Brome, Richard · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1636-1638] (Annals) not in BritDrama · Salisbury Court T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.80 · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
OPinion, which our Author cannot court, (For the dear daintiness of it) has, of late, From the old way of Plays possessed a Sort Only to run to those, that carry state In Scene magnificent and language high; And Clothes worth all the rest, except the Action. And such are only good those Leaders cry; And into that belief draw on a Faction, That must despise all sportive, merry Wit, Because some such great Play had none in it. But it is known (peace to their Memories) The Poets late sublimed from our Age, Who best could understand, and best device Works, that must ever live upon the Stage, Did well approve, and lead this humble way, Which we are bound to travail in tonight; And, though it be not traced so well, as They Discovered it by true Phoebean light, Pardon our just Ambition, yet that strive To keep the weakest Branch o'th' Stage alive. I mean the weakest in their great esteem, That count all slight, that's under us, or nigh; And only those for worthy Subjects deem, Fetched, or reached at (at least) from far, or high: When low and homebred Subjects have their use, As well, as those, fetched from on high, or far; And 'tis as hard a labour for the Muse To move the Earth, as to dislodge a Star. See, yet, those glorious Plays; and let their sight Your Admiration move; these your Delight. TO me, and to the City, Sir, you are welcome, And so are all about you: we have long Suffered in want of such fair Company. But now that Times calamity has given way (Thanks to high Providence) to your kinder visits, We are (like half pined wretches, that have lain Long on the planks of sorrow, strictly tied To a forced abstinence, from the sight of friends) The sweetlier filled with joy. Alas, I bring Sorrow too much with me to fill one house, In the sad number of my family. Be comforted good Sir, my house, which now You may be pleased to call your own, is large Enough to hold you all; and for your sorrows, You came to lose 'em: And I hope the means Is readily at hand: The Doctor's coming, Who, as by Letters, I advertised you, Is the most promising man to cure your Son, The Kingdom yields; it will astonish you To hear the marvels he hath done in cures Of such distracted ones, as is your son, And not so much by bodily Physic (no! He sends few Recipes to th' Apothecaries) As medicine of the mind, which he infuses So skilfully, yet by familiar ways, That it begets both wonder and delight In his observers, while the stupid patient Finds health at unawares. You speak well of him: Yet I may fear, my sons long grown disease Is such he hath not met with.
seed 43: T16 · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
OPinion, which our Author cannot court, (For the deare daintinesse of it) has, of late, From the old way of Playes possest a Sort Only to run to those, that carry state In Scene magnificent and language high; And Cloathes worth all the rest, except the Action. And such are only good those Leaders cry; And into that beleefe draw on a Faction, That must despise all sportive, merry Wit, Because some such great Play had none in it. But it is knowne (peace to their Memories) The Poets late sublimed from our Age, Who best could understand, and best devise Workes, that must ever live upon the Stage, Did well approve, and lead this humble way, Which we are bound to travaile in to night; And, though it be not trac'd so well, as They Discover'd it by true Phoebean light, Pardon our just Ambition, yet that strive To keep the weakest Branch o'th' Stage alive. I meane the weakest in their great esteeme, That count all slight, that's under us, or nigh; And only those for worthy Subjects deeme, Fetch'd, or reach'd at (at least) from farre, or high: When low and home-bred Subjects have their use, As well, as those, fetch'd from on high, or farre; And 'tis as hard a labour for the Muse To moove the Earth, as to disldge a Starre. See, yet, those glorious Playes; and let their sight Your Admiration moove; these your Delight. TO me, and to the City, Sir, you are welcome, And so are all about you: we have long Suffer'd in want of such faire Company. But now that Times calamity has given way (Thankes to high Providence) to your kinder visits, We are (like halfe pin'd wretches, that have lain Long on the plankes of sorrow, strictly tyed To a forc'd abstinence, from the sight of friends) The sweetlier fild with joy. Alas, I bring Sorrow too much with me to fill one house, In the sad number of my family. Be comforted good Sir, my house, which now You may be pleas'd to call your owne, is large Enough to hold you all; and for your sorrowes, You came to lose 'hem: And I hope the meanes Is readily at hand: The Doctor's comming, Who, as by Letters, I advertis'd you, Is the most promising man to cure your Sonne, The Kingdome yields; it will astonish you To heare the mervailes he hath done in cures Of such distracted ones, as is your sonne, And not so much by bodily Physicke (no! He sends few Recipes to th' Apothecaries) As medicine of the minde, which he infuses So skilfully, yet by familiar wayes, That it begets both wonder and delight In his observers, while the stupid patient Finds health at unawares. You speak well of him: Yet I may feare, my sonnes long growne disease Is such he hath not met with.