Dekker, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [Nov 9-30, payment] (Annals) romance · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men · before the Court T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.71 · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
Now i'll beg for thee too: and yet I need not: Her sacred hand hath evermore been known, As soon held out to strangers as her own. Thou dost encourage me: I'll fetch them in, They have no princely gifts, we are all poor, Our offerings are true hearts, who can wish more? OF loves sweet war, our timorous Muse doth sing, And to the bosom of each gentle dear, Offence her Artless tunes, borne on the wing Of sacred Poesy. A benumbing fear, (That your nice souls, cloyed with dilicious sounds, Will loathe her lowly notes) makes her pull in Her fainting pinions, and her spirit confounds Before the weak voice of her song begin. Yet since within the circle of each eye, (Being like so many Suns in his round Sphere) No wrinkle yet is seen, she'll dare to fly, Borne up with hopes, that as you oft do rear With your fair hands, those who would else sink down, So some will deign to smile, where all might frown: And for this small Circumference must stand, For the imagined Surface of much land, Of many kingdoms, and since many a mile, Should here be measured out: our muse entreats, Your thoughts to help poor Art, and to allow, That I may serve as Chorus to her scences, She begs your pardon, for she'll send me forth, Not when the laws of Poesy do call, But as the story needs, your gracious eye Gives life to Fortunatus history. SD, ho, ho, ho, ho. within, Ho, ho, ho, ho, There boy. There boy. And thou be'st a goodfellow, tell me how thou call'st this wood. This wood. I this wood, & which is my best way out Best way out. Ha, ha, ha, that's true, my best way out, is my best way out, but how that out will come in, by this Maggot I know not, I see by this we are all worms meat: well, I am very poor and very patient, Patience is a virtue: would I were not virtuous, that's to say, not poor, but full of vice, (that's to say, full of chinks) Ha, ha, so I am, for I am so full of chinks, that a Horse with one eye may look through and through me, I have sighed long, and that makes me windy: I have fasted long, and that makes me chaste, marry I have prayed little, and that makes me I still dance in this conjuring circle: I have wandered long, and that makes me weary; but for my weariness, anon I'll lie down, in stead of fasting i'll feed upon Nuts, and in stead of sighing will laugh and be lean, Sirrah, Echo. Sirrah Echo. Here's a Nut. Here's a Nut. Crack it. Crack it. Hang thyself. Hang thyself. thouart a knave, a knave. A knave, a knave, Ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha.
seed 43: T16 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Now ile beg for thee too: and yet I need not: Her sacred hand hath euermore beene knowne, As soone held out to straungers as her owne. Thou doest incourage me: Ile fetch them in, They haue no princely gifts, we are all poore, Our offrings are true hearts, who can wish more? OF Loues sweete war, our timerous Muse doth sing, And to the bosome of each gentle deare, Offence her Artles tunes, borne on the wing Of sacred Poesy. A benumming feare, (That your nice soules, cloyd with dilicious sounds, Will loath her lowly notes) makes her pull in Her fainting pineons, and her spirit confounds Before the weake voice of her song begin. Yet since within the circle of each eye, (Being like so many Suns in his round Sphere) No wrinckle yet is seene, sheele dare to flie, Borne vp with hopes, that as you oft do reare With your faire hands, those who would els sinke down, So some will deigne to smile, where all might frown: And for this smal Circumference must stand, For the imagind Sur-face of much land, Of many kingdomes, and since many a mile, Should here be measurd out: our muse intreats, Your thoughts to helpe poore Art, and to allow, That I may serue as Chorus to her scences, She begs your pardon, for sheele send me foorth, Not when the lawes of Poesy doe call, But as the storie needes, your gracious eye Giues life to Fortunatus historie. SD, ho, ho, ho, ho. within, Ho, ho, ho, ho, There boy. There boy. And thou bee'st a goodfellow, tel me how thou cal'st this wood. This wood. I this wood, & which is my best way out Best way out. Ha, ha, ha, thats true, my best way out, is my best way out, but how that out will come in, by this Maggot I know not, I see by this we are all wormes meate: well, I am very poore and verie patient, Patie is a vertue: would I were not vertuous, thats to say, not poore, but full of vice, (thats to say, ful of chinckes) Ha, ha, so I am, for I am so full of chinckes, that a Horse with one eye may looke through and through me, I haue sighed long, and that makes me windie: I haue fasted long, and that makes me chast, marie I haue praied little, and that makes mee I still daunce in this coniuring circle: I haue wandred long, and that makes me wearie; but for my wearinesse, anon Ile lie downe, in steade of fasting ile féede vpon Nuts, and in stead of sighing will laugh and bee leane, Sirra, Eccho. Sirra Eccho. Heres a Nut. Heres a Nut. Cracke it. Cracke it. Hang thy selfe. Hang thy selfe. Th'art a knaue, a knaue. A knaue, a knaue, Ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha.