Fair Em, the Miller's Daughter of Manchester · chunk 4 of 23
Anonymous · published 1591 · first performed or written 1590 [c.1589-1591] (Annals) comedy · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T13 Knights, squires and ladies · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T13: knight, raph, lady, knights, george, master, squire, rafe, pray, god.
I tell thee Robert, I so admire the man, As that I count it heinous guilt in him That honours not Duke William with his heart. Blanche, bid this stranger welcome, good my girl. Sir, should I neglect your highness charge herein, It might be thought of base discourtesy. Welcome Sir Knight to Denmark heartily. Thanks gentle Lady. Lord marquess, what is she? That same is Blanche daughter to the King, The substance of the shadow that you saw. May this be she, for whom I crossed the Seas? I am ashamed to think I was so fond. In whom there's nothing that contents my mind. Ill hued, worse featured, uncomely, nothing courtly. Swart and ill favoured, a collier's sanguine skin. I never saw a harder favoured slut. Love her? for what: I can no whit abide her. Mariana, I have this day received letters From Swethia, that lets me understand, your ransom is collecting there with speed, And shortly shallbe hither sent to us. Not that I find occasion of mislike My entertainment in your grace's court, But that I long to see my native home. And reason have you Madam for the same: Lord marquess I commit unto your charge The entertainment of Sir Robert here, Let him remain with you within the Court In solace and disport, to spend the time. I thank your highness, whose bounden I remain. Unhappy Blanche, what strange effects are these That works within my thoughts confusedly, That still methinks affection draws me on To take, to like, nay more, to love this Knight. A modest countenance, no heavy sullen look, Not very fair, but richly decked with favour: A sweet face, an exceeding dainty hand, A body were it framed of wax By all the cunning artists of the world It could not better be proportioned. How now Sir Robert? in a study man? Here is no time for contemplation. My Lord, there is a certain odd conceit, Which on the sudden greatly troubles me. How like you Blaunch? I partly do perceive The little boy hath played the wag with you. The more I look, the more I love to look. Who says that Mariana is not fair? I'll gauge my gauntlet 'gainst the envious man, That dares avow there liveth her compare. Sir Robert, you mistake your counterfeit. This is the Lady which you came to see. yea, my Lord: She is counterfeit in deed: For there is the substance that best contents me. That is my love. Sir Robert you do wrong me. The better for you sir, she is your Love, As for the wrong, I see not how it grows. In seeking that which is another's right. As who should say your love were privileged That none might look upon her but yourself. These jars becomes not our familiarity, Nor will I stand on terms to move your patience. Why my Lord, am not I of flesh and blood as well as you? Then give me leave to love as well as 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)
I tell thee Robert, I so admire the man, As that I count it haynous guilt in him That honors not Duke William with his heart. Blanch, bid this straunger welcome, good my gyrle. Sir, should I neglect your highnes charge herein, It might be thought of base discourtesie. Welcome Sir Knight to Denmarke hartelie. Thanks gentle Ladie. Lord Marques, what is shee? That same is Blanch daughter to the King, The substance of the shadow that you saw. May this be shee, for whome I crost the Seas? I am ashamde to think I was so fond. In whom thers nothing that contents my mynd. Ill head, worse featurde, vncomly, nothing courtly. Swart and ill fauoured, a Colliers sanguin skinne. I neuer sawe a harder fauourd slut. Loue her? for what: I can no whit abide her. Mariana, I haue this day receiued letters From Swethia, that lets me vnderstand, your raunsome is collecting there with speede, And shortly shalbe hither sent to vs. Not that I finde occasion of mislike My entertainment in your graces court, But that I long to see my natiue home. And reason haue you Madam for the same: Lord Marques I commit vnto your charge The entertainement of Sir Robert here, Let him remaine with you within the Court In solace and disport, to spend the time. I thank your hightnes, whose bounden I remaine. Vnhappie Blanch, what strange effects are these That workes within my thoughts confusedly, That still me thinks affection drawes me on To take, to like, nay more, to loue this Knight. A modest countenance, no heauie sullen looke, Not verie fayer, but ritchly deckt with fauour: A sweete face, an exceding daintie hand, A bodie were it framed of wax By all the cunning artists of the world It could not better be proportioned. How now Sir Robert? in a studie man? Here is no tyme for contemplation. My Lord, there is a certaine odd conceite, Which on the sudden greatly troubles me. How like you Blaunch? I partly do perceiue The little boy hath played the wagg with you. The more I looke, the more I loue to looke. Who seyes that Mariana is not faire? Ile gage my gauntlet gainst the enuious man, That dares auowe there liueth her compare. Sir Robert, you mistake your counterfeit. This is the Ladie which you came to see. yea, my Lord: Shee is counterfait in deede: For there is the substance that best contents me. That is my loue. Sir Robert you do wrong me. The better for you sir, she is your Loue, As for the wrong, I see not how it growes. In seeking that which is an others right. As who should saie your loue were priuileged That none might looke vpon her but your selfe. These iarres becomes not our familiaritie, Nor will I stand on termes to moue your patience. Why my Lord, am not I of flesh and bloud as well as you? Then giue me leaue to loue as well as you.