Dekker, Thomas · published 1636 · first performed or written 1631 [1619-1631] (Annals) comedy · Prince Charles's Men (first) (?) unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
She works by magic, and knows all. Do you shrink back my Lord? you may with shame; Have I ta'en you napping my Lord? But not with the manner my Lady. Have you no bird to fly at, but what sits on your own son's fist? How! my son's fist? (Harlot Yes, the Lady whom you wrought to have been your Your son has long since won to be his bride, Both they and I have this night exercised Our wits to mock your dotage. Am I then gulled? Yes my Lord, and bulled too, yonder's Tibaldo Neri come this morning. So early, Is his sister with him? Not that I saw, but I saw him kiss my young Mistress, three or four times, I think 'twere good to ask the banes of Matrimony. Wilt 'twere no worse, let's in, and give 'em the morning's Salutation. I'll tell him all. Sweet Lady, seal my pardon with a kiss, He ne'er was borne, that never did amiss. SIr, I have found Angelo with long and busy search. And will he come? Your honour (as you charged me) I impawned For his safe passage. By my life he shall; when will he come? My friend brings him along. Philippo Mutio, go and persuade our daughter To walk, and take the air. I'll play that Orator. Attend the Duke of Pisa; prithee Piero Discover where this Angelo lay lurking. The world he has shut up, and now the book He reads, is only here, see where he comes. Way for my daughter; look you, there's Angelo. Ha? yes, 'tis the star I sail by; hold me not, Why do you stick like rocks, to bar my way, And utterly to wrack me? Art thou mad? Yes, I am mad, oh my best life, my soul! Whom seek you Lady? Do you not know me sir? Yes. Dost thou not love me? Yes. At very heart? Yes, at the very soul! burns not your love, With that most holy fire, the god of marriage Kindles in man and woman? Noah. Ha, no? He says no. Then so, quod dedi perdidi. How can I love you Lady? I have climbed too many of such fruitless trees. Have you indeed? Yes, and have pulled the apples. Now I beshrew your fingers. And when I touched 'em, found 'em turned to dust. Why should you love me? I have changed my pleasure In beauteous dames, more than I have my dreams, four in one night. he'll prove a lusty Larrence; This is the star you sail by tho. Why should you love me? I am but a Tomb, Gay outside, but within, rotten and foul. I'll swear thouart most diseased, even in thy soul; Oh thou, thou most perfidious man alive, So prosper, as my poor sick heart doth thrive; Give me thy hand, I hate thee, fare-thee-well. Come, I make thee my heaven, were't once my Hell. I'm rapt above the spheres, joy strikes me dumb.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T44 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
She workes by magick, and knowes all. Doe you shrinke backe my Lord? you may with shame; Have I tane you napping my Lord? But not with the manner my Lady. Have you no bird to flie at, but what sits on your owne sonnes fiste? How! my sonnes fiste? (Harlot Yes, the Lady whom you wrought to have bin your Your sonne has long since wonne to be his bride, Both they and I have this night exercis'd Our witts to mocke your dotage. Am I then gull'd? Yes my Lord, and bull'd too, yonders Tibaldo Neri come this morning. So early, Is his sister with him? Not that I saw, but I saw him kisse my yong Mistris, three or foure times, I thinke 'twere good to aske the banes of Matrimony. Wo't twere no worse, let's in, and give 'em the mornings Salutation. Ile tell him all. Sweete Lady, seal my pardon with a kisse, He ne're was borne, that never did amisse. SIr, I have found Angelo with long and busie search. And will he come? Your honour (as you charg'd me) I impawn'd For his safe passage. By my life hee shall; when will hee come? My friend brings him along. Philippo Mutio, goe and perswade our daughter To walke, and take the ayre. Ile play that Orator. Attend the Duke of Pisa; prethee Piero Discover where this Angelo lay lurking. The world he has shut up, and now the booke He reades, is onely heere, see where he comes. Way for my daughter; looke you, there's Angelo. Ha? yes, 'tis the starre I saile by; hold me not, Why doe you sticke like rocks, to barre my way, And utterly to wracke mee? Art thou mad? Yes, I am mad, oh my best life, my soule! Whom seeke you Lady? Doe you not know me sir? Yes. Doest thou not love mee? Yes. At very heart? Yes, at the very soule! Burnes not your love, With that most holy fire, the god of marriage Kindles in man and woman? Noe. Ha, no? Hee sayes no. Then so, quod dedi perdidi. How can I love you Lady? I have clim'd too many of such fruitlesse trees. Have you indeede? Yes, and have pull'd the apples. Now I beshrew your fingers. And when I touch'd 'em, found 'em turn'd to dust. Why should you love me? I have chang'd my pleasure In beautious dames, more then I have my dreames, Foure in one night. Hee'le prove a lustie Larrence; This is the starre you sayle by tho. Why should you love me? I am but a Tombe, Gay out-side, but within, rotten and foule. Ile sweare th'art most diseas'd, even in thy soule; Oh thou, thou most perfidious man alive, So prosper, as my poore sicke heart doth thrive; Give me thy hand, I hate thee, fare-thee-well. Come, I make thee my heaven, wer't once my Hell. I'me rap't above the spheares, Ioy strikes me dumbe.