Massinger, Philip · published 1632 · first performed or written 1631 [licensed for stage, Mar 11] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I play the fool, and am Unequal to myself, delinquents are To suffer, not the innocent. I have done Nothing, which will not hold weight in the scale Of my impartial justice: neither feel The worm of conscience, upbraiding me For one black deed of tyranny; wherefore then Should I torment myself? great Iulius would not Rest satisfied that his wife was free from fact, But only for suspicion of a crime S'ud a divorce, nor was this Roman rigour Censured as cruel, and still the wise Italian, That knows the honour of his family, Depends upon the purity of his bed For a kiss, nay wanton look, will plough up mischief, And sow the seeds of his revenge in blood. And shall I to whose power the law's a servant, That stand accountable to none, for what My will calls an offence, being compelled, And on such grounds to raise an Altar to My anger, though I grant 'tis cemented With a loose strumpets and adulterers gore, Repent the justice of my fury? no. I should not: yet still my excess of love Fed high in the remembrance of her choice And sweet embraces, would persuade me that Connivance, or remission of her fault, Made warrantable by her true submission For her offence, might be excusable, Did not the cruelty of my wounded honour With an open mouth deny it. I approve of Your good intention, and I hope 'twill prosper. He now seems calm. Let us upon our knees Encompass him. Most royal Sir, Sweet brother. As you are our Sovereign, by the ties of nature You are bound to be a Father in your care To us poor Orphans. Show compassion Sir, Unto yourself. The majesty of your fortune Should fly above the reach of grief. And 'tis Impaired, if you yield to it. Wherefore pay you This adoration to a sinful creature? I am flesh, and blood as you are, sensible Of heat, and cold, as much a slave unto The tyranny of my passions, as the meanest Of my poor subjects the proud attributes (By oiled tongued flattery imposed upon us) As sacred, glorious, high, invincible, The deputy of heaven, and in that Omnipotent, with all false titles else Coined to abuse our frailty, though compounded, And by the breath of Sycophants applied, Cure not the least fit of an ague in us. we may give poor men riches; confer honours On undeservers; raise, or ruin such As are beneath us, and with this puffed up, Ambition would persuade us to forget That we are men: but he that sits above us, And to whom, at our utmost rate, we are But pageant properties, derides our weakness. In me to whom you kneel, 'tis most apparent. Can I call back yesterday, with all their aids That bow unto my sceptre? or restore My mind to that tranquillity, and peace It then enjoyed? can it make Eudoxia chaste? Or vile Paulinus honest?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I play the foole, and am Vnequall to my selfe, delinquents are To suffer, not the innocent. I haue done Nothing, which will not hold waight in the scale Of my impartiall iustice: neither feele The worme of conscience, vpbraiding mee For one blacke deed of tyranny; wherefore then Should I torment my selfe? great Iulius would not Rest satisfi'd that his wife was free from fact, But only for suspition of a crime S'ud a diuorce, no was this Roman rigour Censur'd as cruell, and still the wise Italian, That knowes the honor of his family, Depends vpon the purity of his bed For a kisse, nay wanton looke, will plough vp mischiefe, And sowe the seedes of his reuenge in blood. And shall I to whose power the law's a seruant, That stand accomptable to none, for what My will clls an offence, being compell'd, And on such grounds to raise an Altar to My anger, though I grant 'tis cemented With a loose strumpets and adulterers gore, Repent the iustice of my furie no. I should not: yet still my excesse of loue Fed high in the remembrance of her choice And sweete embraces, would perswade mee that Conniuence, or remission of her fault, Made warrantable by her true submission For her offence, might bee excusable, Did not the crueltie of my wounded honor With an open mouth denie it. I approue of Your good intention, and I hope 'twill prosper. Hee now seemes calme. Let vs vpon our knees Encompasse him. Most royall Sir, Sweet brother. As you are our Soueraigne, by the tyes of nature You are bound to bee a Father in your care To vs poore Orphans. Shew compassion Sir, Vnto your selfe. The maiesie of your fortune Should flie aboue the reach of griefe. And 'tis Impair'd, if you yeeld to it. Wherefore pay you This adoration to a sinfull creature? I am flesh, and blood as you are, sensible Of heat, and cold, asmuch a slaue vnto The tyrannie of my passions, as the meanest Of my poore subiects the proud attributes (By oil'd tongu'd flatterie impos'd vpon vs) As sacred, glorious, high, inuincible, The deputie of heauen, and in that Omnipotent, with all false titles els Coind to abuse our frailetie, though compounded, And by the breath of Sycophants appli'd, Cure not the least fit of an ague in vs. Wee may giue poore men riches; confer honors On vndeseruers; raise or ruine such As are beneath vs, and with this puff'd vp, Ambition would perswade vs to forget That wee are men: but hee that sits aboue vs, And to whom, at our vtmost rate, wee are But pageant properties, derides our weakenesse. In mee to whom you kneele, 'tis most apparent. Can I call backe yesterday, with all their aides That bow vnto my scepter? or restore My minde to that tranquillitie, and peace It then inioy'd? can it make Eudoxia chaste? Or vile Paulinus honest?