Jonson, Ben · published 1641 · first performed or written 1621 [Aug 3; Aug 5; Sep] (Annals) masque · before the Court T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti typicality 0.89 · 454 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
YOur pardon Lady, here you stand, If some should judge you by your hand The greatest felon in the Land Detected: I cannot tell you by what Arts, But you have stolen so many hearts, As they would make you at all parts Suspected. Your very face first, such a one As being viewed it was alone, Too slippery to be looked upon; And threw men. But than your graces they were such, As none could ere behold too much; Both every taste, and every touch So drew men. Still blessed in all you think, or do, Two of your Sons are Gipsies too, You shall our Queen be, and see who Importunes The heart of either yours, or you; And doth not wish both George, and Sue, And every Barn besides, all new Good fortunes. Help me wonder, her's a book, Where I would for ever look; Never yet did Gipsy trace, Smother lines in hands, or face: Venus here doth Saturn move That you should be Queen of love; And the other Stars consent, Only Cupid not content; For though you the theft disguise, You have told him of his eyes: And to show his envy further, Here he chargeth you with murder; Says, although that at your sight, He must all his troches light; Though your either cheeks discloses, Mingled baths of milk and Roses, Though your lips be banks of blisses, Where he plants, and gathers kisses; And yourself the reason why, Wisest men for love may dye, You will turn all hearts to tinder, And shall make the World one cinder. Mistress, of a fairer table Hath not history, nor sable; Others fortunes may be shown, You are builder of your own. And what ever Heaven hath given you, You preserve the state still in you, That which time would have depart, Youth without the help of Art, You do keep still, and the glory Of your Sex, is but your story. THough you Sir be Chamberlain, I have a key To open your fortune a little by the way; You are a good man, Deny it that can; And faithful you are, Deny it that dare. You know how to use your sword and your Pen, And you love not alone the Arts, but the men; The graces and Muses every where follow You, as you were their second Apollo; Only your hand here tells you to your face, You have wanted one grace, To perform, what has been a right of your place; For by this line which is Mars his Trench, You never yet helped your Master to a Wench: 'tis well for your honour he's pious, and chaste, Or you had most certainly been displaced.
seed 43: T31 · seed 44: T44 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
YOur pardon Ladie, here you ſtand, If ſome ſhould judge you by your hand The greateſt fellon in the Land Detected: I cannot tell you by what Arts, But you have ſtolne ſo many hearts, As they would make you at all parts Suſpected. Your very face firſt, ſuch a one As being view'd it was alone, Too ſlipperie to be lookt upon; And threw men. But then your graces they were ſuch, As none could er'e behold too much; Both ev'ry taſte, and ev'ry touch So drew men. Still bleſt in all you thinke, or doe, Two of your Sons are Gipſies too, You ſhall our Queene be, and ſee who Importunes The heart of either yours, or you; And doth not wiſh both George, and Sue, And every Barne beſides, all new Good fortunes. HElpe me wonder, her's a booke, Where I would for ever looke; Never yet did Gipſie trace, Smoother lines in hands, or face: Venus here doth Saturne move That you ſhould be Queene of love; And the other Starres conſent, Onely Cupid not content; For though you the theft diſguiſe, You have told him of his eyes: And to ſhew his envie further, Here he chargeth you with murther; Sayes, although that at your ſight, He muſt all his troches light; Though your either cheeks diſcloſes, Mingled bathes of milke and Roſes, Though your lips be bankes of bliſſes, Where he plants, and gathers kiſſes; And your ſelfe the reaſon why, Wiſeſt men for love may dye, You will turne all hearts to tinder, And ſhall make the World one cinder. MIſtris, of a fayrer table Hath not hiſtory, nor ſable; Others fortunes may be ſhowne, You are builder of your owne. And what ever Heav'n hath given you, You preſerve the ſtate ſtill in you, That which time would have depart, Youth without the helpe of Art, You doe keepe ſtill, and the glory Of your Sexe, is but your ſtory. THough you Sir be Chamberlaine, I have a key To open your fortune a little by the way; You are a good man, Deny it that can; And faithfull you are, Deny it that dare. You know how to uſe your ſword and your Pen, And you love not alone the Arts, but the men; The graces and Muſes ev'ry where follow You, as you were their ſecond Apollo; Onely your hand here tells you to your face, You have wanted one grace, To performe, what has beene a right of your place; For by this line which is Mars his Trench, You never yet help'd your Maſter to a Wench: Tis well for your honour hee's pious, and chaſte, Or you had moſt certainly beene diſplaſte.