Heywood, Thomas · published 1636 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1636] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions · 515 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
e'en in the midst mean, daughter, or let me see and thou wilt be ruled by me, bear thyself— e'en how thou wilt, provided it be to thine own profit, and my further honour: Noble Bonavide has Valladaur a Daughter? do you know this gallant? Valladaura I hate, this gentleman acquainted with my beauty, revealed it to Bonavide: Sir you have bound me to you, and comes to usher him to my presence. Marry and welcome, my further honour still. We stay his coming, pray Sir so return him. whose's coming? His, your Masters Bonavide's. You speak Riddles to me. Be your own O Oedipus and dissolve them then. Come not you Nuntius from Bonavida Sir? I am mine own Nuntius and my Errand's love. I hear no hurt, my further honour still. Which I am come in person to deliver To this rare beauty. Honour upon honour. My fortunes fly of to strong a wing, to stoop so low a pitch, is not Bonavida come yet? As much as ere he will I think, Valladaura's a pretty piece of flesh cease him: play not Esop's cur, lose not the substance in expectation of the shadow: 'tis a dog trick many Ladies have practised: bosom him, do. What, this mean creature? And he were meaner, so thou getst profit, and thy father honour by't. Are all my hopes repaid with scorn? He begins to recoil, clap him close to thy breast, he's gone else. Nay, Valladaura. Have I laid out more breath In sacrificing vows, and fruitless Sonnets Unto that be beauteous shrine, than ere man did? Come, be not passionate, though I know both my worth and beauty, and understand what Orb they move into: I am not so much infected with that same Court-sickness Philantia, or self-love, to scorn the service of any generous Spirit. How, neither for thy profit, nor thy father's honour? In sober conference then, what bounded service, have you ever done my beauty, that may challenge the least interest in my love? As many as man can, I writ myself (And truly) lover ere I could write man, Passing my service as a star, where she The blessed Idea of thy glorious feature, Drawn by the curious working of my thoughts, Gave me the better, I put out to Sea, And there— What did you? For thy honour now; what didst at Sea? As much as any man— That did no more than thou didst, thy further honour still. Somewhat I did: but what, let these deep wounds Undressed and unbound up deliver. They are tongue-tied, and cannot speak for blushing, pretty ornaments for a soldier, how came you by them tro? honestly As noble Hector did by his, but by An enemy far more valiant than his. I like that well, thy further honour still. At Sea I met with a bold man of war, And somewhat more, an Englishman: Oh had Your eye (but fate denied that blessedness) witnessed our bearing, and how far the thought Of you and your rare beauty carried me Above my strength.
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)
Ene in the mid'st meane, daughter, or let me see and thou wilt be ruld by me, beare thy selfe—E'ne how thou wilt, provided it be to thine owne profit, and my further honour: Noble Bonavide has Valladaur a Daughter? do you know this gallant? Valladaura I hate, this gentleman acquainted with my beauty, reveald it to Bonavide: Sir you have bound mee to you, and comes to usher him to my presence. Marry and wellcome, my further honour still. We stay his comming, pray Sir so returne him. Whose comming? His, your Masters Bonavide's. You speake Riddles to me. Be your owne O Edipus and dissolve them then. Come not you Nuntius from Bonavida Sir? I am mine owne Nuntius and my Errand's love. I heare no hurt, my further honour still. Which I am come in person to deliver To this rare beauty. Honour upon honour. My fortunes flie of to strong a wing, to stoope so low a pitch, is not Bonavida come yet? As much as ere he will I thinke, Valladauras a prettie piece of flesh ceaze him: play not Esops cur, lose not the substance in expectation of the shadow: 'tis a dog trick many Ladies have practis'd: bosome him, doe. What, this meane creature? And he were meaner, so thou getst profit, and thy father honour by't▪ Are all my hopes repaid with scorne? He begins to recoyle, clap him close to thy breast, hee's gone else. Nay, Valladaura. Have I laid out more breath In sacrificing vowes, and fruitlesse Sonnets Vnto that be autious shrine, than ere man did? Come, be not passionate, though I know both my worth and beauty, and understand what Orbe they move into▪ I am not so much infected with that same Court-sicknesse Philantia, or selfe-love, to scorne the service of any generous Spirit. How, neither for thy profit, nor thy fathers honour? In sober conference then, what bounded service, have you ever done my beauty, that may challenge the least interest in my love? As many as man can, I writ my selfe (And truly) lover ere I could write man, Passing my service as a star, where she The blest Idea ofthy glorious feature, Drawne by the curious working of my thoughts, Gave me the better, I put out to Sea, And there— What did you? For thy honour now; what didst at Sea? As much as any man— That did no more than thou didst, thy further honor stil. Somewhat I did: but what, let these deepe wounds Vndrest and unbound up deliver. They are tonguetide, and cannot speak for blushing, pretty ornaments for a souldier, how came you by them ? honestly As noble Hector did by his, but by An enemy farre more valiant than his. I like that well, thy further honour still. At Sea I met with a bold man of war, And somewhat more, an Englishman: Oh had Your eye (but fate denied that blessednesse) Witnest our bearing, and how far the thought Of you and your rare beauty carried me Above my strength.