Dekker, Thomas · published 1636 · first performed or written 1631 [1619-1631] (Annals) comedy · Prince Charles's Men (first) (?) unassigned nearest T16 Gallantry: ladies, lordships and complim · 513 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T16: lady, madam, gentleman, lordship, ladies, honour, mistress, sweet, court, servant.
Give her this paper, and this; in the one she may know my mind, in the other, feel me: this a Letter, this a jewel: Tell her, I kiss the little white nail of her little white Finger, of her more little white hand, of her most Little white body. Her tell-tale, for all this will I be. Thou hast been my weaver's shuttle to run betwixt me and my stuffs of Procreandi causa. A suit of Stand-farther-off, had been better sometimes. No Cargo, I have still the Lapis mirabilis; be thou close— As my Lady's Chambermaid. Away then, nay quick knave, thou rackest me. I go to stretch you to your full length. Happy be your arrival, Noble friends; You are the first, that like to Doves repair To my new building; you are my firstborn guests, My eldest sons of hospitality; Here's to my hearty welcomes. Worthy Lord, In one word, and the word of one, for all, Our thanks are as your welcomes, Infinite. Rome in her Ancient pride, never raised up A work of greater wonder, than this building. 'tis finished, and the cost stands on no score, None can for want of payment, at my door, Curse my foundation, praying the roof may fall On the proud builder's head, seeing the smoke go Out of those Chimneys, for whose bricks I owe. To erect a frame so glorious, large, and high, Would draw a very sea of silver dry. My Lord Iocomo Gentili, pray tell us, How much money have you buried under this kingly building? Pray call it not so: The humble shrub, no Cedar here shall grow; You see Three hundred Doric pillars stand About one square, Three hundred Noble friends Laid (in their loves) at raising of those Columns, A piece of gold under each Pedestal, With his name graved upon the bottom stone, Except that cost, all other was mine own; See here, each day's expenses are so great, They make a volume, for in this appears, It was no task of weeks, or months, but years: I trust my steward only with the key, Which keeps that secret; here's Arithmetic For churls to cast up, there's the root of all; If you have skill in numbers, number that. Good Mr. Steward read it. All the charge In the gross sum, amounteth to— To what? Thou vain vainglorious fool, go burn that Book, No Herald needs to blazon charity's Arms; Go burn it presently. Burn it? Away, I launch not forth a ship, with drums and guns, And Trumpets, to proclaim my gallantry; He that will read the wasting of my gold, Shall find it writ in ashes, which the wind Will scatter ere he spends it; Another day, The wheel may turn, and I that built thus high, May by the storms of want, be driven to dwell In a thatched Cottage; Rancour shall not then Spit poison at me, pinning on my back This card; He that spent thus much, now does lack. Why to your house add you so many gates?
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)
Give her this paper, and this; in the one she may know my minde, in the other, feele me: this a Letter, this a Iewell: Tell her, I kisse the little white naile of her little white Finger, of her more little white hand, of her most Little white bodie. Her tell-tale, for all this will I bee. Thou hast beene my weavers shuttle to runne betwixt me and my stuffes of Procreandi causa. A suite of Stand-farther-off, had bin better sometimes. No Cargo, I have still the Lapis mirabilis; be thou close— As my Ladies Chamber-maide. Away then, nay quicke knave, thou rack'st mee. I goe to stretch you to your full length. Happy be your arivall, Noble friends; You are the first, that like to Doves repaire To my new building; you are my first-borne guests, My eldest sonnes of hospitalitie; Here's to my hearty wellcomes. Worthy Lord, In one word, and the word of one, for all, Our thankes are as your welcomes, Infinite. Rome in her Auncient pride, never rais'd up A worke of greater wonder, then this building. Tis finish'd, and the cost stands on no score, None can for want of payment, at my doore, Curse my foundation, praying the roofe may fall On the proud builders head, seeing the smoake goe Out of those Chimneys, for whose bricks I owe. To erect a frame so glorious, large, and hie, Would draw a very sea of silver drie. My Lord Iocomo Gentili, pray tell us, How much money have you buried under this kingly building? Pray call it not so: The humble shrub, no Cedar heere shall grow; You see Three hundred Dorick pillars stand About one square, Three hundred Noble friends Lay'd (in their loves) at raising of those Columnes, A piece of gold under each Pedestall, With his name grav'd upon the bottome stone, Except that cost, all other was mine owne; See heere, each dayes expences are so great, They make a volume, for in this appeares, It was no taske of weekes, or moneths, but yeares: I trust my steward onely with the key, Which keepes that secret; heere's Arithmetick For churles to cast up, there's nhe roote of all; If you have skill in numbers, number that. Good Mr. Steward read it. All the charge In the grosse summe, amounteth to— To what? Thou vaine vaine-glorious foole, goe burne that Booke, No Herald needs to blazon Charities Armes; Goe burne it presently. Burne it? Away, I lanch not forth a ship, with drums and gunnes, And Trumpets, to proclaime my gallantry; He that will reade the wasting of my gold, Shall find it writ in ashes, which the winde Will scatter ere he spends it; Another day, The wheele may turne, and I that built thus high, May by the stormes of want, be driven to dwell In a thatch't Cottage; Rancor shall not then Spit poyson at me, pinning on my backe This card; Hee that spent thus much, now does lack. Why to your house adde you so many gates?