Shirley, James · published 1637 · first performed or written 1634 [licensed for stage, Jun 24] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit 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.
At Dice and Cards? you have more charity, Then to think I accuse your Ladyship, Though there be some have dared to venture both ways Upon record, yet seem staunch to the world, I and are thought to pray sometimes, I would not For the Indies tempt your Ladyship, I know You are deaf to all lewd accents. 'tis your goodness— Never to try thee, 'tis fit only such As your cold kinswoman, wenches that have No spirit should be tempted to those sports; Nor is she otherwise considerable To me, more than my charity may restore her, I pity a handsome woman should eat chalk, And die i'th' sullens, if she might be comforted, and cured. With a Warm bedfellow? Y'are right, Madam, But she's here, and her elder sister. There is another Lady I would not touch now, I mean i'th' lewd way, she has life and fire, And moves without an Engine, give me a wench, That I must mould into a wanton shape, And quicken her to air by my own Art, A wench that must be purged, sublimed, calcined, byth' chemistry of Love, till she become A glorified spirit, and acknowledge She took her exaltation from me; In that I glory more, than to have perfected The Magisterium, and boast the elixir. But I waste time. This I cannot help, He won't understand. Can you work, Lady, No cure upon your sister by the example Of your free heart? My Lord I chide her for't, Tell her what folly 'tis, to waste her health With feeding so much melancholy, I wish She had my constitution; to laugh At all the World. You are satirical. No matter what men think of me: my Lord, I am no great admirer of their virtues. You do not hate us, Lady? But with pardon Of your Lordship, it is possible, I may never Run mad for Love. You do converse with us. Because I have As yet, no resolution to be cloistered: Sometimes men stir my pity, but most commonly My laughter. Y'are a strange conditioned Gentlewoman. I would be so my Lord, to all that love me, And love myself the better, for that humour. You'll never marry? Certainly, not while I have any wit, And can buy folly at a cheaper rate. My sister has taught me; that Lady has A precious husband too, shall I, my Lord, be bold to ask you, but one question, What are men good for? Pray, Lady, do not fear I come a-wooing. Your Lordship's mirth offends not me in this. Yet if I could love, I would marry thee Of all women alive. Your Lordship should Have little cause, I hope, to wish so ill to me. What says my Lady April here, all showers? My Lord is a great honourer of your sister. 'tis his fault in my conscience, but I hope she'll have a care, poor soul. Let me prepare you, And when you see me close with Madam Plot, You may advance.
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)
At Dice and Cards? you have more charitie, Then to thinke I accuse your Ladyship, Though there be some have dar'd to venture both ways Vpon record, yet seeme stanch to the world, I and are thought to pray sometimes, I wod-not For the Indies tempt your Ladiship, I know You are deafe to all leaud accents. Tis your goodnesse— Never to try thee, tis fit only such As your cold kins-woman, wenches that have No spirit should be tempted to those sports; Nor is shee otherwise considerable To me, more then my charitie may restore her, I pitie a hansome woman should eate chalke, And die i'th fullens, if she might be comforted, and cured. With a Warme bed-fellow? Y'are right, Madam, But shees here, and her elder sister. There is an other Lady I would not touch now, I meane i'th leaud way, shee has life and fire, And moves without an Engine, give me a wench, That I must mould into a wanton shape, And quicken her to aire by my owne Art, A wench that must be purg'd, sublim'd, calcin'd, By'th chymistrie of Love, till shee become A glorified spirit, and acknowledge Shee tooke her exaltation from me; In that I glorie more, then to have perfected The Magisterium, and boast the Elixar. But I waste time. This I cannot helpe, He wonot understand. Can you worke, Ladie, No cure upon your sister by the example Of your free hart? My Lord I chide her for't, Tell her what follie 'tis, to wast her health With feeding so much melancholie, I wish Shee had my constitution; to laugh At all the World. You are satyricall. No matter what men thinke of me: my Lord, I am no great admirer of their virtues. You doe not hate us, Ladie? But with pardon Of your Lordship, it is possible, I may never Runne madd for Love. You doe converse with us. Because I have As yet, no resolution to bee cloistred: Sometimes men stirre my pitie, but most commonlie My laughter. Y are a strang condition'd Gentlewoman. I would be so my Lord, to all that love mee, And love my selfe the better, for that humor. You'le never marrie? Certainlie, not while I have any wit, And can buy follie at a cheeper rate. My sister has taught me; that Ladie has A precious husband too, shall I, my Lord, Bee bold to aske you, but one question, What are men good for? Pray, Ladie, doe not feare I come a wooing. Your Lordships mirth offends not mee in this. Yet if I could love, I would marrie thee Of all women alive. Your Lordship should Have litle cause, I hope, to wish so ill to mee. What sayes my Lady Aprill here, all showrs? My Lord is a great honorer of your sister. Tis his fault in my conscience, but I hope Shee'le have a care, poore soule. Let mee prepare you, And when you see me close with Madam Plott, You may advance.