Shirley, James · published 1635 · first performed or written 1631 [licensed for stage, May 4] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.77 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Sciarrha, you exceed in entertainment, Banquet our yes too. He will feast all Senses. Only a toy my Lord, I cannot call't, A mask, not worthy of this presence, yet It speaks the freedom of my heart, and gratitude For this great honour. Amidea must sit near us. Lords your places, 'twon't be Worth half this ceremony, let'em begin. Whose the presenter? Lust sir, pray observe: Now let Lust possess the throne Of Love, and rule in hearts alone: You sweet tempters to my Sin, Beauty, smiles, and kisses win Upon frail mortals, let them know There is no happiness, but you Shoot no arrows tipped with lead Each shaft have his golden head: Call no Love, delude men still, Through the flesh, their spirits kill, Nor spend all your art to take Common persons, greatness make By your potent charms to be Subjects unto hell and me, Inflame but Kings with loose desire, Ye soon set all the world on fire. What's he? A wild young man that follows lust, He has too much blood it seems. Why looks he back? There is a thing called death that follows him With a large train of furies, but the Syrens Of lust make him secure, and now the hag Embraces him, and circles him with pleasures, The harpies mean to dance too, hang his conscience It whines too much. This is too plain. He does not tremble yet, By an by sir you shall see all his tormentors Join with 'em, there's the sport on't. methinks they Should have been first forth' antimasque. Oh no! In hell they do not stand upon the method As we at Court, the ground mask and the glory Begin the revels, Sister you do ill To keep the Duke in talk, he cannot see The devil for you, and the whips: does not That death's head look most temptingly? the worms Have kissed the lips off. How does your highness like this dance? My eyes so feasted here, I did not mark it, But I presume 'twas handsome. Oh the Lethargy Of Princes! we ha' kept you Sir from bed: More lights. Good night to all, to you the best: Sciarrha bind us ever by performance. We are all yours. And Florence thine, once more— Brightest of Ladies. You are firm. Suspect not. I do not like my brother's Moral Mask, The Duke himself was personated, I Wonder it did not startle him. I hope Sciarrha does not mean so ill as that Did promise, he's returned: his looks are full. Of threatening. Amidea, go not to bed, And yet no matter, I can do't alone: Take both your rest, and in your prayers commend The Duke to Heaven, 'tis charity; has made His will already, and bequeathed his body To you Sister, pity his soul for't, 'tis now Within few minutes of departing. How? Why this way I must help him in his groans To bring his flesh a-bed.
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)
Sciarrha, you exceede in entertainment, Banquet our too. He will feast all Senses. Onely a toy my Lord, I cannot cal't, A maske, not worthy of this presence, yet It speakes the freedome of my heart, and gratitude For this great honour. Amidea must sit neere us. Lords your places, 'twonot be Worth halfe this ceremonie, let'em begin. Whose the presenter? Lust sir, pray observe: Now let Lust possesse the throne Of Love, and rule in hearts alone: You sweete tempters to my Sinne, Beauty, smiles, and kisses winne Vpon fraile mortals, let them know There is no happinesse, but you Shoot no arrowes tip'd with leade Each shaft have his golden head: Call no Love, delude menstill, Through the flesh, their spirits kill, Nor spend all your art to take Common pesons, greatnesse make By your potent charmes to bee Subjects unto hell and mee, Inflame but Kings with loose desire, Yee soone set all the world on fire. Whats hee? A wild young man that followes lust, He has too much blood it seemes. Why lookes hee backe? There is a thing cald death that followes him With a large traine of furies, but the Syrens Of lust make him secure, and now the hagge Embraces him, and circles him with pleasures, The harpyes meane to dance too, hang his conscience It whines too much. This is too plaine. Hee does not tremble yet, By an by sir you shall see all his tormentors Joyne with 'em, ther's the sport on't. Mee thinks they Should have beene first forth' antimaske. Oh no! In hell they doe not stand upon the methode As wee at Court, the grund maske and the glorie Begin the revells, Sister you doe ill To keepe the Duke in talke, he cannot see The divell for you, and the whipps: does not That deaths head looke most tēptingly? the wormes Have kist the lips off. How does your highnesse like this dance? My eyes so feasted here, I did not marke it, But I presume 'twas hansome. Oh the Lethargy Of Princes! we ha kept you Sir from bed: More lights. Good night to all, to you the best: Sciarrha binde us ever by performance. We are all yours. And Florence thine, once more— Brightest of Ladies. You are firme. Suspect not. I doe not like my brothers Morall Maske, The Duke himselfe was personated, I Wonder it did not startle him. I hope Sciarrha does not meane so ill as that Did promise, he's return'd: his lookes are full. Of threatning. Amidea, goe not to bed, And yet no matter, I can doo't alone: Take both your rest, and in your prayers commend The Duke to Heaven, tis charity; has made His will already, and bequeathd his body To you Sister, pitty his soule for't, tis now Within few minutes of departing. How? Why this way I must helpe him in his groanes To bring his flesh a bed.