Fedele and Fortunia (Two Italian Gentlemen) · chunk 24 of 30
Pasqualigo, Luigi / Munday, Anthony · published 1585 · first performed or written 1584 [1579-1584] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (first) (Oxford's Boys) · before the Court unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
If that victorious Prince of battle god March-beer, had not been a sleep, I had made you every one into corners to creep. 'tis the Fortune of war, luck runs not ever to one side, Therefore I am content the prickatory to abide. I am not strong sampire to break out of your hands, But oh that some little hungry Mouse, would gnaw asunder my bans. I would give you such a frezado, or canvasado, take which you please As should be small to your comfort, and little to your ease. Oh what this Captain would do, if he were out of his skin, Till his courage be cooler, I pray you hold him in. Mistress, I can not tell what is best to be said, Once more I perceive you are betrayed. I see that Fedele and his friends have your Champion beset, And now both to his shame and yours, he is caught in a net. Art thou sure that it is so? Have an eye to the end. Now let us show him to Victoria, his dearest friend. Then let him be led through every street in the town, That every crackrope, may throw rotten eggs at the clown. Hoe, Victoria if thou be awake, rise & look out I pray, The hunt is up, And fools be fledged before the perfect day. Who calls? Fedele: See the Champion, whom you set to murder me, This deed throughout the City, shortly shall dishonour thee. Out, I defy him. What sayest thou Attilia? He is a knave, I deny him. Thou art a Drab and a Quean, if my name be Crack-stone, you say? I was requested to this, both by thee and Victoria. By my mistress and me good man Coward, do you know what Take that Sir, your face was not washed yesterday. A rope on all whores, will you drink any Ale, I think she crowned me with a pottle of stale. This drink was ill brewed, and might have been spared, The very grains of the Malt, sticks fast to my beard. You will tell me more anon, when every maid in this town, Hath emptied her alms box on the top of your crown. Alas good master Fedele, as you are a Gentleman, no farther let me go, I shall be choked with this dole, if you handle me so. Consider I am a man, subject to the same pressing-iron of the mind that other men are, For the love of a woman, overwhelmed with care. I confess I am as you are, flesh & blood, and loved Victoria so well, That I could have been content for her sake, to have gone quick to hell. Therefore forgive me, and if I take not your part, and be revenged upon her, before I do rest, Set the gunshot of tyranny to the bulwarks of my breast. Cut off my Rams horns, and break into the belfry, And bless the cursed days of my virginity.
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)
¶If that victorious Prince of battaile god Marche-beere, had not bene a sléepe, I had made you euery one into corners to créepe. T'is the Fortune of warre, lucke runnes not euer to one side, Therefore I am content the prickatorie to abide. I am not strong Sampier to breake out of your hands, But oh yt some little hōgry Mouse, would gnaw a sunder my bāds. I would giue you such a frezado, or cāuazado, take which you please As should be small to your comfort, and little to your ease. ¶Oh what this Captaine would do, if he were out of his skin, Till his courage be cooler, I pray you holde him in. ¶Mistresse, I can not tell what is best to be saide, Once more I perceiue you are betraide. I sée that Fedele and his friendes haue your Champion beset, And now both to his shame and yours, he is caught in a net. ¶Art thou sure that it is so? ¶Haue an eye to the ende. ¶Now let vs shew him to Victoria, his dearest friend. ¶Then let him be led through euery stréete in ye towne, That euery crackrope, may throw rottē egs at ye clown. ¶Hoe, Victoria if yu be awake, rise & looke out I pray, ¶The hunt is vp, And fooles be fledg'de before the perfect day. ¶Who calles? ¶Fedele: Sée the Champion, whome you set to murder me, This déed throughout the Cittie, shortly shall dishonour thée. ¶Out, I defie him. ¶What sayest thou Attilia? ¶He is a knaue, I denie him. ¶Thou art a Drabbe and a Queane, if my name be Crack-stone, you say? I was requested to this, both by thée and Victoria. ¶By my mistresse and me good man Coward, doe you know what Take yt Sir, your face was not washte yester day. ¶A rope on all whores, will you drinke any Ale, I thinke she crownde me with a potle of stale. This drinke was ill brued, and might haue bene sparde, The very graines of the Malte, stickes fast to my bearde. ¶You will tell me more anon, when euery maide in this towne, Hath emptied her almes box on the top of your crowne. ¶Alas good maister Fedele, as you are a Gentleman, no farther let me go, I shall be chok'te with this dole, if you handle me so. Consider I am a man, subiect to ye same pressing-yron of ye minde ye other mē are, For the loue of a woman, ouerwhelmed with care. I confesse I am as you are, flesh & blood, and loued Victoria so well, That I could haue bin content for her sake, to haue gone quicke to hell. Therefore forgiue me, and if I take not your part, and be reuenged vpon her, before I doe reste, Set the gun-shot of tyrannie to the bulwarkes of my breste. Cut off my Rammes hornes, and breake into the belfrie, And blesse the cursed dayes of my virginitie.