Rawlins, Thomas · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1637-1639] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.73 · 558 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
NOt find Evadne I sure some wanton wind Has snatched her from the earth into the air; Smooth Zephers feigns the tresses of her hair, Whilst slick Favonious plays the fawning slave; And hourly dies, making her breasts his grave: O false Evadne, is Giovanno's love That has outdone all merit for thy sake So light, that wind outweighs it? No, no; no; Evadne is all virtue, Sweet as the breath of Roses; and as chaste, As Virgin Lilies in their infancy: Down you deluding Ministers of Air: Evadne is not light, though she be fair: Dissolve the counterfeit: ha, ha, ha, ha. See how they shrink: why so, now I will love you: Go search into the hollows of the earth, And find my love, or I will chain you up To eternity: see, see; who's this? O I know him now. So, ho, ho: so, ho, ho, not hear? 'Tis Phoeton: no, 'tis an heir got Since his father's death, into a Cloak of gold Outshines the Sun; the headstrong horses Of Licentious youth have broke their Reins And drawn him through the Signs of all libidinousness, See, from the whorish front of Capra, He's tumbling down as low as beggary. O, are you come grim Tartars Radamanth Go ask of Pluto if he have not ta'en Evadne to his smoky Commonwealth, And ravished her? begone, why stir you not? Ha, ha, ha, the devil is afraid. Help, a Rape. Stop her mouth. Who calls for help? 'tis my Evadne; I It was her voice that gave the Echo life; That cried a Rape: Devil dost love a wench? Who was thy Pander, ha? What saucy friend Durst lay his unpared Fangs on my Evadne? Come I'll swim unarmed o'er Acheron, And sink grim Charon in his fiery Boat. Murder: a Rape. I come, I come. I cannot find her yet, The King of Flames protests she Is not there: but hang him Rogue, They say he'll lie; O how my glutted spleen Tickles to think how I have paid the slave? I made him lead me into every hole: Ha, ha, ha, what crying was there there? Here on a Wheel, turned by a Fury's hand, Hangs a distracted Statesman, that had spent The little wit Heaven to strange purpose lent him, To suppress right, make beggars, and get means To be a Traitor. Ha, ha, ha, and here A Usurer fat with the curses of so many heirs His Extortion had undone, sat to the Chin In a warm bath, made of new melted gold; And now and then a draught passed through his throat: He fed upon his god; but he being angry Scalded his Chops. Right against him Stood a fooled Gallant, chained unto a post, And lashed by Folly for his want of wit. The reeling drunkard and plump glutton stood Making of faces, close by Tantalus: But drank and fed on Air. The whoremaster tied to a painted Punk, Was by a Fury termed insatiate Lust, Whipped with a blade of fire. And here— What's here! 'tis my Evadnes vale; 'tis hers I know't: Some slave has ravished my Evadne: Well, There breaths not such an impious slave in hell: Nay, it is hers, I know it too too plain: Your breath is lost, 'tis hers, you speak in vain.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
NOt finde Evadne I sure some wanton wind Has snacht her from the earth into the aire; Smooth Zephers faines the tresses of her haire, Whilst slicke Fvenios playes the fawning slave; And hourely dyes, making her breasts his grave: O false Evadne, is Giovanno's love That has out-done all merrit for thy sake So light, that winde out-weighs it? No, no; no; Evadne is all vertue, Sweet as the breath of Roses; and as chast, As Virgin Lillies in their infancy: Downe you deluding Ministers of Ayre: Evadne is not light, though she be faire: Dissolve the counterfeit: ha, ha, ha, ha. See how they shrinke: why so, now I will love you: Goe search into the hollowes of the earth, And finde my love, or I will chaine you up To eternity: see, see; who's this? O I know him now. So, ho, ho: so, ho, ho, not heare? 'Tis Phoeton: no, 'tis an heire got Since his fathers death, into a Cloake of gold Out-shines the Sunne; the head-strong horses Of Licentious youth have broke their Reines And drawne him through the Signes of all libidinousnes, See, from the whorish front of Capra, He's tumbling downe as low as beggery. O, are you come grimme Tartors Radamonte Goe aske of Pluto if he have not tane Evadne to his smoky Common-wealth, And ravisht her? begon, why stirre you not? Ha, ha, ha, the devill is afraid. Helpe, a Rape. Stop her mouth. Who calls for helpe? tis my Evadne; I It was her voyce that gave the Eccho life; That cry'd a Rape: Divell dost love a wench? Who was thy Pander, ha? What saucy friend Durst lay his unpard Fangs on my Evadne? Come Ile swimme unarmed o're Acheron, And sinke grimme Charon in his fiery Boate. Murther: a Rape. I come, I come. I cannot finde her yet, The King of Flames protests she Is not there: but hang him Rogue, They say he'le lye; O how my glutted spleene Tickles to thinke how I have payd the slave? I made him lead me into every hole: Ha, ha, ha, what crying was ther there? Here on a Wheele, turn'd by a Furies hand, Hangs a distracted States-man, that had spent The little wit Heaven to strange purpose lent him, To suppresse right, make beggers, and get meanes To be a Traytor. Ha, ha, ha, and here A Vsurer fat with the curses of so many heires His Extortion had undone, sate to the Chin In a warme bath, made of new melted gold; And now and then a draught past through his throat: He fed upon his god; but he being angry Scalded his Chops. Right against him Stood a fool'd Gallant, chain'd unto a post, And lasht by Folly for his want of wit. The reeling drunkard and plumpe glutton stood Making of faces, close by Tantalus: But dranke and fed on Aire. The whore-master tyed to a painted Punke, Was by a Fury termed insatiate Lust, Whipt with a blade of fire. And here— What's here! 'tis my Evadnes vale; 'tis hers I know't: Some slave has ravish'd my Evadne: Well, There breaths not such an impious slave in hell: Nay, it is hers, I know it too too plaine: Your breath is lost, 'tis hers, you speake in vaine.