Shirley, James · published 1633 · first performed or written 1628 [licensed for stage, Oct 3] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
My Tutor read travel to me, and run away. With my Wench— a very Peripatetic— what shall I do then, and some had arrested and clapped her up too— we should have known where to find her— d'ee hear, I did not mean to marry with a Licence. How Sir? No Sir, I did mean to marry with your daughter Am I a Gull? Have Patience. I will have no patience, I will have Violetta, why does not Brains appear? His heels are not at liberty, he's in Prison. In Prison, why and he had been hanged, he might have brought us word. I'm rent with vexation, Sirrah go you with me to the Prison. What will you do? I'll geld my Tutor. You were best find him first. Nay I will find him, and find him again and I can light on him, let me alone, I'll take half a dozen wi'me and about it instantly. I wish thee well Niece, but a better husband. Who's yonder, 'tis Master Fowler, at an excellent opportunity. I do walk still, by all circumstance I am alive, not sick in any part but my head, which has only the pangs of invention, and is in travel of some precious revenge, for my worse than Masculine affront, what if I report abroad she's dishonest, I cannot do'em a worse turn than to say so: some of our Gallants take a pride to belie poor Gentlewomen of'at fashion, and think the discourse an honour to 'em; confidently boast the fruition of this or that Lady, whose hand they never kissed with the Glove off: and why may not I make it my revenge, to blur their fames a little for abusing me. Well met friend, what? thou lookest sad. You will excuse me, and bear a part, when I tell the cause. What's the News? Our Friend Master Fowler's dead. Fowler! Ha? Mr. Iohn Fowler. That's I, that's I, ha? The same. Dead, am I dead? It cannot be, I saw him but this morning Lusty and pleasant, how died he? Suddenly. Where? At Master Worthies house. Dead! Too true Sir. I would not believe myself sick, belike I am dead, 'tis more than I know yet. He was a Suitor to Master Worthies daughter. Mistress Penelope, right. By all circumstance they mean me, these Gentlemen know me too, how long is it since I departed? Some mistake— How poor a thing is life, that we cannot Promise a minute's certainty, i'th' height And strength of youth, falling to dust again. Ha, ha, Gentlemen, what d''ee think a'the dead man? 'Tis the last Office I can do him, now to wait on him to the Earth. Coxcombs d''ee not know me, I'm alive, d'ee not see me? He was a noble Fellow, and deserves A memory, if my brain have not lost All his Poetic juice, it shall go hard But I'll squeeze out an Elegy.
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)
My Tutor read travell to me, and run away. With my Wench — a very Peripatetike — what shall I doe then, and some had arrested and clapt her up too — we should have knowne where to find her — dee heare, I did not meane to marry with a License. How Sir? No Sir, I did meane to marry with your daughter Am I a Gull? Have Patience. I will have no patience, I will have Violetta, why does not Braines appeare? His heeles are not at liberty, he's in Prison. In Prison, why and he had beene hanged, he might have brought us word. I'me rent with vexation, Sirra goe you with me to the Prison. What will you doe? Ile geld my Tutor. You were best finde him first. Nay I will finde him, and find him agen and I can light on him, let me alone, Ile take halfe a doozen wo'mee and about it instantly. I wish thee well Neece, but a better husband. Who's yonder, 'tis Master Fowler, at an excellent opportunity. I doe walke still, by all circumstance I am alive, not sicke in any part but my head, which has only the pangs of invention, and is in travell of some pretious revenge, for my worse then Masculine affront, what if I report abroad shee's dishonest, I cannot doe'em a worse turne then to say so: some of our Gallants take a pride to belye poore Gentlewomen a'that fashion, and thinke the discourse an honour to 'em; confidently boast the fruition of this or that Lady, whose hand they never kist with the Glove off: and why may not I make it my revenge, to blurre their fames a little for abusing me. Well met friend, what? thou lookest sad. You will excuse me, and beare a part, when I tell the cause. What's the Newes? Our Friend Master Fowler's dead. Fowler! Ha? Mr. Iohn Fowler. That's I, that's I, ha? The same. Dead, am I dead? It cannot be, I saw him but this morning Lusty and pleasant, how dyed hee? Suddenly. Where? At Master Worthies house. Dead! Too true Sir. I wo'd not beleeve my selfe sicke, belike I am dead, 'tis more then I know yet. He was a Sutor to Master Worthies daughter. Mistris Penelope, right. By all circumstance they meane me, these Gentlemen know me too, how long is it since I departed? Some mistake — How poore a thing is life, that we cannot Promise a Minutes certainty, i'th height And strength of youth, falling to dust agen. Ha, ha, Gentlemen, what d'ee thinke a'the dead man? 'Tis the last Office I can doe him, now to waite on him to the Earth. Coxcombes d'ee not know me, I'me alive, dee not see me? He was a noble Fellow, and deserves A memory, if my braine have not lost All his Poeticke juyce, it shall goe hard But Ile squeeze out an Elegie.