Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea typicality 0.75 · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
His wounds being dressed, and life recovered, We 'gan discourse; when lo, the sea grew mad, His bowels rumbling with wind passion, straight swarthy darkness popped out Phoebus eye, And blurred the jocund face of bright cheeked day; Whilst curdled fogs masked even darkness brow: Heaven bad's good night, and the rocks groaned At the intestine uproar of the main. Now gusty flaws struck up the very heels Of our main mast, whilst the keen lightning shot Through the black bowels of the quaking air: Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred paunch Down falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck: Which in an instant up was belched again. When thus this martyred soul began to sigh; " Give me your hand (quoth he) now do you grasp Th'unequal mirror of ragged misery: " Is't not a horrid storm? O, well shaped sweet, Could your quick eye strike through these gashed wounds, " You should behold a heart, a heart, fair creature, Raging more wild than is this frantic sea. " wilt do me a favour, if thou chance survive? But visit Venice, kiss the precious white " Of my most; nay all all Epithets are base To attribute to gracious Mellida: " Tell her the spirit of Antonio Wisheth his last gasp breathed upon her breast. Why weeps soft hearted Florisell? Alas, the flinty rocks groaned at his plaints. Tell her (quoth he) that her obdurate sire Hath cracked his bosom; therewithal he wept, And thus sighed on. The sea is merciful; Look how it gapes to bury all my grief Well, thou shalt have it, thou shalt be his tomb: My faith in my love live; in thee, die woe, Die unmatched anguish, die Antonio: With that he tottered from the reeling deck, And down he sunk. pleasure's body, what makes my Lady weep? Nothing, sweet Rossaline, but the air's sharp. My father's Palace, Madam, will be proud To entertain your presence, if you'll deign To make repose within. ay me! Lady our fashion is not curious. Faith all the nobler, 'tis more generous. Shall I then know how fortune fell at last, What succour came, or what strange fate ensued? Most willingly: but this same court is vast, And public to the staring multitude. Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my troth we'll be bedfellows: dirt on complement froth. HAH Catzo, your master wants a clean trencher: do you hear? calls for your diminutive attendance. The belly hath no ears Dildo. Good pug give me some capon. No capon, no not a bit ye smooth bully; capon's no meat for Dildo: milk, milk, ye glibery urchin, is food for infants. Upon mine honour Your honour with a paugh? slid, now every Iack an Apes loads his back with the golden coat of honour; every Ass puts on the lions skin and roars his honour, upon your honour. By my lady's pantable, I fear I shall live to hear a vintner's boy cry; 'tis rich neat Canary, upon my honour. My stomach's up. I think thou art hungry.
seed 43: T47 · seed 44: T45 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
His wounds being drest, and life recouered, We gan discourse; when loe, the sea grewe mad, His bowels rumbling with winde passion, Straightswarthy darknesse popt out Phoebus eye, And blurd the iocund face of bright cheekt day; Whilst crudl'd fogges masked euen darknesse brow: Heauen bad's good night, and the rocks gron'd At the intestine vprore of the maine. Now gustie flawes strook vp the very heeles Of our maine mast, whilst the keene lightning shot Through the black bowels of the quaking ayte: Straight chops a waue, and in his sliftred panch Downe fals our ship, and there he breaks his neck: Which in an instant vp was belkt againe. VVhen thus this martyrd soule began to sigh; " Giue me your hand (quoth he) now doe you graspe " Th'vnequall mirrour of ragg'd misery: " Is't not a horrid storme? O, well shap't sweete, " Could your quicke eye strike through these gashed woūds, " You should beholde a heart, a heart, faire creature, " Raging more wilde then is this franticke sea. " VVolt doe me a fauour, if thou chance suruiue? " But visit Venice, kisse the pretious white " Of my most; nay all all Epithites are base " To attribute to gratious Mellida: " Tell her the spirit of Antonio " VVisheth his last gaspe breath'd vpon her breast. VVhy weepes soft hearted Florisell? Alas, the flintie rocks groand at his plaints. Tell her (quoth he) that her obdurate sire Hath crackt his bosome; therewithall he wept, And thus sigh't on. The sea is merciful; Looke how it gapes to bury all my griefe Well, thou shalt haue it, thou shalt be his toumbe: My faith in my loue liue; in thee, dy woe, Dye vnmatcht anguish, dye Antonio: With that he totterd from the reeling decke, And downe he sunke. Pleasures bodie, what makes my Lady weepe? Nothing, sweet Rossaline, but the ayer's sharpe. My fathers Palace, Madam, will be proud To entertaine your presence, if youle daine To make repose within. Aye me! Ladie our fashion is not curious. Faith all the nobler, tis more generous. Shall I then know how fortune fell at last, What succour came, or what strange fate insew'd? Most willingly: but this same court is vast, And publike to the staring multitude. Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my troth VVeele be bedfellowes: durt on complement froth. HAH Catzo, your master wants a cleane trencher: doe you heare? cals for your diminutiue attendance. The belly hath no eares Dildo. Good pugge giue me some capon. No capon, no not a bitte yee smooth bully; capon's no meat for Dildo: milke, milke, yee glibbery vrchin, is foode for infants. Vpon mine honour Your honour with a paugh? slid, now euery Iack an Apes loads his backe with the golden coat of honour; euery Asse puts on the Lyons skinne and roars his honour, vpon your honour. By my Ladies pantable, I feare I shall liue to heare a Vintners boy cry; tis rich neat Canary, vpon my honour. My stomack's vp. I think thou art hungry.