Fletcher, John / Massinger, Philip · published 1637 · first performed or written 1625(?) (Annals) comedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Do not, I will not hurt ye; This is to let you know, my worthiest Lady, Y' have cleared my mind, and I can speak of love too; Fear not my manners, though I never knew Before these few hours what a beauty was, And such a one that fires all hearts that feel it; Yet I have read of virtuous temperance, And studied it among my other secrets, And sooner would I force a separation Betwixt this spirit, and the case of flesh, Than but conceive one rudeness against chastity. Then we may walk. And talk of any thing, Any thing fit for your ears; and my language, Though I was bred up dull I was ever civil; 'tis true, I have found it hard to look on you, And not desire, 'twill prove a wise man's task, Yet those desires I have so mingled still And tempered with the quality of honour, That if you should yield, I should hate you for't. I am no Courtier of a light condition, Apt to take fire at every beauteous face, That only serves his will and wantonness, And lets the serious part of life run by As thin neglected sand. Whiteness of name, You must be mine; why should I rob myself Of that that lawfully must make me happy? Why should I seek to cuckold my delights? And widow all those sweets I aim at in you? we'll lose ourselves in Venus' groves of myrtle, Where every little bird shall be a Cupid, And sing of love and youth, each wind that blows And curls the velvet leaves shall breed delights, The wanton springs shall call us to their banks, And on the perfumed flowers we'll feast our senses, Yet we'll walk by untainted of their pleasures, And as they were pure Temples we'll make in them. To bed, and pray then, we may have a fair end Of our fair loves; would I were worthy of you, Or of such parents that might give you thanks: But I am poor in all but in your love. Once more, good night. A good night t'ye, and may The dew of sleep fall gently on you, sweet one, And lock up those fair lights in pleasing slumbers; No dreams but chaste and clear attempt your fancy, And break betimes sweet morn, I've lost my light else. Let it be ever night when I lose you. This Scholar never went to a free-school, he's so simple. Your brother with two Gallants is at door, Sir, And they're so violent, they'll take no denial. This is no time of night. Let 'em in mistress. They stay no leave; Shall I raise the house on 'em? Not a man, nor make no murmur of 't, I charge ye. Th' are here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me. How do you brother with your curious story? Have you not read her yet sufficiently? No, brother, no, I stay yet in the Preface; The style's too hard for you.
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)
Doe not, I will not hurt ye; This is to let you know, my worthiest Lady, Y' have clear'd my minde, and I can speake of love too; Feare not my manners, though I never knew Before these few houres what a beauty was, And such a one that fires all hearts that feele it; Yet I have read of vertuous temperance, And studied it among my other secrets, And sooner would I force a separation Betwixt this spirit, and the case of flesh, Than but conceive one rudenesse against chastity. Then we may walke. And talke of any thing, Any thing fit for your eares; and my language, Though I was bred up dull I was ever civill; Tis true, I have found it hard to looke on you, And not desire, Twill prove a wise mans taske, Yet those desires I have so mingled still And tempered with the quality of honour, That if you should yeeld, I should hate you for't. I am no Courtier of a light condition, Apt to take fire at every beautious face, That onely serves his will and wantonnesse, And lets the serious part of life runne by As thin neglected sand. Whitenesse of name, You must be mine; why should I robbe my selfe Of that that lawfully must make me happy? Why should I seeke to cuekold my delights? And widow all those sweets I aime at in you? Wee'll loose our selves in Venus groves of mirtle, Where every little bird shall be a Cupid, And sing of love and youth, each winde that blowes And curles the velvet leaves shall breed delights, The wanton springs shall call us to their bankes, And on the perfum'd flowers wee'll feast our senses, Yet wee'll walke by untainted of their pleasures, And as they were pure Temples wee'll ke in them. To bed, and pray then, we may have a faire end Of our faire loves; would I were worthy of you, Or of such parents that might give you thankes: But I am poore in all but in your love. Once more, good night. A good night t'yee, and may The deaw of sleepe fall gently on you, sweet one, And locke up those faire lights in pleasing slumbers; No dreames but chaste and cleare attempt your fancie, And breake betimes sweet morne, I've lost my light else. Let it be ever night when I lose you. This Scholar never went to a Free-Schoole, hee's so simple. Your brother with two Gallants is at doore, Sir, And they're so violent, they'l take no deniall. This is no time of night. Let 'em in mistresse. They stay no leave; Shall I raise the house on 'em? Not a man, nor make no murmur of 't, I charge ye. Th' are here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me. How doe you brother with your curious story? Have you not read her yet sufficiently? No, brother, no, I stay yet in the Preface; The stile's too hard for you.