Glapthorne, Henry · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1636-1638; revised 1639] (Annals) not in BritDrama · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T28 Marriage-making: weddings, brides and ma · 529 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T28: married, marriage, wedding, day, bride, father, wife, luce, love, husband.
'tis certain Mr. Freewit they are contracted, And this night to be married: I am sorry You should be thus supplanted, by two such Dull witless idiots: but they are so bent on't, That when I speak in your behalfs, my Mistress Stopped my mouth with a blow o'th' lips: see here They are themselves; if you do any good, It must be now or never. Ha, ha, ha. What do the Monkeys laugh at? To behold Two such trim gallants as yourselves, like Asses, Shaking your empty Noddles o'er the Oats You fain would eat, but must not lick your lips at. You thought to have won us by your wit, where lies it? In your gay clothes; perhaps so, if you can Outswear the faithful Tailor, that's unpaid yet. Or cheat your Sempstress. Troth make safe retreat Into the Suburbs, there you may find cast wenches, Who will in pity have you: and for dowry, Bring you an ampler stock of hot diseases, Than you are already furnished with. We Orphans Oth' City have more charity to ourselves, Than to wed Surgeon's boxes. When our portions Shall be consumed in Apothecary's Bills, Or giving Doctors fees; or at best use, Serve but to purchase Sack; or be as tribute Paid toth' three Kings; or piously bestowed Upon Ierusalem. No, you'd best reserve them, Till these you wed be begged for fools; and then They will be seized to better use. You think now You have broke our gulls with anger that you have Resolved on other husbands: who would have you? But two such idiots, fit to be the styles To the vast pride and lust lurks in your blood, Derivative from the City: for ourselves, Why should you have a thought we could descend So much from gentry's honour, to mix with you? 'tis true, you appear handsome, but you paint Worse than a Bawd, or waiting-woman, in love With the spruce Chaplain. For your hair let's see Your eyebrows badge: oh 'tis not your own; Be modest and confess it: 'tis a Peruke, I saw it at the Frenchman's in the Strand, The other day: and though you hold your head up, It is supposed it grows too near your shoulders, And you wear iron bodies, to keep down And rectify the crooked paths that are In this same hill your body. Nay, besides You're infinitely lascivious, 'tis reported Y'ave killed the reverend Alderman at least, Ten Prentices, besides four journeymen. With too much labour: That you will be drunk ourselves can testify: and with these imperfections This inexhausted magazine of vices, Could you imagine we would have you? no. Heaven give you joy, with your well-chosen spouses: May they be patient Cuckolds, that's all the harm we'll wish them: the more fools, more fit for husbands To such hot wild cats. Well Mr. Freewit, I thought however we, in mirth, or madness, Could have transgressed civility, that you Would not have made such a severe construction Of our intentions: how i've loved you, heavens Can bear me righteous witness; but man's faith Is fickle as his shadow, never seen, But when the Sun shines.
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)
Tis certaine Mr. Freewit they are contracted, And this night to be marryed: I am sorry You should be thus supplanted, by two such Dull witlesse ideots: but they are so bent on't, That when I speake in your behalfes, my Mistris Stopt my mouth with a blow oth' lips: see here They are themselves; if you doe any good, It must be now or never. Ha, ha, ha. What doe the Monkyes laugh at? To behold Two such trim gallants as your selves, like Asses, Shaking your empty Noddles ore the Oates You faine would eate, but must not lick your lips at. You thought to have wonne us by your wit, where lyes it? In your gay cloaths; perhaps so, if you can Out-sweare the faithfull Tayler, that's unpaid yet. Or cheat your Sempstresse. Troth make safe retreat Into the Suburbs, there you may finde cast wenches, Who will in pitty have you: and for dowry, Bring you an ampler stocke of hot diseases, Than you are already furnish'd with. We Orphans Oth' City have more charity to our selves, Than to wedSurgeons boxes. When our portions Shall be consum'd in Pothecaries Bills, Or giving Doctors fees; or at best use, Serve but to purchase Sacke; or be as tribute Paid toth' three Kings; or piously bestowed Upon Ierusalem. No, you'd best reserve them, Till thse you wed be beg'd for fooles; and then They will be seas'd to better use. You think now You have broake our gulls with anger that you have Resolv'd on other husbands: who would have you? But two such ideots, fit to be the styles To the vast pride and lust lurkes in your blood, Derivative from the City: for our selves, Why should you have a thought we could descend So much from gentries honour, to mixe with you? Tis true, you appeare handsome, but you paint Worse then a Bawd, or waiting-woman, in love With the spruce Chaplaine. For your haire let's see Your eye-browes badge: oh tis not your owne; Be modest and confesse it: tis a Peruke, I saw it at the French-mans in the Strand, The other day: and though you hold your head up, It is suppos'd it growes too neare your shoulders, And you weare iron bodyes, to keep downe And rectifie the crooked paths that are In this same hill your body. Nay, besides Y'are infinitely lascivious, tis reported Y'ave kild the reverend Alderman at least, Ten Prentises, besides foure journy-men. With too much labour: That you will be drunke Our selves can testifie: and with these imperfections This inexhausted Magazin of vices, Could you imagine we would have you? no. Heaven give you joy, with your well-chosen spouses: May they be patient Cuckolds, that's all the harme Weele wish them: the more fooles, more fit for husbands To such hot wild cats. Well Mr. Free-wit, I thought how ever we, in mirth, or madnesse, Could have transgrest civility, that you Would not have made such a severe construction Of our intentions: how i've lov'd you, heavens Can beare me righteous witnesse; but mans faith Is ickle as his shadow, never seene, But when the Sunne shines.