Jonson, Ben · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T16 Gallantry: ladies, lordships and complim · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T16: lady, madam, gentleman, lordship, ladies, honour, mistress, sweet, court, servant.
Wife. O, they do so commend me here, the Courtiers! what's the matter now? For the banquet, sweet wife. Yes; and I must needs come to Court; and be welcome, the Princess says. Ovid and Tibullus, you may be bold to welcome your Mistresses here. We find it so Sir. And thank Cornelius Gallus. Nay, my sweet Sextus, infaith thou art not sociable, Infaith I am not Publius; nor I cannot. Sick minds are like sick men that burn with Fevers, Who when they drink, please but a lingering taste, And after bear a more impatient fit. Pray, let me leave you; I offend you all, And myself most. Stay sweet Propertius. You yield to much unto your grieves, and Fate, Which never hurts, but when we say it hurts us. O peace Tibullus; your Philosophy Lends you to rough a hand to search my wounds. Speak they of griefs, that know to sigh and grieve; The free and unconstrained Spirit feels No weight of my oppression. Worthy Roman! Me thinks I taste his misery; and could Sat down, and chide at his malignant Stars: Me thinks I love him, that he loves so truly. This is the perfectest love, lives after death. Such is the constant ground of virtue still. It puts on an inseparable face. Have you marked every thing, Crispinus? Every thing, I, warrant you What Gentlemen are these? do you know them? I, they are Poets, Lady. Poets? they did not talk of me since I went, did they? O yes, and extolled your perfections to the heavens. Now in sincerity, they be the finest kind of men, that ever I knew; Poets? Can not one get the Emperor to make my husband a Poet, think you? No Lady, 'tis Love, and Beauty make Poets: & since you like Poets so well, your Love, and Beauties shall make me a Poet. What shall they? and such a one as these? I, and a better than these: I would be sorry else. And shall your looks change? and your Hair change? and all, like these? Why, a man may be a Poet, and yet not change his Hair, Lady. Well, we shall see your cunning: yet if you can change your Hair, I pray: do. Ladies, and Lordings, there's a slight Banquet stays within for you, please you draw near and accost it. We thank you good Albius: but when shall we see those excellent jewels you are commended to have? At your Ladishippes' service. I got that speech by seeing a Play last day, and it did me some grace now: I see, 'tis good to collect sometimes; I'll frequent these Plays more than I have done, now I come to be familiar with Courtiers. Why how now Hermogenes? what ailest thou trow? A little melancholy, let me alone, pray thee. Melancholy! how so? With riding: a plague on all Coaches for me. Is that hard favoured Gentleman a Poet too; Cytheris?
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)
VVife. O, they doe ſo commend me here, the Courtiers! what's the matter now? For the banquet, ſweete wife. Yes; and I muſt needs come to Court; and be welcome, the Princeſſe ſaies. Ouid and Tibullus, you may be bolde to welcome your Miſtreſſes here. VVe finde it ſo Sir. And thanke Cornelius Gall. Nay, my ſweete Sextus, infaith thou art not ſociable, Infaith I am not Publius; nor I cannot. Sick mindes are like ſick men that burne with Feauers, VVho when they drinke, pleaſe but a lingring taſte, And after beare a more impatient fit. Pray, let me leaue you; I offend you all, And my ſelfe moſt. Stay ſweete Propertius. You yeeld to much vnto your grieues, and Fate, VVhich neuer hurtes, but when we ſay it hurts vs. O peace Tibullus; your Philoſophie Lends you to rough a hand to ſearch my wounds. Speake they of griefes, that know to ſigh and grieue; The free and vnconſtrained Spirit feeles No weight of my oppreſſion. VVorthie Romane! Me thinks I taſte his miſery; and could Sit downe, and chide at his malignant Starres: Me thinkes I loue him, that he loues ſo truely. This is the perfect'ſt loue, liues after death. Such is the conſtant ground of vertue ſtill. It puts on an inſeperable face. Haue you markt euery thinge, Criſpinus? Euery thing, I, warrant you VVhat Gentlemen are theſe? doe you know them? I, they are Poets, Ladie. Poets? they did not talke of me ſince I went, did they? O yes, and extold your perfections to the heauens. Now in ſincerity, they be the fineſt kind of men, that euer I knew; Poets? Could not one get the Emper to make my huſband a Poet, thinke you? No Ladie, tis Loue, and Beauty make Poets: & ſince you like Poets ſo well, your Loue, and Beauties ſhall make me a Poet. VVhat ſhall they? and ſuch a one as theſe? I, and a better than theſe: I would be ſory elſe. And ſhall your lookes change? and your Haire change? and all, like theſe? Why, a man may be a Poet, and yet not change his Haire, Ladie. Well, we ſhall ſee your cunning: yet if you can chāge your Haire, I pray: do. Ladies, and Lordings, there's a ſlight Banquet ſtaies within for you, pleaſe you drawe nere and accoſt it. We thanke you good Albius: but when ſhall wee ſee thoſe excellent Iewels you are commended to haue? At your Ladiſhippes ſeruice. I got that ſpeach by ſeeing a Play laſt day, and it did me ſome grace now: I ſee, 'tis good to collect ſometimes; Ile frequent theſe Playes more then I haue done, now I come to be familiar with Courtiers. VVhy how now Hermogenes? what aileſt thou trow? A little melancholy, let mee alone, pray thee. Melancholy! how ſo? With ryding: a plague on all Coaches for me. Is that hard fauourd Gentleman a Poet too; Cytheris?