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 · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Art sure of this? How didst thou drive it out? Fear not his waking yet, I made him drink That soporiferous juice which was composed, To make the Queen (my Mother) relish sleep, When her last sickness summoned her to heaven. He sleeps profoundly: when his amorous eyes Had singed their wings in Cupid's wanton flames, I set him all on fire, and promised love: In pride whereof, he drew me forth this purse, And swore, by this he multiplied his gold. I tried and found it true: and secretly Commanded Music with her silver tongue, To chime soft lullabies into his soul, And whilst my fingers wantoned with his hair, (T'entice the sleepy juice to charm his eyes) In all points was there made a purse, like his, Which counterfeit is hung in place of this. More than a second kingdom hast thou won. Leave him, that when he wakes he may suspect, Some else has robbed him, come dear Agrippine, If this strange purse his sacred virtues hold, we'll circle England with a waist of Gold. These English occupiers are mad Trojans: let a man pay them never so much, they'll give him nothing but the bag. Since my master created me steward over his fifty men, and his one and fifty horse, I have rid over much business, yet never was galled, I thank the destinies: Music? O delicate warble: O these Courtiers are most sweet triumphant creatures. signior, Sir: Monsieur: sweet signior; this is the language of the accomplishment: O delicious strings: these heavenly wire-drawers have stretched my master even out at length: yet at length he must wake: master? Wake me not yet, my gentle Agrippine. One word Sir, for the billets, and I vanish. There's heaven in these times: throw the musicians A bounteous largesse of three hundred Angels. Why sir, I have but ten pound left. Ha, Shadow? where's the Princess Agrippine? I am not Apollo, I cannot reveal. Was not the princess here, when thou cam'st in? Here was no Princess but my princely self. In faith? No in faith, Sir. Where are you hid? where stand you wantoning? Not here? gone i'faith? have you given me the slip? well, 'tis but an amorous trick and so I embrace it: my horse, Shadow, how fare my horse? Upon the best Oats my underiteward can buy. I mean, are they lusty, sprightly, gallant, wanton, fiery? They are as all horses are, Caterpillars to the Commonwealth, they are ever munching: but Sir, for these billets, and these faggots and bavins? S'hart what billets, what faggots? dost make me a Woodmonger? No sweet signior, but you have bid the King and his Peers to dinner, and he has commanded that no Woodmonger sell you a stick of wood, and that no collier shall cozen you of your measure, but must tie up the mouth of their Sacks, lest their Coals kindle your choler. Is't possible? be't true, or hast thou learned of the English gallants to gull? he's a gull that would be taught by such gulls.
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)
Art sure of this? How didst thou driue it out? Feare not his waking yet, I made him drinke That soporiferous Iuice which was composd, To make the Quéene (my Mother) rellish sléepe, When her last sicknes sommond her to heauen. He sléepes profoundly: when his amorous eyes Had singde their wings in Cupids wanton flames, I set him all on fire, and promist loue: In pride whereof, he drew me forth this purse, And swore, by this he multiplyed his gold. I tride and found it true: and secretly Commaunded Musicke with her siluer tongue, To chime soft lullabies into his soule, And whilst my fingers wantond with his hayre, (T'intice the sléepie Iuice to charme his eyes) In all points was there made a purse, like his, Which counterfet is hung in place of this. More then a second kingdome hast thou won. Leaue him, that when he wakes he may suspect, Some els has robd him, come déere Agripyne, If this strange purse his sacred vertues hold, Wéele circle England with a wast of Gold. These English occupiers are mad Troians: let a man pay them neuer so much, theile giue him nothing but the bag. Since my master created me steward ouer his fiftie men, and his one and fiftie horse, I haue rid ouer much businesse, yet neuer was gald, I thanke the destinies: Musicke? O delicate warble: O these Courtiers are most swéete triumphant creatures. Seignior, Sir: Monsieur: swéete Seignior; this is the language of ye accomplishment: O delicious strings: these heauenly wyre-drawers haue stretcht my master euen out at length: yet at length he must wake: master? Wake me not yet, my gentle Agripyne. One word Sir, for the billets, and I vanish. Theres heauen in these times: throw the musicians Abounteous largesse of thrée hundred Angels. Why sir, I haue but ten pound left. Ha, Shaddow? where's the Princesse Agripyne? I am not Apollo, I cannot reueale. Was not the princesse here, when thou cam'st in? Here was no Princesse but my princely selfe. In faith? No in faith, Sir. Where are you hid? where stand you wantoning? Not here? gone ifaith? haue you giuen me the slip? well, tis but an amorous tricke and so I embrace it: my horse, Shaddow, how fare my horse? Upon the best Oates my vnderiteward can buy. I meane, are they lusty, sprightly, gallant, wantō, fiery? They are as all horses are, Caterpillers to the Commonwelth, they are euer munching: but Sir, for these billets, and these fagots and bauins? S'hart what billets, what fagots? doest make mee a Woodmonger? No swéete Seignior, but you haue bid the King and his Péeres to dinner, and he has commaunded that no Woodmonger sell you a sticke of wood, and that no Collyer shall cosen you of your measure, but must tie vp the mouth of their Sackes, least their Coales kindle your choler. Ist possible? ist true, or hast thou learnt of the English gallants to gull? Hées a gul that would be taught by such guls.