Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1634 [licensed for stage, Nov 29] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.88 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
What Sir? Were you master of the world, Could you shoot death beyond a Basilisk, Or had you mischief in your breath above The Lernaean vapours, or the killing steam Of the hot lake that poisons innocent Birds But daring to fly over, I would rise With as much confidence to scorn this calumny As I would quench my thirst, or chide my Groom The drudges for me, Duke I am no villain, And though my blood runs not so deep a purple There's no corruption in the chapest vein My Liver feeds, 'tis clear and honest sir, In thy own Court I'll meet and tell thee so Maugre thy guards, and gaudy Butterflies, I dare, by innocence, I dare. You think The place protects you now. Were it in a Church No drop of mine could stain it, Duke I cannot Fear and be master of a sword, that needs No valour in a cause so just as mine To stir the point, by all my hopes. Thy hopes, Of what reversion? what Grooms place is vacant? Come 'tis not done becomingly To insult because you have a privilege Of Duke above you, I am here a servant To a most gracious Princess. At that name I drew New flame, and should I credit thy soul free From this dishonour, thou hast sin enough In thy ambition to pull ruin on thee, Are we too fit to be in competition Sir? Hast thou a thought so proud, so daring in thee To be my rival? Have I courted her To her own height, a Prince? and shall her vassal Look on her with an eye, less than serves The Altar with, because she is pleased some time To laugh, and seem indulgent to your services For her own sake, can you have brain to think Such treason to her judgement, that she loves you? Or can she be so lost to truth and honour Not to make good her promises to me Religious as a contract, has she not Declared me worthy of her, and my love The best of all the world. How was that Sir? The best of all the world, 'tis not that I Can be so poor in my esteem of her Whose mention is sacred, or myself That I have any jealousy thou canst Inherit possibly the hundredth part Of any thought that points upon affection Hast thou no soul to apprehend thy scorn? Nay did she not, fearing thou might'st grow insolent Upon her favours late declare herself, It was not love but mirth and wantonness Of revelling nights, commanding on thy life Thou feed no ambition higher, or feed a thought To her, beyond what waited upon duty You may remember this. 'tis clear, this none Could tell him but herself, I find too plain Who is the may-game of the Court, this last Convinces me, your pardon mighty Sir You love the Duchess.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What Sir? Were you master of the world, Could you shoot death beyond a Basiliske, Or had you mischiefe in your breath above The Lernean vapours, or the killing steame Of the hot lake that poysons innocent Birds But daring to flie over, I would rise With as much confidence to scorne this calumnie As I would quench my thirst, or chide my Groome The drudges for me, Duke I am no villaine, And tho my blood runnes not so deépe a purple There's no corruption in the chapest veine My Liver feeds, 'tis cleare and honest sir, In thy owne Court Ile meet and tell thee so Mauger thy guards, and gawdy Butter-flies, I dare, by innocence, I dare. You thinke The place protects you now. Were it in a Church No drop of mine could staine it, Duke I cannot Feare and be master of a sword, that needs No valour in a cause so just as mine To stirre the point, by all my hopes. Thy hopes, Of what reversion? what Groomes place is vacant? Come tis not done becommingly To insult because you have a priviledge Of Duke above you, I am here a servant To a most gracious Princesse. At that name I drew New flame, and should I credit thy soule free From this dishonour, thou hast sinne enough In thy ambition to pull ruine on thee, Are we too fit to be in competition Sir? Hast thou a thought so proud, so daring in thee To be my rivall? Have I courted her To her owne height, a Prince? and shall her vassall Looke on her with an eye, lesse then serves The Altar with, because she is pleasd some time To laugh, and seeme indulgent to your services For her owne sake, can you have braine to thinke Such treason to her judgement, that she loves you? Or can she be so lost to truth and honour Not to make good her promises to me Religious as a contract, has she not Declard me worthy of her, and my love The best of all the world. How was that Sir? The best of all the world, tis not that I Can be so poore in my esteeme of her Whose mention is sacred, or my selfe That I have any jealousie thou canst Inherit possibly the hundredth part Of any thought that points upon affection Hast thou no soule to apprehend thy scorne? Nay did she not, fearing thou might'st grow insolent Vpon her favours late declare herselfe, It was not love but mirth and wantonnesse Of revelling nights, commanding on thy life Thou feede no ambition higher, or feede a thought To her, beyond what waited upon dutie You may remember this. Tis cleare, this none Could tell him but her selfe, I finde too plaine Who is the may-game of the Court, this last Convinces me, your pardon mightie Sir You love the Dutchesse.