Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
I'Ve thought upon't; and cannot tell which way Ought I can say now, should advance the Play. For Plays are either good, or bad; the good, (If they do beg) beg to be understood. And in good faith, that has as bold a sound, As if a beggar should ask twenty pound. Men have it not about them: Then (Gentlemen) if rightly understood, The bad do need less Prologue than the good: For if it chance the Plot be lame, or blind, Ill clothed, deformed throughout, it needs must find Compassion,— It is a beggar without Art:— But it falls out in penny worths of Wit, As in all bargains else. Men ever get All they can in; will have London measure, A handful over in their very pleasure. And now ye have't; he could not well deny'ee, And I dare swear he's scarce a saver by ye. THose common passions, hopes, and fears, that still, The Poets first and then the Prologues fill In this our age, he that writ this, by me, Protests against as modest foolery. He thinks it an odd thing to be in pain, For nothing else, but to be well again. Who writes to fear is so; had he not writ; You ne'er had been the judges of his wit; And when he had, did he but then intent To please himself, he sure might have his end Without th'expense of hope, and that he had That made this Play, although the Play be bad. Then Gentlemen be thrifty, save your dooms For the next man, or the next Play that comes; For smiles are nothing, where men do not care, And frowns as little, where they need not fear. THis (Sir) to them, but unto Majesty. All he has said before, he does deny. Yet not to Majesty: that were to bring His fears to be, but for the Queen and King, Not for yourselves; and that he dares not say: Y'are his Sovereigns another way: Your souls are Princes, and you have as good A title that way, as ye have by blood To govern, and here your powers more great And absolute, than in the royal Seat. There men dispute, and but by Law obey, Here is no Law at all, but what ye say. MArried? and in Diana's Grove! So was th'appointment, or my Sense deceived me. Married! Now by those Powers that tie those pretty knots, 'tis very fine, good faith 'tis wondrous fine: What is, Brother? Why? to marry Sister— t'enjoy 'twixt lawful and unlawful thus a happiness, steal as 'twere one's own; Diana's Grove, sayest thou?— Scratcheth his head. That's the place; the hunt once up, and all engaged in the sport, they mean to leave the company, and steal unto those thickets, where, there's a Priest attends them; And will they lie together, think'st thou? Is there distinction of sex think you? or flesh and blood? True; but the King, Sister! But love, Brother!
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)
I'Ve thought upon't; and cannot tell which way Ought I can say now, should advance the Play. For Playes are either good, or bad; the good, (If they doe beg) beg to be understood. And in good faith, that has as bold a sound, As if a beggar should aske twentie pound. —Men have it not about them: Then (Gentlemen) if rightly understood, The bad doe need lesse Prologue than the good: For if it chance the Plot be lame, or blinde, Ill cloath'd, deform'd throughout, it needs must finde Compassion,—It is a beggar without Art:— But it fals out in penny worths of Wit, As in all bargaines else. Men ever get All they can in; will have London measure, A bandfull over in their verie pleasure. And now yee have't; hee could not well deny'ee, And I dare sweare hee's scarce a saver by yee. THose common passions, hopes, and feares, that still, The Poets first and then the Prologues fill In this our age, hee that writ this, by mee, Protests against as modest foolerie. Hee thinks it an odd thing to be in paine, For nothing else, but to be well againe. Who writes to feare is so; had hee not writ; You ere had been the Iudges of his wit; And when hee had, did hee but then intend To please himselfe, hee sure might have his end Without th'expence of hope, and that hee had That made this Play, although the Play be bad. Then Gentlemen be thriftie, save your doomes For the next man, or the next Play that comes; For smiles are nothing, where men doe not care, And frownes as little, where they need not feare. THis (Sir) to them, but unto Majestie. All hee has said before, hee does denie. Yet not to Majestie: that were to bring His feares to be, but for the Queene and King, Not for your selves; and that hee dares not say: Y'are his Soveraignes another way: Your soules are Princes, and you have as good A title that way, as yee have by blood To governe, and here your powers more great And absolute, than in the royall Seat. There men dispute, and but by Law obey, Here is no Law at all, but what yee say. MArried? and in Diana's Grove! So was th'appointment, or my Sense deceiv'd me. Married! Now by those Powers that tye those prettie knots, 'tis verie fine, good faith 'tis wondrous fine: What is, Brother? Why? to marrie Sister— t'injoy 'twixt lawfull and unlawfull thus a happinesse, steale as 'twere ones owne; Diana's Grove, sayest thou?—Scratcheth his head. That's the place; the hunt once up, and all ingag'd in the sport, they meane to leave the company, and steale unto those thickets, where, there's a Priest attends them; And will they lye together, think'st thou? Is there distinction of sex thinke you? or flesh and bloud? True; but the King, Sister! But love, Brother!