath she this delight, to lap in guiltless blood. How did I give her cause to show me this despite, To match me where she witted full well, I should be slain in fight. But go and tell her plain, although to late for me, Accursed be the time and hour, which first I did her see. Accursed be the wight, that wild me first thereto, And cursed be they all at once, that had therewith to do. Now get the hence in haste, and suffer me to die. Whom scornful chance & lawless love, have slain most traitorously O noble Wit the miracle of God, and eke of Nature: Why cursest thou thyself, and every other creature. What causeth the thine innocent dear Lady to accuse? Who would lament it more than she, to here this woeful news. Why wilt thou die, whereas thou mayst be sure of health? Whereas thou seeth a plain path way, to worship and to wealth. Not every foil doth make a fall, nor every soil doth slay, Comfort thyself be sure thy luck, will mend from day to day.
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)
Gie a legge, geue an arme, aryse, aryse, Hould vp thy head, lift vs thy eyes, 1 A legge to stand vp right 2 An arme to fyght a mayne, 1 The head to hould thy braynes in plight, 2 The eyes to loke agayne. A wake ye drowned powers. Ye sprites for dull wyth toyle: Resyne to me this care of yours, And from dead sleape recoyle. Thinke not vpon your lothsome luke, But arise and daunce with vs a plucke. 2 What thoughe thou hast not hit, The toppe of thy desyre, Tyme is not soo farre spente as yit To cause the o retyre, A rise and ease thy self of payne And make thee stronge to fight agayne, Let not thy foes reoyse, Let not thy frendes lament, Let not thy Ladies ruful voice, In sobbes and sighes be spent, Thy ayth is plight forget it not, Twixt her and the to knit the knot. Gyue a legge &c. This is no deadly wounde, It may be cured well. Se here what Phisicke we haue found, Thy sorowes to expell. The way is plaine, the marcke is fayre, Lodge not thy selfe in deepe despaire. What noise is this that ringeth in my eares, Her noyse that greueth my myshap with teares, Ah my mishap my desperate mishap, In whom ill fortune poureth downe, all mishap at a clappe, What shall become of me, where shal I hyde my head? Oh what a death is it to liue for him that would be dead? But since it chanceth so, what euer wyght thou be, That fyndeth me here, in heauy plight, goe tel her this from mée. Causles I perishe here, and cause to curse I haue. The time that erst I lyued to loue, and now must die her slaue, The matche was ouer much for me, she vnderstoode, Alas why hath she this delite, to lap in giltles blode. How did I giue her cause to shewe me this despyght, To matche me wher she wist full wel, I should be slaine in fight. But go and tell her playne, although to late for me, Accursed be the time and hower, which first I did her sée. Accursed be the wyght, that wilde me first thereto, And cursed be they all at once, that had therwith to doe. Nowe get the hence in hast, and suffer me to die. Whom scornfull chaunce & lawles loue, haue slaine most trayterouslye O noble Witte the miracle of God, and eke of Nature: Why cursest thou thy selfe, and euery other creature. What causeth the thine innocent deare Lady to accuse? Who would lament it more then she, to here this wofull newes. Why wylt thou dye, wheras thou mayst be sure of health? Wheras thou séeth a playne path waye, to worship and to wealth. Not euery foyle doth make a fal, nor euery soyle doth slaye, Comfort thy selfe be sure thy lucke, wyll mend from day to daye.