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 · 463 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
If I might Without offence, deliver my opinion, What would you say? That on my soul the Empress I innocent. The good Paulinus guiltless. And this should yield you comfort. In being guilty Of an offence far, far transcending that They stand condemned for. Call you this a comfort? Suppose it could be true? a corrosive rather, Not to eat out dead flesh, but putrefy What yet is sowed. was murder ever held A cure for jealousy? or the crying blood Of innocence, a balm to take away Her festering anguish? as you do desire I should not do a justice on myself, Add to the proofs by which Paulinus fell, And not take from 'em, in your charity Sooner believe that they were false, than I Unrighteous in my judgement? subjects' lives Are not their Princes tennis-balls to be banded In sport away, all that I can endure For them, if they were guilty, is an atom To the mountain of affliction, I pulled on me, Should they prove innocent. For your Majesty's peace I more than hope they were not; the false oath took by the Empress, and for which she can Plead no excuse, convicted her, and yields A sure defence for your suspicion of her. And yet to be resolved, since strong doubts are More grievous for the most part, than to know A certain loss. 'Tis true Chrysapius, Were there a possible means. 'Tis offered to you, If you please to embrace it. Some few minutes Make truce with passion, and but read, and follow What's there projected, you shall find a key, Will make your entrance easy to discover Her secret thoughts, and then, as in your wisdom You shall think fit, you may determine of her, And rest confirmed, whether Paulinus died A villain or a Martyr. It may do, Nay sure it must, yet howsoever it fall, I am most wretched which way in my wishes, I should fashion the event, I am so distracted I cannot yet resolve of follow me; Though in my name, all names are comprehended. I must have witness, in what degree I have done wrong, or suffered, Hope the best Sir. WHY art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death, To stop a wretch's breath? That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart A prey unto thy dart. I am nor young, nor fair, be therefore bold, Sorrow hath made me old, Deformed, and wrinkled, all that I can crave, Is quiet in my grave. Such as live happy, hold long life a jewel, But to me thou art cruel: If thou end not my tedious misery, And I soon cease to be. Strike, and strike home then, pity unto me In one short hour's delay is tyranny.
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)
If I might Without offence, deliuer my opinion, What would you say? That on my soule the Empresse I innocent. The good Paulinus guiltlesse. And this should yeeld you comfort. In being guiltie Of an offence far, far transcending that They stand condemn'd for. Call you this a comfort? Suppose it could bee true? a corrasiue rather, Not to eate out dead flesh, but putrifie What yet is sown'd. was murther euer held A cure for iealousie? or the crying blood Of innocence, a balme to take away Her festring anguish? as you doe desire I should not doe a iustice on my selfe, Adde to the proofes by which Paulinus fell, And not ake from 'em, in your charitie Sooner beleeue that they were false, then I Vnrighteous in my iudgement? subiects liues Are not their Princes tennisballs to bee banded In sport away, all that I can indure For them, if they were guilty, is an atome To the mountaine of affliction, I pull'd on mee, Should they proue innocent. For your Maiesties peace I more then hope they were not; the false oth Tooke by the Empresse, and for which shee can Plead no excuse, conuicted her, and yeeld A sure defence for your suspition of her. And yet to be resolu'd, since strong doubts are More grieuous for the most part, then to know A certaine losse. 'Tis true Chrysapius, Were there a possible meanes. 'Tis offer'd to you, If you please to embrace it. Some few minutes Make truce with passion, and but read, and follow What's there proiected, you shall finde a key, Will make your entrance easie to discouer Her secret thoughts, and then, as in your wisdome You shall thinke fit, you may determine of her, And rest confirm'd, whether Paulinus died A villaine or a Martyr. It may doe, Nay sure it must, yet howsoeuer it fall, I am most wretched which way in my wishes, I should fashion the euent, I am so distracted I cannot yet resolue of ollow mee; Though in my name, all names are comprehended. I must haue witnesse, in what degree I haue done wrong, or suffer'd, Hope the best Sir. VVHY art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death, To stoppe a wretches breath? That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart A prey vnto thy dart. I am nor young, nor faire, bee therefore bold, Sorrow hath mad mee old, Deform'd, and wrinkl'd, all that I can craue, Is quiet in my graue. Such as liue happy, hold long life a Iewell, But to mee thou art cruell: If thou end not my tediu miserie, And I soone cease to bee. Strike, and strike home then, pity vno mee In one short hours delay is tyrannie.