Ford, John · published 1639 · first performed or written 1638 [licensed for stage, May 3] (Annals) not in BritDrama · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T16 Gallantry: ladies, lordships and complim · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T16: lady, madam, gentleman, lordship, ladies, honour, mistress, sweet, court, servant.
Nay good. Well keep your mirth, my dainty honeys agree Some two days hence, till when— By any means, Partake the sport, my lord, this thing of youth. Handsome enough, good face, quick eye, well bred. Is yet possessed so strangely. With an humour of thinking, she deserves— A Duke, a Count. At least a Viscount, for her husband that— She scorns all mention of a match beneath One of the foresaid nobles; will not ride In a caroche without eight horses. Six, she may be drawn to four— Are for the power, But for two horses in a coach— She says, theyare not for creatures of heavens making fitter— Fitter for litters to convey hounds in, Then people christian yet herself— Herself walks evermore afoot, and knows not whether A Coach doth trot or amble. But by hearsay. Stop gentlemen, you run a gallop both: Are out of breath sure, 'tis a kind of compliment Scarce entered to the times, but certainly You coin a humour, let me understand Deliberately your fancy. In plain troth, My Lord, the she whom we describe is such, And lives here, here in Genoa, this City, This very city, now, the very now. Trelcatio's daughter. Has refused suitors Of worthy rank, substantial and free parts. Only for that they are not Dukes, or Counts, Yet she herself, with all her father's store, Can hardly weigh above four hundred Ducats. Now your design for sport. Without prevention, Guzman the Spaniard late cashiered, most gravely Observes the full punctilioes of his nation, And him have we beleaguered to accost This she-piece, under a pretence of being Grandee of Spain, and cousin to twelve Princes. For rival unto whom we have enraged Fulgoso, the rich coxcomb lately started A gentleman out of a Sutler's hut, In the late Flemish wars, we have resolved him He is descended from Pantagruel, Of famous memory by the father's side, And by the mother from Dame Fusti-Bunga, Who troubled long time with a strangury, Vented at last salt-water so abundantly, As drowned the land 'twixt Sirixia and Vere, Where steeples tops are only seen: he casts Beyond the Moon, and will be greater yet In spite of Don. You must abuse the maid Beyond amends. But countenance the course My Lord, and it may chance beside the mirth, To work a reformation on the maiden, Her father's leave is granted, and thanks promised, Our ends are harmless trials. I betray me secrets of such use. Your Lordship's humblest. A Melancholy grounded, and resolved, Received into a habit, argues love, Or deep impression of strong discontents, In cases of these rarities a friend Upon whose faith, and confidence, we may Vent with security, our grief becomes Oft times the best Physician, for admit we find no remedy, we cannot miss Advise in stead of comfort, and believe It is an ease, Malfato, to disburden Our souls of secret clogs, where they may find A rest in pity, though not in redress. Let all this sense be yielded to
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)
Nay good. Well keep your mirth, my dainty honies agree Some two daies hence, till when— By any meanes, Partake the ſport, my lord, this thing of youth. Hanſome enough, good face, quicke eye, well bred. Is yet poſſeſt ſo ſtrangely. With an humor of thinking, ſhe deſerves— A Duke, a Count. At leaſt a Viſcount, for her husband that— She ſcornes all mention of a match beneath One of the foreſaid nobles; will not ride In a caroach without eight horſes. Six, ſhe may be drawn to fower— Are for the power▪ But for two horſes in a coach— She ſaies, Th'are not for creatures of heavens making fitter— Fitter for litters to convey hounds in, Then people chriſtian yet herſelfe— Herſelfe walkes evermore a foot, and knowes not whether A Coach dothtrot or amble. But by heare-ſay. Stop gentlemen, you run a gallopboth▪ Are out of breath ſure, tis a kinde of complement Scarce entred to the times, but certainly You coyne a humour, let me underſtand Deliberately your fancie. In plaine troath, My Lord, the ſhe whom we deſcribe is ſuch, And lives here, here in Genoa, this Citie, This very citie, now, the very now. Trelcatios daughter. Has refuſed ſuiters Of worthy ranke, ſubſtantiall and free parts▪ Onely for that they are not Dukes, or Counts, Yet ſhe herſelfe, wi h all her fathers ſtore, Can hardly weigh above foure hundred Ducates▪ Now your deſigne for ſport. Without prevention, Guzman the Spaniard late caſheerd, moſt gravely Obſerves the full punctilios of his nation, And him have we beleagred to accoſt This ſhee-peece, under a pretence of being Grandee of Spain, and couſin to twelve Princes. For rivall unto whom we have enrag'd Fulgoſo, the rich cox-combe lately ſtarted A gentleman out of a Sulers hut, In the late Flemiſh warres, we have reſolvd him He is deſcended from Pantagruel, Of famous memory by the fathers ſide, And by the mother from Dame Fuſti-Bunga, Who troubled long time with a ſtrangury, Vented at laſt ſalt-water ſo abundantly, As drownd the land twixt Sirixia and Vre, Where ſteeples tops are onely ſeene▪ hee caſts Beyond the Moone, and will be greater yet In ſpight of Don. You muſt abuſe the maid Beyond amends. But countenance the courſe My Lord, and it may chance beſide the mirth, To worke a reformation on the mayden, Her fathers leave is granted, and thankes promiſ'd, Our ends are harmleſſe trials. I betray me ſecrets of ſuch uſe. Your Lordſhips humbleſt. A Melancholy grounded, and reſolv'd, Receiv'd into a habit, argues love, Or deepe impreſſion of ſtrong diſcontents, In caſes of theſe raritles a friend Upon whoſe faith, and confidence, we may Vent with ſecurity, our griefe becomes Oft times the beſt Phyſition, for admit Wee finde no remedy, we cannot miſſe Adviſe in ſted of comfort, and beleeve It is an eaſe, Malfato, to disburthen Our ſoules of ſecret clogges, where they may finde A reſt in pitty, tho not in redreſſe. Let all this ſence be yielded to