Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1635 [licensed for stage, Feb 6] (Annals) tragicomedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
Wots stay Lysimachus? Yes sir, And show a patience above her injury. This honour is too much, Madam assume Your place, and let Arcadius wait still: 'tis happiness enough to be your servant. Now he dissembles. Sir you must sit. I am obedient. This is not music Sprightly enough, it feeds the soul with melancholy. How says Arcadius? Give me leave to think There is no harmony but in your voice, And not an accent of your heavenly tongue, But strikes me into rapture, I incline To think the tale of Orpheo no fable, 'tis possible he might enchant the rocks, And charm the forest, soften hell, hell itself With his commanding Lute, it is no miracle To what you work, whose very breath conveys The hearer into heaven, how at your lips, Day winds gather perfumes, proudly glide away, To disperse sweetness round about the world. Fine stuff. You cannot flatter. Not if I should say Nature had placed you here the creatures wonder, And her own spring, from which all excellence On earth's derived, and copied forth, and when The character of fair, and good in others Is quite worn out, and lost, looking on you It is supplied, and you alone made mortal To feed and keep alive all beauty. Ha', ha', can you endure it Gentlemen? What do you mean? Nay ask him what he means, mine is a down Right laugh. Well sir proceed. At such bright eyes the stars do light themselves, At such a forehead Swans renew their white, From such a lip the morning gathers blushes. The morning is more modest than thy praises, What a thing does he make her? And when you fly to heaven & leave this world No longer maintenance of goodness from you, Then Poetry shall lose all use with us, And be no more, since nothing in your absence Is left, that can be worthy of a Verse. Ha', ha'. Whos's that? 'twas I Madam. Seleucus? Ha'? Yes sir, 'twas I that laughed. At what? At nothing. Contain yourself Seleucus. Are you mad? Have you ambition to be punished sir? I need not, 'twas punishment Enough to hear him make an idol of you, he left Out the commendation of your patience, I was a little Moved in my nature to hear his codomontadoes, and Make a monster of his Mistress, which I pitied first, But seeing him proceed, I guest he brought you Mirth with his inventions, and so made bold to laugh at it. You are saucy, we'll place you where you sha'not be so merry, Take him away. Submit yourself Let me plead for his pardon. I would not owe my life so poorly, beg thy own When you are King you cannot bribe your destiny. Good Madam hear me, I fear he is distracted, Brave boy, thou shouldst be master of a soul Like his: thy honours more concerned. 'Tis charity, A way wi' me,' boy Madam? He has a daring spirit.
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)
Wot stay Lisimachus? Yes sir, And shew a patience above her injury. This honour is too much, Madam assume Your place, and let Arcadius waite still: Tis happinesse enough to be your servant. Now he dissembles. Sir you must sit. I am obedient. This is not musicke Sprightly enough, it feeds the soule with melancholy. How sayes Arcadius? Give me leave to thinke There is no harmony but in your voyce, And not an accent of your heavenly tongue, But strikes me into rapture, I incline To thinke the tale of Orphe no fable, Tis possible he might inchant the Rockes, And charme the Forrest, soften hell, hell it selfe With his commanding Lute, it is no miracle To what you worke, whose very breath conveyes The hearer into heaven, how at your lips, Day winds gather perfumes, proudly glide away, To disperse sweetnesse round about the world. Fine stuffe. You cannot flatter. Not if I should say Nature had plac'd you here the creatures wonder, And her owne spring, from which all excellence On earths deriv'd, and copyed forth, and when The character of faire, and good in others Is quite worne out, and lost, looking on you It is supplide, and you alone made mortall To feed and keepe alive all beauty. Ha, ha, can you indure it Gentlemen? What doe you meane? Nay aske him what he meanes, mine is a downe Right laugh. Well sir proceed. At such bright eies the stars do light themselves, At such a forehead Swans renew their white, From such a lip the morning gathers blushes. The morning is more modest then thy prayses, What a thing does he make her? And when you fly to heaven & leave this world No longer maintenance of goodnesse from you, Then Poetry shall lose all use with us, And be no more, since nothing in your absence Is left, that can be worthy of a Verse. Ha, ha. Whose that? Twas I Madam. Seleucus? Ha? Yes sir, 'twas I that laugh'd. At what? At nothing. Containe your selfe Seleucus. Are you mad? Have you ambition to be punishd sir? I need not, twas punishment Enough to heare him make an Idoll of you, he left Out the commendation of your patience, I was a little Mov'd in my nature to heare his codomontados, and Make a monster of his Mistresse, which I pittyed first, But seeing him proceed, I guest he brought you Mirth with his inventions, and so made bold to laugh at it. You are sawcy, Weele place you where you shannot be so merry, Take him away. Submit your selfe Let me plead for his pardon. I wod not owe my life so poorely, beg thy owne When you are King you cannot bribe your destiny. Good Madam heare me, I feare he is distracted, Brave boy, thou should'st be master of a soule Like his: thy honours more concernd. 'Tis charity, A way wo' mee, 'boy Madam? He has a daring spirit.