Jonson, Ben · published 1640 · first performed or written 1633 [licensed for stage, May 7] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men unassigned nearest T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
See, how his love doth melt him into Tears! An honest faithful servant is a Jewel. Now th' adventurous Squire hath time, and leisure, To ask his Audrey how she does, and hear A grateful answer from her. She not speaks: Hath the proud Tiran, Frost, usurped the seat Of former beauty in my Love's fair cheek; Staining the rose at tincture of her blood, With the dull die of blew-congealing cold? Not, sure the weather dares not so presume To hurt an object of her brightness. Yet, The more I view her, she but looks so, so. Ha'? give me leave to search this mystery! O now I have it: Bride, I know your grief; The last nights cold, hath bred in you such horror Of the assigned Bridegroom's constitution, The Kilborne Clay-pit; that frostbitten marvel; That lump in courage: melting cake of Ice; That the conceit thereof hath almost killed thee. But I must do thee good wench, and refresh thee. You are a merry man, Squire Tub, of Totten! I have heard much o' your words, but not o' your deeds. Thou sayest true, sweet; I ha' been too slack in deeds. Yet, I was never so straight-laced to you, Squire. Why, did you ever love me, gentle Audrey? Love you? I cannot tell: I must hate no body, My Father says. Yes, Clay, and Kilburne; Audrey, You must hate them. It shall be for your sake than. And for my sake, shall yield you that gratuity. Soft, and fair, Squire, there go two word's to a bargain. What are those Audrey? Nay, I cannot tell. My Mother said, zure, if you married me, You'd make me a Lady the first week: and put me In, I know not what, the very day. What was it? Speak gentle Audrey, thou shalt have it yet. A velvet dressing for my head, it is, They say will make one brave: I will not know Bess Moale, nor Margery Turne-up: I will look Another way upon 'em, and be proud. Troth I could wish my wench a better wit; But what she wanteth there, her face supplies. There is a pointed lustre in her eye Hath shot quite through me, and hath hit my heart: And thence it is, I first received the wound, That rankles now, which only she can cure. Feign would I work myself, from this conceit; But, being flesh, I cannot. I must love her, The naked truth is: and I will go on, Were it for nothing, but to cross my Rival's. Come Audrey: I am now resolved to ha' thee. Nay, do it quickly, Miles; why shak'st thou man? Speak but his name: I'll second thee myself. What is his name? Squire Tripoli or Tub. Any thing— Squire Tub, I do arrest you I' the Queen's Majesty's name, and all the Counsels. Arrest me, Varlet? Keep the peace I charge you.
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)
See, how his love doth melt him into Teares! An honeſt faithfull ſervant is a Jewell. Now th' adventurous Squire hath time, and leiſure, To aske his Awdrey how ſhe do's, and heare A gratefull anſwer from her. Shee not ſpeakes: Hath the proud Tiran, Froſt, uſurp'd the ſeate Of former beauty in my Loves faire cheek; Staining the roſe at tincture of her blood, With the dull die of blew-congealing cold? No, ſure the weather dares not ſo preſume To hurt an object of her brightneſſe. Yet, The more I view her, ſhee but lookes ſo, ſo. Ha? gi' me leave to ſearch this myſterie! O now I have it: Bride, I know your griefe; The laſt nights cold, hath bred in you ſuch horror Of the aſſigned Bride-groomes conſtitution, The Kilborne Clay-pit; that froſt-bitten marle; That lumpe in courage: melting cake of Ice; That the conceit thereof hath almoſt kill'd thee. But I muſt doe thee good wench, and refreſh thee. You are a merry man, Squire Tub, of Totten! I have heard much o' your words, but not o' your deeds. Thou ſayeſt true, ſweet; I' ha' beene too ſlack in deeds. Yet, I was never ſo ſtraight-lac'd to you, Squire. Why, did you ever love me, gentle Awdrey? Love you? I cannot tell: I muſt hate no body, My Father ſayes. Yes, Clay, and Kilburne; Awdrey, You muſt hate them. It ſhall be for your ſake then. And for my ſake, ſhall yield you that gratuitie. Soft, and faire, Squire, there goe two word's to a bargaine. What are thoſe Awdrey? Nay, I cannot tell. My Mother ſaid, zure, if you married me, You'ld make me a Lady the firſt weeke: and put me In, I know not what, the very day. What was it? Speake gentle Awdrey, thou ſhalt have it yet. A velvet dreſſing for my head, it is, They ſay will make one brave: I will not know Beſſe Moale, nor Margery Turne-up: I will looke Another way upon 'hem, and be proud. Troth I could wiſh my wench a better wi; But what ſhe wanteth there, her face ſupplies. There is a pointed luſtre in her eye Hath ſhot quite through me, and hath hit my heart: And thence it is, I firſt receiv'd the wound, That ranckles now, which only ſhee can cure. Faine would I worke my ſelfe, from this conceit; But, being fleſh, I cannot. I muſt love her, The naked truth is: and I will goe on, Were it for nothing, but to croſſe my Rivall's. Come Awdrey: I am now reſolv'd to ha' thee. Nay, doe it quickly, Miles; why ſhak'ſt thou man? Speake but his name: Ile ſecond thee my ſelfe. What is his name? Squire Tripoly or Tub. Any thing— Squire Tub, I doe arreſt you I' the Queenes Majeſties name, and all the Councels. Arreſt me, Varlet? Keepe the peace I charge you.