The Bird in a Cage (The Beauties) · chunk 27 of 37
Shirley, James · published 1633 · first performed or written 1633 [licensed for stage, Jun 21] [incorrect] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
O 'tis an excellent Name, where Spectators throng together; as ours do methinks in the Arras already: the Music ha' their part, dispose yourselves for your entrances, while I speak the Prologue to our mixed audience of Silk and Cruel Gentlemen in the hangings— hem. Let it be a confident Prologue howsoever. Y'are welcome to new Prison, we have still, Our ancient Keeper, and we fear he will Speak in his old Key too, but do not look for Choice diet, for alas, we play the Cook for All you are like to feed on, let your palate Expect at most then, but a Root or salad. Picked from the Prison Garden, we know you are Judicious Hangings, and well seen, nor dare, We lift you up (too bold) lest we incense Your green and spreading wits with impudence. As I began, let me conclude in Rhyme. Hang Still you learned Critics of the Time. Now Danae and the Ladies. Was ever Father to his Child So unkind, it makes me wild. When to beguile a tedious hour, From the top of this high Tower, I see every other Creature, Enjoy a Liberty by Nature. Can the silver running Fountains. And the Cloud aspiring Mountains. Every Grove, and flowery field, But a new Affliction yield. This is excellent, she has played the part before. Waste not yourself in woeful plaint, Sorrow will not help Restraint. Think Madam all is but a dream, That we are in— Now I am out— beam, cream. Help me Katerina, I can make no sense rhyme to't. Cream is as good a Rhyme as your mouth can wish, Ha, ha, Does not the Arras laugh at me? it shakes methinks. It cannot choose, there's one behind does tickle it. A dream! Alas 'tis no relief For us to flatter so much grief. Fancy wants power to delight, Or if we could think it might, Such a dream so sad would make us, That it could not choose but wake us. My Lady has helped her pretty well out of her dream. The Sun with glittering golden Rays, May appear one of these days. You know always after Winter, Comes the Spring and pleasant Summer. Winter and Summer, ha, ha, ha. Winter and Summer? By my faith that's well, there's but halfe a year between, there be some call themselves Poets, make their Rhymes straddle so wide, a 12. Month will hardly reconcile 'em, and I hope, a Lady may straddle a little by Poetical Licence. Madam your father King Acrisius. Must I enter already— hum. This is his hour to visit us. How fares our daughter? What voice is that? The King speaks through a Trunk. How is't heroic Birth, what dulness cold As Saturn's, dwells on thy forehead, be bold To give thy grief a Tongue, instruct, child My paternal Nature, left I grow wild As the rude North:— thought of thee makes my hairs Silver, my blood is curdled with my cares.
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)
O 'tis an excellent Name, where Spectators throng ogether; as ours doe me thinkes in the Arras already: the Musique ha their part, dispose your selves for your enrances, while I speake the Prologue to our mixt audience of Silke and Cruell Gentlemen in the hangings—hem. Let it be a confident Prologue howsoever. Y'are welcome to new Prison, we have still, Our ancient Keeper, and we feare he will Speake in his old Key too, but doe not looke for Choyce dyet, for alas, we play the Cooke for All you are like to feed on, let your Pallat Expect at most then, but a Root or Sallat. Pick'd from the Prison Garden, we know you are Indicious Hangings, and well seene, nor dare, We lift you up (too bold) let we incense Your greene and spreading wits with impudence. As I began, let me conclude in Rime. Hang Still you learned Criticks of the Time. Now Danae and the Ladies. Was ever Father to his Childe So unkind, it makes me wilde. When to beguile a tedious houre, From the top of this high Tower, I see every other Creature, Injoy a Liberty by Nature. Can the silver running Fountaines. And the Cloud aspiring Mountaines. very Grove, and flowery field, ut a new Affliction yeeld. This is excellent, she has plaid the part before. Waste not your selfe in wofull plaint, orrow will not helpe Restraint. Thinke Madam all is but a dreame, That we are in—Now I am out—beame, creame. Helpe me Katerina, I can make no sence rime to't. Creame is as good a Rime as your mouth can wih, , ha, ha. Does not the Arras laugh at me? it shakes me thinks▪ It cannot chuse, there's one behind does tickle it. A dreame! Alas 'tis no reliefe For us to flatter so much griefe. Fancy wants power to delight, Or if we could thinke it might, Such a dreame so sad would make us, That it could ot choose but wake us. My Lady has helpt her pretty well out of her dreame. The Sunne with glittering golden Rayes, May appeare one of these dayes. You know alwayes after Winter, Comes the Spring and pleasant Summer. Winter and Summer, ha, ha, ha. Winter and Summer? By my faith that's wll, there's but halfe a yeare betweene, there be some call themselves Poets, make their Rimes straddle so wide, a 12. Moneth will hardly reconcile 'em, and I hope, a Lady may stradle a little by Poeticall Licence. Madam your father King Acrisius. Must I enter already—hm. This is his houre to visite us. How fares our daughter? What voyce is that? The King speakes through a Trune. How is't heroicke Birth, what dulnesse cold As Saturnes, dwels on thy forehead, be bold To give thy griefe a Tongue, instruct, child My paternall Nature, left I grow wild As the rude North:—thought of the makes my hayres▪ Silver, my bloud is curdled with my cares.