Rawlins, Thomas · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1637-1639] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T59 Spanish courts: war, honour and courtshi · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
It shall be so; My fears are built on grounds Stronger than Atlas' shoulders: this same Tailor Retains a spirit like the lost Antonio; Whose sister we will banish in pretence of Love to Justice; 'tis a good snare, to trap the Vulgar hearts: his, and her goods, to guild my Lawless doings, I'll give the poor, whose tongues Are i'their bellies: which being full, Is tipped with heartless prayers; but empty, A falling Planet is less dangerous; they'll down to Hell for curses. You Tailor. My Lord. Deliver up your prisoner. You're obeyed. So: now we command on forfeit of thy Life, you be not seen in any ground our Master's Title circles, within three days, Such a factious spirit we must not nourish: lest like the Fables Serpent, grown warm In your conceited worth, you sting Your country's Breasts, that nursed your valour. This my reward? More than thy worth deserves. Pomander box thou liest. Go purge yourself; your Country vomits you. Slaves you're not worth my anger. Go vent your spleen 'mongst satyrs, pen a Pamphlet, and call't the Scourge of greatness. Or Spain's ingratitude. Ye are not worth my breath, Else I should curse you; but I must weep, Not that I part from thee unthankful Spain, But my Evadne, well, it must be so: Heart keep thy still tough temper spite of woe. My house shall be your prison, Attend 'em Colonel. Please you walk? My servant banished. Famist master? nay saith and a Tailor Come to be famished, 'tis a hard World: No bread in this world here hoe, to save The renowned Corpse of a Tailor from famishing? 'Tis no matter for drink, give me bread. Thou hast a gut would swallow a peck Loaf. I marry would it with vantage; I tell truth, And as the Proverb says: shame the Devil; If our Hell afford a Devil, but I see none Unless he appear in a delicious remnant of Nim'd Satin, and by my faith that's a courteous Devil, that suffers the Brokers to hang him In their ragged Ward robe; and used to sell his Devilship for money: I tell truth, a Tailor And lie, faith I scorn that. Leave your discovery. Master, a Traveller you know is famous for lying, And having traveled as far as hell; May not I make description of the unknown Land? My brain is busy, Sebastiano must not tread an unknown Land To find out a Grave; unfortunate Sebastiano, First to lose thyself in a disguise, unfitting for thy Birth, and then thy Country for thy too much valour: There's danger in being virtuous, in this Age Led by those sinful Actors, the plunged stage, Of this vice-bearing World, would headlong fall But charitable virtue bears up all. I must invent, I ha''t, so: As he's a Tailor; he is banished Spain, As Sebastiano 'tis revoked again.
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)
It shall be so; My feares are built on grounds Stronger than Atlas shoulders: this same Tayler Retaines a spirit like the lost Antonio; Whose sister we will banish in pretence of Love to Justice; 'tis a good snare, to trap the Vulgar hearts: his, and her goods, to guild my Lawlesse doings, Ile give the poore, whose tongues Are i'their bellies: which being full, Is tipt with heartlesse prayers; but empty, A falling Planet is lesse dangerous; they'le downe to Hell for curses. You Tayler. My Lord. Deliver up your prisoner. Y'are obey'd. So: now we command on forfeit of thy Life, you be not seene in any ground our Masters Title circles, within three daies, Such a factious spirit we must not nourish: Least like the Fables Serpent, growne warme In your conceited worth, you sting Your Countries Breasts, that nurst your valour. This my reward? More then thy worth deserves. Pomander boxe thou lyest. Goe purge your selfe; your Country vomits you. Slaves y'are not worth my anger. Goe vent your spleene 'mongst Satyres, pen a Pamphlet, and call't the Scourge of greatnesse. Or Spaines ingratitude. Yee are not worth my breath, Else I should curse you; but I must weepe, Not that I part from thee unthankfull Spaine, But my Evadne, well, it must bee so: Heart keepe thy still tough temper spight of woe. My house shall be your prison, Attend 'em Colonell. Please you walke? My servant banisht. Famist master? nay saith and a Tayler Come to be famisht, 'tis a hard World: No bread in this world here hoe, to save The renowned Corps of a Tayler from famishing? 'Tis no matter for drinke, give me bread. Thou hast a gut wou'd swallow a pecke Loafe. I marry wou'd it with vantage; I tell truth, And as the Proverbe sayes: shame the Divell; If our Hell afford a Divell, but I see none Unlesse he appeare in a delicious remnant of Nim'd Sattin, and by my faith that's a courteous Divill, that suffers the Brokers to hang him In their ragged Ward robe; and us'd to sell his Divelship for mony: I tell truth, a Tayler And lye, faith I scorne that. Leave your discovery. Master, a Traveller you know is famous for lying, And having travelled as farre as hell; May not I make description of the unknowne Land? My braine is busie, Sebastiano must not tread an unknowne Land To finde out a Grave; unfortunate Sebastiano, First to lose thy selfe in a disguise, unfitting for thy Birth, and then thy Country for thy too much vallour: There's danger in being vertuous, in this Age Led by those sinfull Actors, the plunged stage, Of this vice-bearing World, would head-long fall But charitable vertue beares up all. I must invent, I ha't, so: As he's a Tayler; he is banisht Spaine, As Sebastiano 'tis revokt againe.