Massinger, Philip · published 1632 · first performed or written 1631 [licensed for stage, Mar 11] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T60 Imperial Rome: rulers, favour and politi · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T60: caesar, rome, emperor, empire, honour, lord, lucius, great, palsgrave, kings.
Any will serve, To take away my gout, and life together. I would not have the Emperor imitate Rome's Monster, Nero, in that cruel mercy Ilee shew'd to Seneca; when you haue discharg'd What you are trusted with, and I have given you Reasons beyond all doubt, or disputation, Of the Empresses and my innocence, when I am dead, Since 'tis my Master's pleasure, and high treason In you not to obey it, I conjure you, By the hopes you have of happiness hereafter, Since mine in this world are now parting from me, That you would win the young man to repentance Of the wrong done to his chaste wife Eudoxia, And if perchance he shed a tear for what In his rashness he imposed on his true servant, So it cure him of future jealousy, 'Twill prove a precious balsamum, and find me When I am in my grave. Now when you please, For I am ready. His words work strangely on me, And I would do, but I know not what to think on't. STill in his sullen mood? no intermission Of his melancholy fit? It rather Madam Increases, then grows less. In the next room To his bedchamber, we watched, for he by signs Gave us to understand, he would admit Nor company, nor conference. Did he take No rest as you could guess? Not any Madam; Like a Numidian Lion, by the cunning Of the desperate huntsman taken in a toil, And forced into a spacious cage, he walks About his chamber, we might hear him gnash His teeth in rage, which opened, hollow groans And murmurs issued from his lips, like winds Imprisoned in the caverns of the earth Striving for liberty; and sometimes throwing His body on his bed, then on the ground, And with such violence, that we more than feared And still do, if the tempest of his passions By your wisdom be not laid, he will commit Some outrage on himself. His better Angel, I hope will stay him from so foul a mischief, Nor shall my care be wanting. Twice I heard him, Say false Eudoxia, how much art thou Unworthy of these tears? then sighed, and straight Rores out Paulinus, was his gouty age To be preferred before my strength and youth? Then groaned again, so many ways expressing Th'afflictions of a tortured soul, that we Who wept in vain, for what we could not help, Were sharers in his sufferings. Though your sorrow Is not to be condemned, it takes not from The burden of his miseries; we must practise With some fresh object to divert his thoughts From that they are wholly fixed on. Could I gain The freedom of access, I would present him With this petition. Will your highness please, To look upon it. You will soon find there What my intents, and hopes are. Hal 'tis he. Stand close, And give way to his passions, 'tis not safe To stop them in their violent course, before They have spent themselves.
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)
Any will serue, To take away my goute, and life together. I would not haue the Emperour imitate Romes Monster, Nero, in that cruell mercie Ilee shew'd to Seneca; when you haue discharg'd What you are trusted with, and I haue giu'n you Reasons beyond all doubt, or disputation, Of the Empresses and my innocence, when I am dead, Since 'tis my Masters pleasure, and high treason In you not to obey it, I coniure you, By the hopes you haue of happinesse heereafter, Since mine in this world are now parting from mee, That you would win the young man to repentance Of the wrong done to his chaste wise Eudoxia, And if perchance hee shed a teare for what In his rashenesse hee impos'd on his true seruant, So it cure him of future iealousie, Twill proue a pretious balsamum, and finde mee When I am in my graue. Now when you please, For I am readie. His words worke strangely on mee, And I would doe, but I know not what to thinke ont. STill in his sullen mood? no intermission Of his melancholy fit? It rather Madam Increases, then grows lesse. In the next roome To his bed-chamber, wee watch'd, for hee by signes Gaue vs to vnderstand, hee would admit Nor company, nor conference. Did hee take No rest as you could ghesse? Not any Madam; Like a Numidian Lyon, by the cunning Of the desperate huntsman taken in a toyle, And forc'd into a spatious cage, hee walkes About his chamber, wee might heare him gnash His teeth in rage, which opend, hollow grone And murmurs issu'd from his lippes, like windes Imprison'd in the cauernes of the earth Striuing for liberty; and sometimes throwing His body on his bed, then on the ground, And with such violence, that wee more then fear'd And still doe, if the tempest of his passions By your wisdome bee not lay'd, hee will commit Some outrage on himselfe. His better Angell, I hope will stay him from so foule a mischiefe, Nor shall my care bee wanting. Twice I heard him, Say false Eudoxia, how much art thou Vnworthy of these teares? then sigh'd, and straight Rores out Paulinus, was his goutie age To bee preferr'd before my strength and youth? Then groand againe, so many wayes expressing Th'afflictions of a tortur'd soule, that wee Who wept in vaine, or what wee could not helpe, Were sharers in his suffrings. Though your sorrow Is not to bee condemn'd, it takes not from The burthen of his miseries; wee must practise With some fresh obiect to diuert his thoughts From that they are wholly fix'd on. Could I gaine The freedome of accesse, I would present him With this petition. Will your highnes please, To looke vpon it. You will soone finde there What my intents, and hopes are. Hal 'tis hee. Stand close, And giue way to his passions, 'tis not safe To stoppe them in their violent course, before They haue spent themselues.