Ford, John · published 1633 · first performed or written 1632 [1632-1633] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.72 · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Who's there? I cry you mercy, D'avolos, I took you for another, pray excuse me; What is't you bear there? No secret, my Lord, but may be imparted to you: A couple of Pictures, my good Lord, please you see them. I care not much for pictures: but whose are they? Th'one is for my Lord's sister, the other is the Duchess. Ha, D'avolos, the Duchesses? Yes, my Lord:— sure the word startled him— Observe that. You told me, master Secretary, once, You owed me love. Service, my honoured Lord, howsoever you please to term it. 'Twere rudeness to be suitor for a sight, Yet trust me, Sir, I'll be all secret. I beseech your Lordship; They are, as I am, constant to your pleasure: This (my Lord) is the widow marquess's, as it now newly came from the Picture-drawers, the oil yet green a sweet Picture; and in my judgement, Art hath not been a niggard in striving to equal the life. Michael Angelo himself needed not blush to own the workmanship. A very pretty Picture; But, kind Signior, to whose use is it? For the Dukes, my Lord, who determines to send it with all speed as a present to Paul Baglione, Uncle to the Duchess; that he may see the riches of two such lustres as shine in the Court of Pavy. Pray Sir, the other? This (my Lord) is for the Duchess Biancha, a wondrous sweet Picture, if you well observe with what singularity the artsman hath strove to set forth each limb in exquisitest proportion, not missing a hair. A hair? She cannot more formally, Or (if it may be lawful to use the word) more really, behold her own Symmetry in her glass, then in taking a sensible view of this counterfeit: when I first saw it, I verily almost was of a mind that this was her very lip. Lip! How constantly he dwells upon this portraiture? Nay, I'll assure your Lordship there is no defect of cunning. His eye is fixed as if it were incorporated there.— Were not the party herself alive to witness that there is a Creature composed of flesh and blood, as naturally enriched with such harmony of admiral beauty, as is here artificially counterfeited, a very curious eye might repute it as an imaginary rapture of some transported conceit, to aim at an impossibility; whose very first gaze is of force almost to persuade a substantial love in a settled heart. Love! heart. My honoured Lord. Oh heavens! I am confirmed.— What ails your Lordship? You need not praise it, Sir, itself is praise. How near had I forgot myself?— I thank you. 'Tis such a picture as might well become The shrine of some feigned Venus; I am dazzled With looking on't:— pray Sir convey it hence. I am all your servant:— blessed, blessed discovery! Please you to command me? No, gentle Sir: I'm lost beyond my senses. D''ee hear Sir, good where dwells the picture maker?
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Who's there? I cry you merey, D'auolos, I tooke you for another, pray excuse me; What is't you beare there? No secret, my Lord, but may be imparted to you: A couple of Pictures, my good Lord, please you see them. I care not much for pictures: but whose are they? Th'one is for my Lords sister, the other is the Dutchesse. Ha, D'auolos, the Dutchesses? Yes, my Lord:—sure the word startled him— —Obserue that. You told me, master Secretary, once, You ow'd me loue. Seruice, my honour'd Lord, howsoeuer you please to terme it. 'Twere rudenesse to be sutor for a sight, Yet trust me, Sir, I'le be all secret. I beseech your Lordship; They are, as I am, constant to your pleasure: This (my Lord) is the widow Marquesses, as it now newly came from the Picture-drawers, the oyle yet greene a sweet Picture; and in my iudgement, Art hath not bin a niggard in striuing to equall the life. Michael Angelo himselfe needed not blush to owne the workmanship. A very pretty Picture; But, kind Signior, to whose vse is it? For the Dukes, my Lord, who determines to send it with all speed as a present to Paul Baglione, Vnckle to the Dutchesse; that he may see the riches of two such lustres as shine in the Court of Pauy. Pray Sir, the other? This (my Lord) is for the Dutchesse Biancha, a wondrous sweet Picture, if you well obserue with what singularity the Arts-man hath stroue to set forth each limbe in exquisitest proportion, not missing a haire. A haire? She cannot more formally, Or (if it may be lawfull to vse the word) more really, behold her owne Symetry in her glasse, then in taking a sensible view of this counterfeit: when I first saw it, I verily almost was of a mind that this was her very lip. Lip! How constantly he dwels vpon this portrayture? Nay, I'le assure your Lordship there is no defect of cunning. His eye is fixt as if it were incorporated there.—Were not the party her selfe aliue to witnesse that there is a Creature compos'd of flesh and blood, as naturally inriched with such harmony of admirall beauty, as is here artificially counterfeited, a very curious eye might repute it as an imaginary rapture of some transported conceit, to ayme at an impossibility; whose very first gaze is of force almost to perswade a substantiall loue in a setled heart. Loue! heart. My honor'd Lord. Oh heauens! I am confirm'd.—Whst ayles your Lordship? You need not praise it, Sir, it selfe is praise. How neere had I forgot my selfe?—I thanke you. 'Tis such a picture as might well become The shrine of some fain'd Venus; I am dazeld With looking on't:—pray Sir conuey it hencc. I am all your seruant:—blessed, blessed discouery! Please you to command me? No, gentle Sir: I'me lost beyond my senses. D'ee heare Sir, good where dwels the picture maker?