Shirley, James · published 1635 · first performed or written 1631 [licensed for stage, May 4] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men unassigned nearest T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
What do great Ladies do at Court I pray? Enjoy the pleasures of the world, dance, kiss The Amorous Lords, and change Court breath, sing loose Belief of other, heaven, tell wanton dreams, Rehearse your sprightly bed-scenes, and boast, which Hath most Idolaters, accuse all faces, That trust to the simplicity of nature, Talk witty blasphemy, Discourse their gaudy wardrobes, plot new pride, Jest upon courtier's legs, laugh at the wagging Of their own feathers, and a thousand more Delights, which private Ladies never think of: But above all, and wherein thou shalt make All other beauties envy thee, the Duke, The Duke himself shall call thee his, and single From the fair troop, thy person forth, to exchange Embraces with, lay siege to these soft lips, And not remove, till he hath sucked thy heart, Which soon dissolved with thy sweet breath, shall be Made part of his, at the same instant, he Conveying a new soul into thy breast, With a creating kiss. You make me wonder, Pray speak that I may understand. Why will you Appear so ignorant? I speak the dialect Of Florence to you, come, I find your cunning; The news does please, the rolling of your eye Betrays you, and I see a guilty blush Through this white veil upon your cheek, you would Have it confirmed, you shall, the Duke himself Shall swear he loves you. Love me? why? To Court, And ask him; be not you too peevish now, And hinder all our fortune; I ha' promised him To move you for his armful, as I am Sciarrha, and your brother, more I ha' sent Word to him by Lorenzo, that you should Meet his high flame, in plain Italian Love him, and— What for heaven, be the Duke's whore? No, no, his Mistress, command him, make us. Give up my Virgin-honour to his lust? You may give it a better name, but do't. I do mistake you brother, do I not? No, no, my meaning is so broad, you cannot. I would I did then, is't not possible That this should be a dream? where did you drop Your virtue Sir? Florio, why move you not? Why are you slow to tell this man? for sure 'tis not Sciarrah, he hath talked so ill, And so much, that we may have cause to fear, The air about's infected. Are not you My brother? Be not you a fool, to move These empty questions, but join to make her Supple, and pliant for the Duke, I hope We are not the first ha' been advanced by a wagtail: No matter for the talk of musty people, Look up to the reward, thou art young, and skilled In these Court temptings, naturally soft, And moving, I am rough hewn, assist, wilt, With some quaint charm, to win her to this game? My Sister? ay, I. Come not near him Florio, 'tis not Sciarrha, sure my brother's Nurse Played the impostor, and with some base issue Cheated our house.
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)
What doe great Ladies doe at Court I pray? Enjoy the pleasures of the world, dance, kisse The Amorous Lords, and change Court breath, sing loose Beleefe of other, heauen, tell wanton dreames, Rehearse your sprightly bed-scenes, and boast, which Hath most Idolaters, accuse all faces, That trust to the simplicity of nature, Talke witty blasphemy, Discourse their gawdy wardrobes, plot new pride, Jeast upon Courtiers legs, laugh at the wagging Of their owne feathers, and a thousand more Delights, which private Ladies never thinke of: But above all, and wherein thou shalt make All other beauties envy thee, the Duke, The Duke himselfe shall call thee his, and single From the faire troope, thy person forth, to exchange Embraces with, lay siege to these soft lips, And not remoue, till he hath suck'd thy heart, Which soone dissolv'd with thy sweete breath, shall be Made part of his, at the same instant, he Conveying a new soule into thy breast, With a creating kisse. You make me wonder, Pray speake that I may understand. Why will you Appeare so ignorant? I speake the dialect Of Florence to you, come, I finde your cunning; The newes does please, the rolling of your eye Betrayes you, and I see a guilty blush Through this white veyle upon your cheeke, you wo'd Have it confirm'd, you shall, the Duke himselfe Shall sweare he loves you. Love me? why? To Court, And aske him; be not you too peevish now, And hinder all our fortun; I ha promis'd him To move you for his arme-full, as I am Sciarrha, and your brother, more I ha sent Word to him by Lorenz, that you should Meete his high flame, in plaine Italian Love him, and— What for heaven, be the Dukes whoore? No, no, his Mistris, command him, make us. Give up my Virgin-honour to his lust? You may give it a better name, but doo't. I doe mistake you brother, doe I not? No, no, my meaning is so brad, you cannot. I would I did then, is't not possible That this should be a dreame? where did you drop Your vertue Sir? Flori, why move you not? Why are you slow to tell this man? for sure Tis not Sciarrah, he hath talk'd so ill, And so much, that we may have cause to feare, The ayre about's infected. Are not you My brother? Be not you a foole, to move These empty questions, but joyne to make her Supple, and pliant for the Duke, I hope We are not the first ha bin advanc'd by a wagtaie: No matter for the talke of musty people, Looke up to the reward, thou art young, and skill'd In these Court temptings, naturally soft, And moving, I am rough hewne, assist, wo't, With some queint charme, to win her to this game? My Sister? I, I. Come not neere him Florio, Tis not Sciarrha, sure my brothers Nurse Playd the impostor, and with some base issue Cheated our house.