Davenport, Robert · published 1639 · first performed or written 1625 [c.1624-1639] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men (?); Lady Elizabeth's Men (?) unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
Though thou wast ever Pander to my lusts, And gav'st me Spurs to all my vanities, fed'st on my riots, and my loose excess, Encourag'st still to surfeits, prayd'st not for me But still prey'st on me Geoffrey; yet, because Thou once didst claim dependence on my love, And didst me some slight service; still report Thou hadst a bounteous Master; so farewell both. If this he all, as where no more is left What more can be expected? this's my portion, I'll husband't for myself; he that gets this, Or part of this, must have more share in me Than either man or Master. Adieu good fellows, report y'have left a clean Gentleman, without or means, or money. 'Tis my sorrow. And my neglect; so I be stored myself, Which hand with him goes forward. A woman; that inconstant Feminine Sex, That changes humours oftener than the Moon wanes, or supplies his Orb: that moving Creature Hath been my quick subversion: Had she proved firm; for her I had husbanded All that I now have lavished; but too late, What shall I now do! travel? who shall furnish me? What comfort can there be to beg abroad? Or make myself a storm to foreign Nations, After I too much have been tossed at home? I'll prove my kindred; kindred he hath none That hath not in his purse to rank with them. My Kindred wasted, as I spent my means, Want makes me a mere stranger: than my friends, There's no such name for him whom need compels To such extremes as I am newly fall'n: Relief from them, such as in Cakes of Ice To him, whose Nerves and Arteries are shrunk up By bitter winter's fury: then behold, I here expose me to the fate, and force Of all disasters threaten me; I am ready With a pinched stomach, and cold Arctos breath, With a bare breast, armed with patience Against the sharpest storm, and thin necessity; T'encounter with the keen and piercing fangs Of what want can inflict on my poor carcase. Let Father frown, or movingly entreat, My Mother chide, or threaten menaces, Rail till her Tongue, that yet was never tired, Cleave to her Roof in midst of her exclaims: Let my spruce Lord cog in his courtly terms, And woe me with a thousand vain protests; Not all my Father's hate, my Mother's fury, Nor all his Alphabet of styles and Names, Could they a Sheepskin fill, shall me divert From that which I have vowed, to seek him out And prostrate my first love. The Devil, he My mind suggests when all my means else fail; That Bugbear will supply me. Have I found thee? I am not yet provided friend, not yet; Thou tak'st me on a sudden. Do you not love me? For a she-devil; but I meant not her, My business lies with him that's Lord and Captain Of all the Fiends and firebrands; haunt me not, Thou canst do me no pleasure.
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)
Though thou waſt ever Pander to my luſts, And gav'ſt me Spurres to all my vanities, Fedd'ſt on my riots, and my looſe exceſſe, Encourag'ſt ſtill to ſurfeits, prayd'ſt not for me But ſtill prey'ſt on me Geffery; yet, becauſe Thou once did'ſt claime dependance on my love, And did'ſt me ſome ſlight ſervice; ſtill report Thou had'ſt a bounteous Maſter; ſo farewell both. If this he all, as where no more is left What more can be expected? this's my portion, Ile husband't for my ſelfe; he that gets this, Or part of this, muſt have more ſhare in me Than either man or Maſter. Adieu good fellowes, report y'have left a cleane Gentleman, without or meanes, or mony. 'Tis my ſorrow. And my neglect; ſo I be ſtor'd my ſelfe, Which hand with him goes forward. A woman; that inconſtant Feminine Sex, That changes humours oftner than the Moone Waynes, or ſupplyes his Orbe: that moving Creature Hath beene my quicke ſubverſion: Had ſhe prov'd firme; for her I had husbanded All that I now have laviſh'd; but too late, What ſhall I now doe! travell? who ſhall furniſh me? What comfort can there be to beg abroad? Or make my ſelfe a ſtorme to forraigne Nations, After I too much have bin toſſ'd at home? Ile prove my kindred; kindred he hath none That hath not in his purſe to ranke with them. My Kindred waſted, as I ſpent my meanes, Want makes me a meere ſtranger: then my friends, There's no ſuch name for him whom need compells To ſuch extreames as I am newly falne: Reliefe from them, ſuch as in Cakes of Ice To him, whoſe Nerves and Arteries are ſhrunke up By bitter winters fury: then behold, I here expoſe me to the fate, and force Of all diſaſters threaten me; I am ready With a pinch'd ſtomacke, and cold Arctos breath, With a bare breaſt, armed with patience Againſt the ſharpeſt ſtorme, and thin neceſſity; T'encounter with the keene and piercing fangs Of what want can inflict on my poore Carkeſſe. Let Father frowne, or movingly intreat, My Mother chide, or threaten menaces, Raile till her Tongue, that yet was never tyr'd, Cleave to her Roofe in midd'ſt of her exclaimes: Let my ſpruce Lord cogge in his courtly termes, And woe me with a thouſand vaine proteſts; Not all my Fathers hate, my Mothers fury, Nor all his Alphabet of Stiles and Names, Could they a Sheep-skin fill, ſhall me divert From that which I have vow'd, to ſeeke him out And proſtrate my firſt love. The Divell, hee My mind ſuggeſts when all my meanes elſe faile; That Bug-beare will ſupply me. Have I found thee? I am not yet provided friend, not yet; Thou tak'ſt me on a ſudden. Doe you not love me? For a She-divell; but I meant not her, My buſineſſe lyes with him that's Lord and Captaine Of all the Fiends and fire-brands; haunt me not, Thou canſt doe me no pleaſure.