Drue, Thomas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1624 [licensed for stage, Jan 2] (Annals) history · Prince Palatine's (Palsgrave's) Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.79 · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
News of the Duchess, that will please but ill, I will forbear to speak of our escapes, All which were winged, with fortune, and success, And tell you of one hapless accident, We all took Ship at Lee, but not together, For I alone passed in a Hollander, No sooner did the wind blow from the shore, But rose a tempest, which dispersed our ships, And we might see the Bark wherein she went, By violence of the waves forced back again, Even to the haven's mouth. Even to deaths lean arms, Thy tragic news, hath slain me M. Sands, We are as one, and what beside her person, I feel in a true essence of her grief. In these extremes, 'tis good to hope the best. Oh M. Perecill, the worst of ills, Falls on her head, and can I hope the best, she's like a Lamb, trapped with a herd of Wolves, A harmless Dove amongst a thousand Hawks, If she returned, what providence can save, A body doomed already to the grave. See M. Bertie, lift up your sad eyes. Bertie. Madam. Oh see the meeting of two faithful souls, What a sweet union it doth make of hearts, When one another mutual joy imparts. Defer the story, of our dangers past, To acquaint us with some comfortable aid. Oh pardon me one minute gentle Madam, If I delay your fair request a little, To take my fellow servants by the hand, Good M. Cranwell, the firm loyalty, You bear you Mistress, in her great extremes, Shall be recorded in a book of Brass. Alas I have scanted of my duty much, My liberal will's joined with unable power, With my true service I do join my life, And owe them both, unto your princely Wife. You are a Mirror, Nurse, so art thou, Thy noble carriage, thus I Kiss with joy, Alas poor Lady, thou, ere thou canst go, Art forced to leave thy country, thy return, Will make them smile, that now are forced to mourn, Thy infancy in Pilgrimage is spent, Yet thy abode hereafter shall be Kent, And be an honoured Countess of that name, For so my true divining spirits do aim. What Gentleman is that. 'tis a Walloone Feris de Ryviers, alias Perecell. May we repose with him? Madam you may not, Neither in this place may I challenge you, For I am noted, and your coming hither, Both promised, and expected by great men, Who to surprise you, have received reward, All Ports are laid, all passages are stopped, Search, and inquiry posts through every town. Madam 'tis true, nor would I have you stay, In Emden long, for you are laid for here. What shall we then do? Madam, let's to Santon, Let M. Bertie stay with Perecell, And meet us there hereafter. Content, let it be so, Never two lovers, Married to more woe, Here meet we, and here part we, oh short pleasure, Which fortune serves us, in too small a measure.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Newes of the Dutches, that will please but ill, I will forbeare to speake of our escapes, All which were wing'd, with fortune, and successe, And tell you of one haplesse accident, We all tooke Ship at Lee, but not together, For I alone past in a Hollander, No sooner did the wind blow from the shore, But rose a tempest, which disperst our ships, And we might see the Barke wherein she went, By violence of the waues forc'd backe againe, Even to the havens mouth. Even to deaths leane armes, Thy tragicke newes, hath slaine me M. Sands, We are as one, and what beide her person, I feele in a true essence of her griefe. In these exreames, tis good to hope the best. Oh M. Perecill, the worst of ills, Falls on her head, and can I hope the best, Shees like a Lambe, trapt with a heard of Wolues, A harmelesse Doue amongst a thousand Haukes, If she return'd, what providence can saue, A body doom'd already to the graue. See M. Bertie, lift vp your sad eyes. Bertie. Madam. Oh see the meeting of two faithfull soules, What a sweete vnion it doth make of hearts, When one another mutrall ioy imparts. Defer the story, of our dangers past, To acquaint vs with some comfortable ayd. Oh pardon me one minute gentle Madam, If I delay your faire request a little, To take my fellow servants by the hand, Good M. Cranwell, the firme loyalty, You beare you Mistrisse, in her great extreames, Shall be recorded in a booke of Brasse. Alas I haue scanted of my duty much, My liberall will's ioyn'd with vnable power, With my true service I doe ioyne my life, And owe them both, vnto your princely Wife. You are a Mirror, Nurse, so art thou, Thy noble carriage, thus I Kisse with ioy, Alas poore Lady, thou, ere thou canst goe, Art forst to leaue thy countrey, thy returne, Will make them smile, that now are forst to mourne, Thy infancy in Pilgrimage is spent, Yet thy abode heereafter shall be Kent, And be an honord Countesse of that name, For so my true divining spirits doe ayme. What Gentleman is that. Tis a Walloone Feris de Ryviers, alias Perecell. May we repose with him? Madam you may not, Neither in this place may I challenge you, For I am noted, and your comming hither, Both promised, and expected by great men, Who to surprise you, haue receiv'd reward, All Ports are laid, all passages are stop't, Search, and inquirie posts through every towne. Madam tis true, nor would I haue you stay, In Emden long, for you are laid for heere. What shall we then doe? Madam, lets to Santon, Let M. Berti stay with Perecell, And meete vs there heereafter. Content, let it be so, Never two lovers, Married to more woe, Heere meete we, and heere part we, oh short pleasure, Which fortune serues vs, in too small a measure.