Nabbes, Thomas · published 1638 · first performed or written 1633 (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.91 · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Forbear the rest. This affords me matter: Return to that house, there leave your booty and receive your reward; only this I'll keep. With all our hearts: we had rather anybody should have them, than the hangman both them and us for them. Come Dobson, we have got the money yet; and a little sack will animate us again. My soul's under foot; I must raise it: But if ever I quarrel again by Moonshine unless I am drunk, valour forsake me. Blessed Accident! 'tis surely the same. After a stricter view, my memory Unless it errs, tells me I have seen your person Before this at my fathers. If you are the son of Sir Generous Worthy. It was the blessing Nature and Fortune did bestow on me. It is indeed a blessing, when the virtues Of noble Races are hereditary; And do derive themselves from th' imitation Of virtuous Ancestors. You have a fair Sister. Her beauty is not worth your commendations. Your modesty is too severe In your restraint from praising her pure excellence, Which should be poet's study; not with fiction, And common figures, but diviner attributes: Then they must call it nothing but itself. Have I found you? I shall search you deeper. The subject's weight would make a Poem weighty; And take away the imputation Which seeming solidness would throw upon't Of a light fancy. It seems you love my Sister? He were a Devil did not love such goodness. It is the only virtue: frailty boasts of, To love fair sensual objects: but my soul Hath noted inward beauty in her mind, Which makes me glory (though it be presumption) That I do love her. call't not presumption sir, you do deserve her, In that you have endeared me for my life Who am her Brother. And I commend you wit, Which I presume my sister's love hath whetted. 'Twas a quaint Plot. Were th' Actors here again, I'd pay their wages. Your Riddle needs some Oedipus to solve it. Why sir, ridiculous fables May sometimes serve for imitation. Though 'twere a mere appointment in this rescue, To show your love and valour. What base suspicion Poisons his jealous thoughts! 'Tis injury Beyond all patience. Alas sir, you are moved? Yes, to an indignation, whose just heat Burns me almost to rage. But there are charms And spells about you conjure down my spirit. You are her Brother. It seems your guilt dare not deny the truth? Dare not deny it! Were thy hands armed with Thunder; Hadst thou a Gorgon's look, were't not her Brother, Ringed in the terror of a thousand Gibbets And executioners, I have a point Should find thy heart out. But I must tell you sir, Seldom high spirits that pursue their honours, With earnest flights, will stoop at weak respects: But prey upon th' opinion of those men That scan their actions; tearing their reputations Out of suspicions bowels. he's not a Gentle man Will not preserve his honour.
nodes 779–842 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 20 of 35 in this edition
Length
502 words · 655 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.909 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: T12 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Forbeare the rest. This affords me matter: Returne to that house, there leave your bootie and receive your reward; onely this I'le keepe. With all our hearts: wee had rather any body should have them, then the hangman both them and us for them. Come Dobson, we have got the money yet; and a little sack will animate us againe. My soul's under foot; I must raise it: But if ever I quarrell againe by Mooneshine unlesse I am drunk, valour forsake me. Blest Accident! 'tis surely the same. After a stricter view, my memory Vnlesse it erres, tells me I have seene your person Before this at my fathers. If you are the son of Sir Generous Worthy. It was the blessing Nature and Fortune did bestow on me. It is indeed a blessing, when the vertues Of noble Races are hereditary; And doe derive themselves from th' imitation Of vertuous Ancestours. You have a faire Sister. Her beaurie is not worth your commendations. Your modestie is too severe In your restraint from praising her pure excellence, Which should be Poets studie; not with fiction, And common figures, but diviner attributes: Then they must call it nothing but it selfe. Have I found you? I shall search you deeper. The subjects weight would make a Poem weighty; And take away the imputation Which seeming solidnesse would throw upon't Of a light fancie. It seemes you love my Sister? He were a Divell did not love such goodnesse. It is the onely vertue: frailty boasts of, To love faire sensuall objects: but my soule Hath noted inward beauty in her mind, Which makes me glory (though it be presumption) That I doe love her. Cal't not presumption sir, you doe deserve her, In that you have indear'd me for my life Who am her Brother. And I commend you wit, Which I presume my Sisters love hath whetted. 'Twas a quaint Plott. Were th' Actors here againe, I'd pay their wages. Your Riddle needs some Oedipus to solve it. Why sir, ridiculous fables May sometimes serve for imitation. Though twere a meere appointment in this rescue, To shew your love and valour. What base suspition Poysons his jealous thoughts! 'Tis injurie Beyond all patience. Alas sir, you are mov'd? Yes, to an indignation, whose just heat Burnes me almost to rage. But there are charmes And spels about you conjure downe my spirit. You are her Brother. It seemes your guilt dare not denie the truth? Dare not denie it! Were thy hands armd with Thunder; Hadst thou a Gorgons looke, wer't not her Brother, Ring'd in the terror of a thousand Jibbets And executioners, I have a point Should finde thy hart out. But I must tell you sir, Seldome high spirits that pursue their honours, With earnest fllights, will stoop at weake respects: But prey upon th' opinion of those men That scan their actions; tearing their reputations Out of suspitions bowels. Hee's not a Gentle man Will not preserve his honour.