Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
TRuth says the Author, this Time will be bold To tell a Story, truer ne'er was told. Wherein he boldly vouches all is true That this Time's spoke by us, or heard by you. If Chronicle, that ever yet gained favour May please true judgements: his true endeavour From serious hours his gained it: for us He hopes our labours will be prosperous. And yet methinks I hear some Critic say That they are much abused in this our Play. Their Magistracy laughed at! as if now What ninety years since died, afresh did grow: To those we answer, that ere they were borne, The story that we glance at, then was worn And held authentic: and the men we name Grounded in honour's Prowess, virtue's Fame. Bring not the Author then, in your mislikes, If on the age's vice, quaintly he strikes And hits your guilt! most plainly it appears He like a tailor that hath lost his shears Amongst his shreds. he knocks upon the board, And by the sound themselves they do afford. If in his scenes, he any vice have hit To you far better known then to his wit, take't to yourselves alone: for him, his pen Strikes at the vices, and not minds the men. My Bateman. My sweetest Nan? Had I but one entire affected Pearl Inestimable unto vulgar censure And is there none to play the Thief but thou! Oh misery wouldst have thy love entranced, Without an echo that would sigh farewell. Common courtesy 'mongst rural Hinds With this formality disciplines them (Kiss at the departure), and you to steal away Without my Privity? Pray thee no more? Tears are the Heralds to future sorrows, I have collected all that's man together And wrestled with affections as with streams, And as they strive that do oppress the billows So do I fare in each external part. My Acts are like the motional gimmals Fixed in a Watch, who wind themselves away Without cessation; here if I stay, I find I must be where thou art! which when I am Thy father's rage increases like a flame Fed by ungentle blasts! my absence May work those bitter sweetings from his heart And smooth the rising furrows in his brow. It is sufficient that I know thee firm Fixed as a Rock in constancy, and love, Able to shipwreck greatness, and despiseth A violated heart, as a disease. I go to Leith as children go to school Studying what shall please my Mistress best, My lesson con, I will return again And dedicate my labours unto thee. Sweet do not go; and yet if that you will Leaving me here like a forsaken Lover, Prithee forget me not; nay be not angry Soldiers in War make any saint their own Forgetting those they are devoted too! 'tis I have vowed to have thee quick or dead, Flattering honours, nor dissembling beauties Works me not from thee. Swear not sweet Nan! The book of fate, as now may be unclasped And record what thou speak'st.
seed 43: T16 · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
TRuth saies the Author, this Time will be bold To tell a Story, truer ne're was told. Wherein he boldly vouches all is true That this Time's spoke by vs, or heard by you. If Chronicle, that ever yet gain'd favour May please true Iudgments: his true endeavour From serious houres his gaind it: for vs He hopes our labours will be prosperous. And yet me thinkes I here some Criticke say That they are much abus'd in this our Play. Their Magistracy laught at! as if now What Ninty yeeres since dy'd, a fresh did grow: To those wee answer, that ere they were borne, The story that we glaunse at, then was worne And held authentick: and the men wee name Grounded in Honours Prowesse, Vertues Fame. Bring not the Author then, in your mislikes, If on the Ages vice, quaintly he strikes And hits your guilt! most plainely it appeares He like a Taylor that hath lost his sheares Amongst his shreds▪ he knockes upon the board, And by the sound themselues they doe affoord. If in his scenes, he any vice have hit To you farre better knowne then to his wit, Tak't to your selves alone: for him, his Penn Strikes at the vices, and not mindes the men. My Bateman. My sweetest Nan? Had I but one entire affected Pearle Inestimable unto vulgar censure And is there none to play the Theife but thou! Oh misery would'st have thy love entransd, Without an eccho that would sigh farewell. Common curtesie 'mongst rurall Hyndes With this formallity disciplines them (Kisse at the departure), and you to steale away Without my Privity? Pray thee no more? Teares are the Heralds to future sorrowes, I have collected all that's man together And wrastld with affections as with streames, And as they strive that doe oppresse the billowes So doe I fare in each externall part. My Actes are like the motionall gymmalls Fixt in a VVatch, who winde themselves away Without cessation; here if I stay, I finde▪ I must be where thou art! which when I am Thy fathers rage encreases like a flame Fedd by ungentle blastes! my absence May worke those bitter sweeteings from his hart And smooth the rising furrowes in his brow. It is sufficient that I know thee firme Fixt as a Rocke in constancy, and love, Able to ship-wracke greatnes, and despiseth A violated heart, as a disease. I goe to Leith as children goe to schoole Studying what shall please my Mistris best, My lesson cond, I will returne againe And dedicate my labours unto thee. Sweete doe not goe; and yet if that you will Leaving me here like a forsaken Lover, Prethee forget me not; nay be not angry Souldiers in Warre make any saint their owne Forgeting those they are devoted too! Tis I have vow'd to have thee quicke or dead, Flattering honours, nor dissembling beauties Workes me not from thee. Sweare not sweete Nan! The booke of fate, as now may be unclasp'd And record what thou speak'st.