How a Man May Choose a Good Wife from a Bad · chunk 1 of 43
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 [c.1601-1602] (Annals) comedy · Worcester's Men unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 513 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
I Tell you true Sir, but to every man I would not be so lavish of my speech, Only to you my dear and private friend, Although my wife in every eye, be held Of beauty and of grace sufficient, Of honest birth and good behaviour, Able to win the strongest thoughts to her, Yet in my mind I hold her the most hated And loathed object that the world can yield. Oh M. Arthur, bear a better thought Of your chaste wife, whose modesty hath won The good opinion and report of all: By heaven you wrong her beauty, she is fair. Not in mine eye. O you are cloyed with dainties M. Arthur And too much sweetness glutted hath your taste, And makes you loathe them: At the first You did admire her beauty, praised her face, Were proud to have her follow at your heels Through the broad streets, when all censuring tongues Found themselves busied as she passed along, To extol her in the hearing of you both, Tell me I pray you and dissemble not, Have you not in the time of your first love, hugged such new popular and vulgar talk, And glorified still to see her bravely decked? But now a kind of loathing hath quite changed Your shape of love into a form of hate, But on what reason ground you this hate? My reason is my mind, my ground my will, I will not love her: If you ask me why I cannot love her, let that answer you. Be judge all eyes, her face deserves it not, Then on what root grows this high branch of hate Is she not loyal, constant, loving, chaste, Obedient, apt to please, loath to displease, Careful to live, chary of her good name, And jealous of your reputation? Is she not virtuous, wise, religious? How should you wrong her to deny all this? Good M. Arthur let me argue with you. Oh M. Anselm, grown a Lover, fie, What might she be, on whom your hopes rely? What fools they are that seem most wise in love, How wise they are, that are but fools in love: Before I was a Lover, I had reason To judge of matters, censure of all sorts, Nay I had wit to call a Lover fool, And look into his folly with bright eyes, But now intruding Love dwells in my brain, And frantically hath shouldered reason thence, I am not old, and yet alas I dote: I have not lost my sight, and yet am blind, No bondman, yet have lost my liberty, No natural fool, and yet I want my wit. What am I then, let me define myself, A dotard young, a blind man that can see, A witty fool, a bondman that is free. Good aged youth, blind seer, & wise fool, Lose your free bonds, and set your thoughts to school. 'tis told me M. Lusam, that my son And your chaste daughter whom we matched together, Wrangle and fall at odds, and brawl, and chide.
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)
I Tell you true Sir, but to euery man I would not be so lauish of my speech, Only to you my deare and priuate friend, Although my wife in euery eye, be held Of beautie and of grace sufficient, Of honest birth and good behauiour, Able to winne the strongest thoughts to her, Yet in my mind I hold her the most hated And loathed obiect that the world can yeeld. Oh M. Arthur, beare a better thought Of your chast wife, whose modesty hath wonne The good opinion and report of all: By heauen you wrong her beautie, she is faire. Not in mine eye. O you are cloyed with dainties M. Arthur And too much sweetnes glutted hath your tast, And makes you loath them: At the first You did admire her beautie, praisde her face, Were proud to haue her follow at your heeles Through the broad streetes, when all censuring tongues Found themselues busied as she past along, To extoll her in the hearing of you both, Tell me I pray you and dissemble not, Haue you not in the time of your first loue, Hugd such new popular and vulgar talke, And glorified still to see her brauely deckt? But now a kind of loathing hath quite changde Your shape of loue into a forme of hate, But on what reason ground you this hate? My reason is my mind, my ground my wil, I will not loue her: If you aske me why I cannot loue her, let that answere you. Be iudge all eyes, her face deserues it not, Then on what roote growes this hie braunch of hate Is she not loyall, constant, louing, chast, Obedient, apt to please, loth to displease, Carefull to liue, chary of her good name, And iealous of your reputation? Is she not vertuous, wise, religious? How should you wrong her to deny all this? Good M. Arthur let me argue with you. Oh M. Anselme, growne a Louer, fie, What might she be, on whom your hopes relie? What fooles they are that seem most wise in loue, How wise they are, that are but fooles in loue: Before I was a Louer, I had reason To iudge of matters, censure of all sorts, Nay I had wit to call a Louer foole, And looke into his folly with bright eyes, But now intruding Loue dwels in my braine, And frantickly hath shouldered reason thence, I am not old, and yet alas I doate: I haue not lost my sight, and yet am blind, No bondman, yet haue lost my libertie, No naturall foole, and yet I want my wit. What am I then, let me define my selfe, A doatar yong, a blind man that can see, A wittie foole, a bond-man that is free. Good aged youth, blind seer, & wise foole, Loose your free bonds, and set your thoughts to schoole. Tis told me M. Lusam, that my sonne And your chast daughter whom we matcht together, Wrangle and fall at oddes, and brawle, and chide.