Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1634 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1614] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
But she shall never have him, tell her so, For a trick that I know, y'had best look to her, For if she see him once, she's gone, she's done, And undone in an hour. All the young Maids Of our Town are in love with him, but I laugh at'em And let 'em all alone, Is't not a wise course? Yes. There is at least two hundred now with child by him, There must be four; yet I keep close for all this, Close as a Cockle; and all these must be Boys, He has the trick on't, and at ten years old They must be all gelt for musicians, And sing the wars of Theseus. This is strange. As ever you heard, but say nothing. No. They come from all parts of the Dukedom to him, I'll warrant ye, he had not so few last night As twenty to dispatch, he'll tickle't up In two hours, if his hand be in. She's lost Past all cure. Heaven forbid man. Come hither, you are a wise man. Does she know him? No, would she did. You are master of a Ship? Yes. where's your compass? here. Set it to'th North. And now direct your course toth' wood, where Palamon Lies longing for me; For the Tackling Let me alone; Come weigh my hearts, cheerly. Owgh, owgh, owgh, 'tis up, the wind's fair, top the Bowling, out with the main sail, where's your Whistle Master? Le's get her in. Up to the top Boy. where's the Pilot? here, What ken'st thou? A fair wood. Bear for it master: take about: Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open And bleed to death for my sake else; I'll choose, And end their strife: Two such young handsome men Shall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers, Following the dead cold ashes of their Sons Shall never curse my cruelty: Good heaven, What a sweet face has Arcite? if wise nature With all her best endowments, all those beauties She sows into the births of noble bodies, Were here a mortal woman, and had in her The coy denials of young Maids, yet doubtless, She would run mad for this man: what an eye? Of what a fiery sparkle, and quick sweetness, Has this young Prince? Here Love himself sits smiling, Just such another wanton Ganimead, Set Love a fire with, and enforced the god Snatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him A shining constellation: What a brow, Of what a spacious Majesty he carries? Arched like the great eyed Juno's, but far sweeter, Smother than Pelops Shoulder? Fame and honour Mc thinks from hence, as from a Promontory Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing To all the under world, the Loves, and Fights Of gods, and such men neere'em. Palamon, Is but his foil, to him, a mere dull shadow, he's swarth, and meager, of an eye as heavy As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,
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)
But she shall never have him, tell her so, For a tricke that I know, y'had best looke to her, For if she see him once, she's gone, she's done, And undon in an howre. All the young Maydes Of our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at'em And let 'em all alone, Is't not a wise course? Yes. There is at least two hundred now with child by him, There must befowre; ye I keepe close for all this, Close as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes, He has the tricke on't, and at ten yeares old They must be all for , And sing the wars of Thesem. This is strange. As ever you heard, but say nothing. No. They come from all parts of the Dukedome to him, Ile warrant ye, he had not so few last night As twenty to dispatch, hee'l tickl't up In two howres, if his hand be in. She's lost Past all cure. Heaven forbid man. Come hither, you are a wise man. Do's she know him? No, would she did. You are mafter of a Ship? Yes. Wher's your Cömpasse? Heere. Set it too'th North. And now direct your conrse to'th wood, wher Palamon Lyes longing for me; For the Tackling Let me alone; Come waygh my hearts, cheerely. Owgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind's faire, top the Bowling, out with the maine saile, wher's your Whistle Master? Lets get her in. Vp to the top Boy. Wher's the Pilot? Heere, What ken'st thou? A faire wood. Beare for it master: take about: Yet I may binde those wounds up, that must open And bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose, And end their strife: Two such yong hansom men Shall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers, Following the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes Shall never curse my cruelty: Good heaven, What a sweet face has Arcite? if wise nature With all her best endowments, all those beuties She sowes into the birthes of noble bodies, Were here a mortall woman, and had in her The coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles, She would run mad for this man: what an eye? Of what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes, Has this yong Prince? Here Love himselfe sits smyling, Iust such another wanton Ganimead, Set Love a fire with, and enforcd the god Snatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him A shining constellation: What a brow, Of what a spacious Majesty he carries? Arch'd like the great eyd Iuno's, but far sweeter, Smoother then Pelops Shoulder? Fame and honour Mc thinks from hence, as from a Promontory Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing To all the under world, the Loves, and Fights Of gods, and sueh men neere'em. Palamon, Is but his foyle, to him, a meere dull shadow, Hee's swarth, and meagre, of an eye as heavy As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,