Glapthorne, Henry · published 1639 · first performed or written 1634 [1634-1639] [incorrect] (Annals) not in BritDrama · Globe T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti typicality 0.81 · 534 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Pray observe, You must not then accost her with a shrug, As you were lousy, with your Lady, sweet Lady, Or most superexcellent Lady, Nor in the Spanish garb, with a state face, As you had new been eating of a radish, And meant to swallow her for mutton to't: Nor let your words, as that I'm most afraid of, ('Cause 'tis your natural mood) come rumbling forth, Ushered with a good full-mouthed oath, I love you: But speak the language of an overcoming Lover; I do not mean that strange pedantic phrase, Used by some gallants, who do aim at wit, And make themselves stark asses by't, praise their mistresses Byth' Sun and stars, while the poor girls imagine, They mean their signs, their Mercers or Perfumers Inhabit at (for sure beyond those Planets They've studied no Astrology) but you must In gentle, free, and genuine phrase deliver Your true affection, praise her eye, her lip, Her nose, her cheek, her chin, her neck, her breast, Her hand, her foot, her leg, her every thing, And leave your roses and your lilies for Your country froes, to make nosegays of: But stay, here comes your Mistress, her father too, In conference; fall on my Myrmidon, While we retreat. Speed your endeavours, brother. 'Tis so concluded twixt me and her father, For both our goods, be not you nice Emilia, The noble youth's so furnished with all worth, You needs must like him. Good sir give me license, To let my eye direct my heart to love, And if young Frederick be the master of Such absolute gifts, doubt not but I shall find them. My Lord I'm glad Of this fair interview I and my daughter Were even conferring of you; sir as yet She's something timorous, dreads a Soldier's looks. She needs not sir. She bears a spell about her that would charm A Scythians native fierceness into softness, Those spirit-breathing eyes, my Lord, which can Kill as they please, or quicken with a glance. Now they are entered, I'll steal away and leave them. Gentle Lady, To make the addresses of my love-sick heart, Plain and apparent to you, that you may, Search through my soul, and find it all your creature, Give me your patient hearing. 'Tis a request, Might tax my manners, should I deny it to One of your noble quality; use your pleasure. Which consists In viewing your bright beauty, the idea Of all perfections, which the jealous heavens Durst ever lend to earth divinest— Lady, The gentle air which circumscribes your cheek, Leaving its panting kisses on the flowers, That in that Tempe blossom, does not love Those fields of purity more than mine eyes do, Mine, Lady, is a holy, An intellectual zeal, such as the Angels And Saints, who know no sexes do affect by, Past imitation too, should they who strive To trace me, take the constancy of Swans, Or never-changing Turtles, as their patterns. Sir, it seems You've studied compliment as well as Arms, But he's a foolish Lover, who to gain His Mistress, dare not promise what you have uttered, but I must Have more than verbal assurance of your love.
seed 43: T31 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Pray observe, You must not then accost her with a shrug, As you were lowzie, with your Lady, sweet Lady, Or most super-excellent Lady, Nor in the Spanish garbe, with a state face, As you had new been eating of a Raddish, And meant to swallow her for mutton to't: Nor let your words, as that I'm most afraid of, ('Cause 'tis your naturall mood) come rumbling forth, Usher'd with a good full-mouth'd oath, I love you: But speake the language of an overcomming Lover; I doe not meane that strange pedanticke phrase, Us'd by some gallants, who doe aime at wit, And make themselves starke asses by't, praise their mistresses Byth' Sun and stars, while the poore girles imagine, They meane their signes, their Mercers or Perfumers Inhabit at (for sure beyond those Planets They've studied no Astrologie) but you must In gentle, free, and genuine phrase deliver Your true affection, praise her eye, her lip, Her nose, her cheeke, her chin, her neck, her brest, Her hand, her foot, her leg, her every thing, And leave your roses and your lillies for Your country froes, to make nosegayes of: But stay, here comes your Mistris, her father too, In conference; fall on my Mirmidon, While we retreat. Speed your endevors, brother. 'Tis so concluded 'twixt me and her father, For both our goods, be not you nice Emilia, The noble youth's so furnish'd with all worth, You needs must like him. Good sir give me license, To let my eye direct my heart to love, And if young Fredericke be the master of Such absolute gifts, doubt not but I shall find them. My Lord I'm glad Of this faire interview I and my daughter Were even conferring of you; sir as yet She's something timorous, dreads a Souldiers lookes. She needs not sir. She beares a spell about her that would charme A Scythians native fiercenesse into softnesse, Those spirit-breathing eyes, my Lord, which can Kill as they please, or quicken with a glance. Now they are enter'd, Ile steale away and leave them. Gentle Lady, To make the addresses of my love-sicke heart, Plaine and apparent to you, that you may, Search through my soule, and find it all your creature, Give me your patient hearing. 'Tis a request, Might tax my manners, should I deny it to One of your noble quality; use your pleasure. Which consists In viewing your bright beauty, the idea Of all perfections, which the jealous heavens Durst ever lend to earth-divinest Lady, The gentle ayre which circumscribes your cheeke, Leaving its panting kisses on the flowres, That in that Tempe blossome, does not love Those fields of purity more then mine eyes do, Mine, Lady, is a holy, An intellectual zeale, such as the Angels And Saints, who know no sexes do affect by, Past imitation too, should they who strive To trace me, take the constancy of Swans, Or never-changing Turtles, as their patternes. Sir, it seemes You've studied complement as well as Armes, But he's a foolish Lover, who to gaine His Mistris, dare not promise what you have utter'd, but I must Have more then verball assurance of your love.