Dekker, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [Nov 9-30, payment] (Annals) romance · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men · before the Court unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
The Ruby-coloured portals of her speech Were closed by mercy: but upon her eye, (Attired in frowns) sat murdering cruelty. she's angry, that I durst so high aspire. O, she disdains that any strangers breast Should be a Temple for her deity: she's full of beauty, full of bitterness. Till now, I did not dally with loves fire: And when I thought to try his flames indeed, I burned me even to cinders: O, my stars, Why from my native shore did your beams guide me, To make me dote on her that doth deride me? Hold him in this mind, sweet Cupid, I conjure thee. O, what music these hey-hoes make? I was about to cast my little little self into a great love trance for him, fearing his heart had been flint: but since I see 'tis pure virgin wax, he shall melt his belly full: for now I know how to temper him. Never beg mercy? yet be my tormenter. I hope she heard me not: doubtless she did: And now will she insult upon my passions, And vex my constant love with mockeries. Nay, then i'll be mine own Physician, And our face love, and make her think that I Mourned thus, because I saw her standing by. What news, my Lord of Cornwall? This fair Prince, One of your Countrymen, is come to Court, A lusty gallant brave in Cyprus I'll, With fifty bard Horses prancing at his heels, Backed by as many strong limbed Cypriots. All whom he keeps in pay: whose offered service, Our king with Arms of gladness hath embraced. Born in the I'll of Cyprus? what's his name? His servants call him Fortunatus' son. Rich Fortunatus' son? Is he arrived? This he bestowed on me. And this on me. And this bounteous hand enforced me take. I prize this jewel at a hundred Marks, Yet would he needs bestow this gift on me. My Lords, whose hand hath been thus prodigal? Your countryman my Lord, a Cypriot. The gallant sure is all compact of gold, To every Lady hath he given rich jewels, And sent to every servant in the Court twenty fair English Angels. This is rare. My Lords, prepare yourselves for reveling, 'tis the king's pleasure that this day he spent In royal pastimes, that this golden Lord, (For so all that behold him, christian him) May taste the pleasures of our English court. Here comes the gallant, shining like the Sun. For these your royal favours done to me, (Being a poor stranger) my best powers shall prove, By Acts of worth, the soundness of my love. Herein your love shall best set out itself, By staying with us: if our English I'll Hold any object welcome to your eyes, Do but make choice, and claim it as your prize. I thank your grace: would he durst keep his word, I know what I would claim: Tush, man, be bold, Were she a Saint, she may be won with gold.
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)
The Ruby-colourd portals of her speech Were closde by mercy: but vpon her eye, (Attir'd in frownes) sat murdring crueltie. Shees angrie, that I durst so high aspire. O, shee disdaines that any straungers brest Should be a Temple for her deitie: Shees full of beautie, full of bitternes. Till now, I did not dally with loues fire: And when I thought to try his flames indeede, I burnt me euen to cinders: O, my starres, Why from my natiue shore did your beames guide me, To make me dote on her that doth deride me? Hold him in this mind, sweete Cupid, I coniure thee. O, what musick these hey-hoes make? I was about to cast my litle litle selfe into a great loue trance for him, fearing his hart had been flint: but since I see tis pure virgin wax, he shal melt his belly full: for now I know how to temper him. Neuer beg mercy? yet be my tormenter. I hope shee heard me not: doubtlesse shee did: And now will she insult vpon my passions, And vex my constant loue with mockeries. Nay, then ile be mine owne Physician, And our face loue, and make her thinke that I Mournd thus, because I saw her standing by. What newes, my Lord of Cornewall? This faire Prince, One of your Countrie-men, is come to Court, A lustie gallant braue in Cyprus Ile, With fiftie bard Horses prawncing at his heeles, Backt by as many strong limbd Cypriots. All whom he keepes in pay: whose offred seruice, Our king with Armes of gladnes hath embrac'd. Borne in the Ile of Cyprus? whats his name? His seruants call him Fortunatus sonne. Rich Fortunatus sonne? Is he ariu'd? This he bestowed on me. And this on me. And this bounteous hand inforc'd mee take. I prize this Iewell at a hundred Markes, Yet would he needes bestow this gift on me. My Lords, whose hand hath beene thus prodigal? Your countrieman my Lord, a Cypriot. The gallant sure is all compact of gold, To euery Lady hath he giuen rich Iewels, And sent to euery seruant in the Court Twentie faire English Angels. This is rare. My Lords, prepare your selues for reueling, Tis the kings pleasure that this day he spent In royall pastimes, that this golden Lord, (For so all that behold him, christen him) May tast the pleasures of our English court. Here comes the gallant, shining like the Sunne. For these your royall fauours done to me, (Being a poore straunger) my best powres shall preue, By Acts of worth, the soundnes of my loue. Herein your loue shall best set out it selfe, By staying with vs: if our English Ile Hold any obiect welcome to your eyes, Doe but make choice, and claime it as your prize. I thanke your grace: would he durst kéepe his word, I know what I would claime: Tush, man, be bold, Were shée a Saint, shée may be wonne with gold.