Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 528 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
The match of fury is lighted, fastened to the linstock of rage, and will presently set fire to the touchhole of intemperance, discharging the double culverin of my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speech. I'll stop the barrel thus; god Dildo, set not fire to the touchhole. My rage is stopped, and I will eat to the health of the fool thy master Castilio. And I will suck the juice of the capon, to the health of the Idiot thy master Balurdo. Faith, our masters are like a case of Rapiers sheathed in one scabbard of folly. Right dutch blades. But was't not rare sport at the sea-battle, whilst rounce robble hobble roared from the ship sides, to view our masters pluck their plumes and drop their feathers, for fear of being men of mark. 'slud (cried signor Balurdo) O for Don Bessicler's armour, in the Mirror of Knighthood: what coil's here? O for an armour, Canon proof: O, more cable, more featherbeds, more featherbeds, more cable, till he had as much as my cable hatband, to fence him. Buxom Flavia: can you sing? song, song. My sweet Dildo, I am not for you at this time: Madam Rossaline stays for a fresh ruff to appear in the presence: sweet away. 'twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark eyed, sleek skinned, slender wasted, clean legged, rarely shaped. Who, I'll be at all your service another season: nay faith there's reason in all things. Would I were reason then, that I might be in all things. The brief and the semiquaver is, we must have the descant you made upon our names, ere you depart. Faith, the song will seem to come off hardly. Troth not a whit, if you seem to come off quickly. pert Catzo, knock it lustily then. Make place gentlemen; pages, hold torches, the prince approacheth the presence. What squeaking cartwheel have we here? ha? Make place gentlemen, pages hold torches, the prince approacheth the presence. Faugh, what a strong scent's here, somebody useth to wear socks. By this fair candle light, 'tis not my feet, I never wore socks since I sucked pap. Savourly put off. Hah, her wit stings, blisters, galls off the skin with the tart acrimony of her sharp quickness: by sweetness, she is the very Pallas that flew out of Jupiter's brainpan. Delicious creature, vouchsafe me your service: by the purity of bounty, I shall be proud of such bondage. I vouchsafe it; be my slave. signor Balurdo, wilt thou be my servant too? O god: forsooth in very good earnest, law, you would make me as a man should say, as a man should say. 'slud sweet beauty, will you deign him your service? O, your fool is your only servant. But good Feliche why art thou so sad? a penny for thy thought, man. I sell not my thought so cheap: I value my meditation at a higher rate. In good sober sadness, sweet mistress, you should have had my thought for a penny: by this crimson Satin that cost eleven shillings, thirteen pence, three pence, half penny a yard, that you should, law.
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 match of furie is lighted, fastned to the linstock of rage, and will presently set fire to the touchhole of intemperance, discharging the double couluering of my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speach. Ile stop the barrell thus; god Dildo, set not fire to the touch-hole. My rage is stopt, and I wil eate to the health of the foole thy master Castilio. And I will suck the iuyce of the capon, to the health of the Idiot thy master Balurdo. Faith, our masters are like a case of Rapiers sheathed in one scabberd of folly. Right dutch blades. But was't not rare sport at the sea-battle, whilst rounce robble hobble roard from the ship sides, to viewe our masters pluck their plumes and droppe their feathers, for feare of being men of marke. Slud (cri'd Signior Balurdo) O for Don Bessiclers armour, in the Mirror of Knighthood: what coil's here? O for an armour, Canon proofe: O, more cable, more fetherbeds, more fetherbeds, more cable, till hee had as much as my cable hatband, to fence him. Buxome Flauia: can you sing? song, song. My sweete Dildo, I am not for you at this time: Madam Rossaline stayes for a fresh ruffe to appeare in the presence: sweete away. Twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark eyed, sleek skind, slēder wasted, clean legd, rarely shap't. VVho, Ile be at all your seruice another season: nay faith ther's reason in all things. VVould I were reason then, that I might be in all things. The breefe and the semiquauer is, wee must haue the descant you made vpon our names, ere you depart. Faith, the song will seeme to come off hardly. Troth not a whit, if you seeme to come off quickly. Peart Catzo, knock it lustily then. Make place gentlemen; pages, hold torches, the prince approacheth the presence. VVhat squeaking cart-wheel haue we here? ha? Make place gentlemen, pages holde torches, the prince approacheth the presence. Faugh, what a strong sent's here, some bodie vseth to weare socks. By this faire candle light, tis not my feete, I neuer wore socks since I suckt pappe. Sauourly put off. Hah, her wit stings, blisters, galles off the skinne with the tart acrimony of her sharpe quicknesse: by sweetenesse, she is the very Pallas that flewe out of Iupiters brainepan. Delicious creature, vouchsafe mee your seruice: by the puritie of bounty, I shall be proud of such bondage. I vouchsafe it; be my slaue. Signior Balurdo, wilt thou be my seruant too? O god: forsooth in very good earnest, law, you wold make me as a man should say, as a man should say. Slud sweet beauty, will you deign him your seruice? O, your foole is your only seruant. But good Feliche why art thou so sad? a pennie for thy thought, mā. I sell not my thought so cheap: I valewe my meditation at a higher rate. In good sober sadnesse, sweet mistris, you should haue had my thought for a penny: by this crimson Satten that cost eleuen shillings, thirteene pence, three pence, halfe pennie a yard, that you should, law.