Nabbes, Thomas · published 1637 · first performed or written 1637 (Annals) masque · King's Revels Company (?) · Salisbury Court unassigned nearest T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
Be not thus misled By her malicious envy. She but shows thee The easy path to ruin, whose broad entrance Painted with falsest pleasures, ends in a point Of all the ills attend our misery Contracted into one. Though virtue's way Be hard and straight to enter, yet the end Reacheth to heaven, where her fair hand bestows wreath of bright stars to crown deserving brows. Whisper that still; each accent's musical. The mere conceit of it makes me immortal. Hence; 〈◊〉 converse is hateful. I'll not tie Desire to such embraces. I'll enjoy A mistress fit and sportive; that can vary All shapes of dalliance, and present delight Each minute in a several fashion. Guide me, I'll follow. And we will attend. Wretched Bellamina, that in the instant Of thy expected comfort, shouldst be thrown Below all misery! O that lustful sense Should cause divorce betwixt us! I am lost Almost beyond recovery, since my substance Must be partaking of his hated ills: Such is the fate of wedlock. His content In false delights, must be my punishment. I'm bravely sitted; these are fitting ornaments. Come my best prompter, with endeavours wings Let's cut the air, and strain our motion, Till we attain this bower of Sensuality. And let the repetition of her praise Sweeten my painful longings. My desire Fee'ls many throes of travail; till delivered Of its sweet issue. You must suffer for't. Pleasures whose means are easy, in the end Do lose themselves. Things only are esteemed And valued by their acquisition. Should you win her delights without some pains, They would not relish. Whilst your expectation Labours with the event, prepare yourself To court it bravely. she's high-spirited; And will not stoop to every common bait That catcheth easy wantonness. What's the best? A rough Soldiers' phrase; a strong back, and a brawny limb: bait her with these she'll bite home. If she be coy, kick her in the breech, and cry farewell: after a few dissembling tears she'll yield with the greater appetite. If she refused me, I'd kill her. Could you but dance sir, and show yourself active before her, 'twere impossible for her to hold out till the discovery of one knave 'mongst many officers. Dancing is the most taking: if a man rise well, his Mistress cannot choose but fall. Court her with solid language, and such discourse as may relish of aged experience. Express your thoughts such, and your actions such, as she may conceive judgement to be entailed upon you. If she be virtuous, that wins upon her soul, and let your Physician alone with her body: If she be wanton, Phlegm can administer provocatives. Might I advise you sir, a passion at Courtship were more powerful. Let a sigh be the period of every amorous sentence. Sing her some pathetic madrigal full of cromatick flats: 'twill sharpen her. I would have all lovers begin and end their pricksong with Lachryme, till they have wept themselves as dry as I am.
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)
Be not thus mis-led By her malicious envie. She but shewes thee The easie path to ruine, whose broad entrance Painted with falsest pleasures, ends in a point Of all the ls attend our misery Conracted into one. Though vertues way Be hard and straight to enter, yet the end Reacheth to heaven, where her faire hand bestowes Wreaths of bright stars to crowne deserving browes. Whisper that still; each accent's musicall. The meee conceit of it makes me immortall. Henc; converse is hatefull. Ile not tye Desire to such imbraces. Ile enjoy A mistresse and sportive; that can vary All shapes of dallyance, and present delight Each minute in a severall fashion. Guide me, Ile follow. And we will attend. Wretched Bellamina, that in the instant Of thy expected comfort, shouldst be throwne Below all misery▪ O that lustfull sense Should cause divorce betwixt us! I am lost Almost beyond recovery, since my substance Must be partaking of his hated ills: Such is the fate of wedlock. His content In false delights, must be my punishment. I'm bravely sitted; these are fitting ornaments. Come my best prompter, with indeavours wings Let's cut the ayre, and straine our motion, 'Till we attaine this bowre of Sensuality. And let the repetition of her praise Sweeten my painefull longings. My desire Fee'ls many throes of travaile; 'till deliver'd Of it's sweet issue. You must suffer for't. Pleasures whose meanes are easie, in the end Doe lose themselves. Things onely are esteem'd And valu'd by their acquisition. Should you win her delights without some paines, They would not relish. Whilst your expectation Labours with the event, prepare your selfe To court it bravely. Shee's high-spirited; And will not stoope to every common bayte That catcheth easie wantonnesse. What's the best? A rough Souldiers phrase; a strong back, and a brawny limbe: bayte her with these shee'l bite home. If she be coy, kick her in the breech, and cry farewell: after a few dissembling teares shee'l yeeld with the greater appetite. If she refus'd me, I'de kill her. Could you but dance sir, and shew your selfe active before her, 'twere impossible for her to hold out 'till the discovery of one knave 'mongst many officers. Dancing is the most taking: if a man rise well, his Mistresse cannot chuse but fall. Court her with solid language, and such discourse as may relish of aged experience. Expresse your thoughts such, and your actions such, as shee may conceive judgement to be intayl'd upon you. If she be vertuous, that winnes upon her soule, and let your Physition alone with her body: If shee bee wanton, Phlegme can administer provocatives. Might I advise you sir, a passion at Courtship were more powerfull. Let a sigh be the period of every amorous sentence. Sing her some pathetick madrigall full of cromatick lats: 'twill sharpen her. I would have all lovers begin and end their prick-song with Lachrym, 'till they have wept themselves as dry as I am.