The Constant Maid (Love Will Find Out the Way) · chunk 19 of 32
Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1630(?)-1640] (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T33 Fathers, daughters and marriage negotiat · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T33: daughter, marriage, father, love, davus, matter, son, chremes, wife, mother.
My mother counterfeit? why may not Hartwell Pretend as well as she, fearing her anger And policy, if he refused her love? I have observed some sorrow in his gestures, As he were willing to deliver something, If opportunity would give him leave: He cannot be so false, now I suspect He does obey some dire necessity: 'Twould puzzle a wise lover to be so Severely put to't. On like a bold Captain, Give her a broad side, she's within your shot, I'll leave you. 'Tis the fool, Why Nurse? Nay, fly not before you hear. 'Tis Hartwell. If my voice Betray me not. Why in this shape? some trick in't, He hides his face, I'll put him to't however, Although the hour be unseasonable, any time We may express our joy: my Nurse once told me You were not well, and gone to bed, your health Is welcome as my own; I dare not, sir, In modesty presume to bid you stay, And to requite your pains, kind Mr. Startup. She knows me not. Forgive me if I blush, I have no other way, but to declare My eyes that late frowned on your love shall smile. On me? On none but you: I have been too Unkindly dealt withal by Hartwell, whom How dearly I affected, good Heaven knows: But I have read discretion to my fancy, And were he here, he should be witness of My vows to you, if you accept my heart, And can with equal truth embrace it, I Will choose my husband here; you, only you, This faith be registered in Heaven, shall challenge from me a wife's obedience. Planet-struck. Away, your mother's up; I would not for A thousand pound she find you in this chamber. I have undone myself. Sweet Mr. Startup, to your own lodging, Take that close lantern with you: Passion of me, what makes her rise? I will discover yet. Discover; what? Ha, Mr. Hartwell. You ha' midnight plots. Oh, we are wretched, miserable, what have I done? Oh, who shall lead me to a world where are No women? Farewell all, I'll be above Your charms, and find out death, a cure for love. Where are we now? 'tis very cold, why dost not Lead me to some house? What, at this time a night? All people are a-bed, the very Owls Are in their dead sleep; or if we could Be admitted, would you venture a this fashion, And publish your disgrace, proclaim yourself Coward, and lay some imputation Upon the place you came from, where your hopes May yet be fair for marriage? This brunt over. To meet some Drunkard now were comfortable, Whose eyes inflamed might serve for torches, Or he might spit flapdragons from his fire Of Sack, and light us: But no sober man, Considering what case you are in, sir, By my consent should see you. Ha, what's that? Where, where? a fire-drake.
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)
My mother counterfeit? why may not Hartwell Pretend as well as she, fearing her anger And policie, if he refus'd her love? I have observ'd some sorrow in his gestures, As he were willing to deliver something, If opportunitie would give him leave▪ He cannot be so fal, now I suspect He does obey some dire necessitie: 'Twould puzzle a wise lover to be so Severely put to't. On like a bold Captaine, Give her a broad side, she's within your shot, I'll leave you. 'Tis the foole, Why Nurse? Nay, fly not before you heare. 'Tis Hartwell. If my voyce Betray me not. Why in this shape? some trick in't, He hides his face, I'll put him to't however, Although the houre be unseasonable, any time We may expresse our joy: my Nurse once told me You were not well, and gone to bed, your health Is welcome as my owne; I dare not, sir, In modestie presume to bid you stay, And to requite your paines, kind Mr. Startup. She knowes me not. Forgive me if I blush, I have no other way, but to declare My eyes that late frown'd on your love shall smile. On me? On none but you: I have beene too Unkindly dealt withall by Hartwell, whom How dearly I affected, good Heaven knowes: But I have read discretion to my fancie, And were he here, he should be witnesse of My vowes to you, if you accept my heart, And can with equall truth embrace it, I Will chuse my husband here; you, only you, This faith be registred in Heaven, shall challenge from me a wives obedience. Planet-struck. Away, your mother's up; I wo'd not for A thousand pound she find you in this chamber. I have undone my selfe. Sweet Mr. Startup, to your owne lodging, Take that close lanthorne with you: Passion of me, what makes her rise? I will discover yet. Discover; what? Ha, Mr. Hartwell. You ha' midnight plots. Oh, we are wretched, miserable, what have I done? Oh, who shall lead me to a world where are No women? Farewell all, I'll be above Your charms, and find out death, a cure for love. Where are we now? 'tis verie cold, why do'st not Lead me to some house? What, at this time a night? All people are a bed, the verie Owles Are in their dead sleep; or if we could Be admitted, would you venture a this fashion, And publish your disgrace, proclaime your selfe Coward, and lay some imputation Upon the place you came from, where your hopes May yet be faire for marriage? This brunt over. To meet some Drunkard now were comfortable, Whose eyes enflamed might serve for torches, Or he might spit flapdragons from his fire Of Sack, and light us: But no sober man, Considering what case you are in, sir, By my consent should see you. Ha, what's that? Where, where? a fire-drake.