John Ford
Born
in Ilsington, Devon, The United Kingdom
April 17, 1586
Died
January 01, 1640
Genre
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'Tis Pity She's a Whore
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published
1633
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113 editions
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'Tis Pity She's a Whore and Other Plays
by
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published
1633
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14 editions
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Broken Heart (New Mermaid Series)
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published
1633
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93 editions
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The chronicle history of Perkin Warbeck;: A strange truth
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published
1634
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32 editions
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Love's Sacrifice
by
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published
1633
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10 editions
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The Lover's Melancholy
by
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published
1629
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5 editions
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'tis Pity She's a Whore: And the Broken Heart
by
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published
2010
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28 editions
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Honour Triumphant; and A Line of Life: Two Tracts by John Forde, the Dramatist, Unknown to the Editors of His Works, and Now First Reprinted from the Original Copies Published in 1606 and 1620
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published
1999
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26 editions
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Plays Of John Ford
by
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published
2007
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5 editions
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The Queen: Or, the Excellency of Her Sex
by
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published
2015
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20 editions
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“Alas, poor gentleman,
He look’d not like the ruins of his youth
But like the ruins of those ruins.”
― Broken Heart
He look’d not like the ruins of his youth
But like the ruins of those ruins.”
― Broken Heart
“Lost, I am Lost! My fates have doomed my death.
The more I strive, I love; the more I love,
The less I hope. I see my ruin, certain.
What judgement or endeavors could apply
To my incurable and restless wounds
I throughly have examined, but in vain.
Oh, that it were not in religion sin
To make our love a god and worship it!
I have even wearied heaven with prayers, dried up
The spring of my continual tears, even starved
My veins with daily fasts; what wit or art
Could counsel, I have practiced. But, alas,
I find all these but dreams and old men's tales
To fright unsteady youth; I'm still the same.
Or I must speak or burst. Tis not, I know,
My lust, but tis my fate that leads me on.
Keep fear and low fainthearted shame with slaves!
I'll tell her that I love her, through my heart
Were rated at the price of that attempt.”
― ' Tis Pity She's a Whore
The more I strive, I love; the more I love,
The less I hope. I see my ruin, certain.
What judgement or endeavors could apply
To my incurable and restless wounds
I throughly have examined, but in vain.
Oh, that it were not in religion sin
To make our love a god and worship it!
I have even wearied heaven with prayers, dried up
The spring of my continual tears, even starved
My veins with daily fasts; what wit or art
Could counsel, I have practiced. But, alas,
I find all these but dreams and old men's tales
To fright unsteady youth; I'm still the same.
Or I must speak or burst. Tis not, I know,
My lust, but tis my fate that leads me on.
Keep fear and low fainthearted shame with slaves!
I'll tell her that I love her, through my heart
Were rated at the price of that attempt.”
― ' Tis Pity She's a Whore
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