Glapthorne, Henry · published 1640 · first performed or written 1636 [licensed for stage, Mar 12] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · before the Court T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.78 · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Again, why straight, If I stand still, they'll to the very act, I shall behold myself transformed to beast, And like an innocent lamb, when the keen knife's Prepared to slit his weasand never bleat But in calm silence perish; villain devil Hadst thou as many lives as thou hast sins. This should invade them all with the swift rage Of fire or whirlwinds. Heavens bless ye Innocent gentleman: sister my husband. I fear he has mischieved him. You think you have hurt me wonderfully I warrant. Good sir be more yourself. Give me thy hand, 'tis but a touch i'th' arm man, thou art a valiant fellow, I warrant thee a right twibiller, run atilt at a man before his weapon is drawn, your, Lady would not have done't I me sure, but 'tis no matter, thou hast done me a courtesy, or otherwise I should not take't so patiently, (I shall by this means experience my precious weapon salve) hold, thou wilt fight no more, there's a twibill for thee, thy sword I'll keep till we next meet, Ladies beso los doights de vostre blanch mains, adieu comrade remember I am beholding to thee. He's gone, but has left his hanger behind him. Sister prithee speak to him, he has put me in such a fright, I cannot. Sir be not so extremely passionate, Discourse your grievance mildly, hear her answer, Then censure justly of her. Brother I admire A person of your breeding should transgress, Civility so highly, to attempt Upon a gentleman, who to my knowledge Injured you no way. He is your champion, and you his Ladies. How sir? His prostitutes I might have said O creature, Who art so bad, the present age will question The truth of history, which does but mention A virtuous woman; with what impudence Canst thou behold me, and a shivering cold, Strong as the hand of winter, casts on brooks Not freeze thy spirits up, congeal thy blood. To an everlasting lethargy. The stars Like stragglers, wander by successive course, To various seats yet constantly revisit The place they moved from: the Phoenix whose sweetness Becomes her sepulchre, ascends again Vested in younger feathers from her pile Of spicy ashes, but man's honour lost Is irrecoverable the force of fate cannot revive it. Sir 'tis past my thoughts, What should incense you to this jealous rage 'Gainst me your loyal wife, when no one blemish Lies on my soul that can give testimony Unto my conscience that I have not ever Truly and chastely loved you. Yes just so the green Willow and shady Poplar love the brook, Upon whose banks they're planted, yet infect By frequent dropping of their withered boughs, Its wholesome waters; that thou shouldst be fair And on the white leaves of thy face bear writ The character of foulness, swallow up In thy abyss of sin, thy native pureness, As the high seas that do with flattering curls Entice the spotless streams to mix their waves With the insatiate billows, that entomb the innocent rivers.
before the Court;Phoenix/Cockpit;Indoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
comedy
Play type
Boys Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1148 · TCP A01773 · DEEP 980
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 499–558 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 40 in this edition
Length
512 words · 684 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.783 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Againe, why strait, If I stand still, they'l to the very act, I shall behold my selfe transform'd to beast, And like an innocent lambe, when the keene knife's Prepar'd to slit his wesand never bleat But in calme silence perish; villaine divell Hadst thou as many lives as thou hast sins. This should invade them all with the swift rage Of fire or whirlewinds. Heavens blesse yee Innocent gentleman: sister my husband. I feare he has mischiev'd him. You thinke you have hurt me wonderfully I warrant. Good sir be more your selfe. Give me thy hand, tis but a touch ith arme man, thou art a valiant fellow, I warrant thee a right twibiller, run a tilt at a man before his weapon is drawne, your, Lady would not have don't I me sure, but tis no matter, thou hast done me a curtesie, or otherwise I should not take't so patiently, (I shall by this meanes experience my precious weapon salve) hold, thou wilt fight no more, there's a twibill for thee, thy sword Ile keepe till wee next meet, Ladies beso los doights de vostre blanch mains, adiew comrade remember I am beholding to thee. He's gone, but has left his hanger behinde him. Sister prithee speak to him, he has put me in such a fright, I cannot. Sir be not so extreamly passionate, Discourse your grievance mildely, heare her answer, Then censure justly of her. Broter admire A person of your breeding should transgresse, Civility so highly, to at empt Upon a gentleman, who to my knowledge Injur'd you no way. He is your champion, and you his Ladies. How sir? His prostiutes I might have said O creature, Who art so bad, the present age will question The truth of history, which do's but mention A vertuous woman; with what impudence Canst thou behold me, and a shivering cold, Strong as the hand of winter, casts on brookes Not freese thy spirits up, congeale thy blood. To an ere'lasting lehargy. The starres Like straglers, wander by successive course, To various seats yet constantly revisit The place they mov'd from: the Phaenix whose sweetnesse Becomes her sepulcher, ascends agen Vested in younger feathers from her pile Of spicy ashes, but mans honor lost Is irrecoverable the force of fate cannot revive it. Sir tis past my thoughts, What should incense you to this jealous rage 'Gainst me your loyall wife, when no one blemish Lyes on my soule that can give testimony Unto my conscience that I have not ever Truely and chastely lov'd you. Yes just so the greene Willow and shady Poplar love the brooke, Upon whose bankes they're planted, yet infect By frequent dropping of their witherd boughes, Its wholesome waters; that thou shouldst be faire And on the white leaves of thy face beare writ The character of foulenesse, swallow up In thy abysse of sin, thy native purenesse, As the high seas that doe with flattering curles Intice the spotlesse streames to mixe their waves With the insatiate billowes, that intombe the innocent rivers.