Dekker, Thomas / Chettle, Henry / Haughton, William · published 1603 · first performed or written 1600 [Oct 16-Dec 29, payment] (Annals) comedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
So like my Lord, that the nice difference, Would stay the judgement of the curious't eye. And yet methinks I am not half so brown. Indeed your cheeks bear a more lively colour Furio, play thou the nurse, handle it softly. One were better get a dozen then nurse one. Mario step to Grissel she's asleep, Her white hand is the pillar to those cares, Which I ungently lodged within her head, Steal thou the other child and bring it hither, If Grissel be awake and strive with thee, Bring it perforce, nor let her know what hand, Hath robbed her of this other, haste Mario. I fly my gracious Lord. Run flattery, because I did blaspheme and call it brown, This parasite cried (like an Echo) brown. The child is fair my Lord, you were near so fair. I know 'tis fair, I know 'tis wondrous fair, Dear pretty infant let me with a kiss, Take that dishonour off, which the foul breath Of a profane slave, laid upon thy cheeks; Had but I said my boy's a Blackamoor, He would have damned himself and so have sworn. Give me mine infant, where's my other babe? You cannot play the nurse, your horrid eyes Will fright my little ones and make them cry, Your tongue's too ruff to chime a lullaby: 'tis not the pleasure of my Lord I know, To load me with such wrong. No, I unload you. Give her her child Mario and yet stay, Furio hold thou them both, Grissel forbear, You are but nurse to them they are not thine. I know my gracious Lord they are not mine, I am but their poor nurse I must confess, Alas let not a nurse be pitiless. To see the cold air make them look thus bleak, Makes me shed tears because they cannot speak. If they could speak, what think you they would say? That I in all things will your will obey. Obey it then in silence: shall not I Bestow what is mine own, as likes me best? Deliver me these brats: come press me down, With weighty infamy: here is a load Of shame, of speckled shame: O God how heavy An armful of dishonour is? here's two, Grissel for this i'll thank none else but you, Which way soe'er I turn I meet a face, That makes my cheeks blush at mine own disgrace. This way or this way, never shall mine eye Look thus, or thus: but (oh me) presently, (Take them for God's sake Furio) presently I shall spend childish tears: true tears indeed, That thus I wrong my babes and make her bleed, Go Grissel get you in. I go my Lord. Farewell sweet sweet dear babes, so you were free, Would all the world's cares might be thrown on me. Ha, ha, why this is pleasing harmony.
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)
So like my Lord, that the nice difference, Would stay the iudgement of the curioust eye. And yet me thinkes I am not halfe so browne. Indeed your cheekes beare a more liuely colour Furio, play thou the nurse, handle it softly. One were better get a dossen then nurse one. Mario step to Grissill shee's a sleepe, Her white hand is the piller to those cares, Which I vngently lodg'e within her head, Steale thou the other childe and bring it hither, If Grissill be awake and striue with thee, Bring it perforce, nor let her know what hand, Hath rob'd her of this other, haste Mario. I flie my gratious Lord. Run flatterie, because I did blaspheme and cal it browne, This Parrasite cride (like an Eccho) browne. The childe is faire my Lord, you were nere so faire. I know tis faire, I know tis wondrous faire, Deare prettie infant let me with a kisse, Take that dishonor off, which the foule breath Of a prophane slaue, laide vpon thy cheekes; Had but I said my boy's a Blackamoore, He would haue damn'd himselfe and so haue swore. Giue me mine infant, where's my other babe? You cannot plaie the nurse, your horred eyes Will fright my little ones and make them crie, Your tongue's too ruffe to chime a lullabie: Tis not the pleasure of my Lord I know, To loade me with such wrong. No, I vnloade you. Giue her her childe Mario and yet staie, Furio holde thou them both, Grissill forbeare, You are but nurse to them they are not thine. I know my gratious Lord they are not mine, I am but their poore nurse I must confesse, Alas let not a nurse be pittilesse. To see the colde ayre make them looke thus bleake, Makes me shed teares because they cannot speake. If they could speake, what thinke you they would say? That I in all things will your wil obay. Obay it then in silence: shall not I Bestowe what is myne owne, as likes me best? Deliuer me these brats: come presse me downe, With weightie infamie: heere is aloade Of shame, of speckled shame: O God how heauie An armefull of dishonour is? heeres two, Grissill for this ile thanke none els but you, Which way so ere I turne I meete a face, That makes my cheekes blush at mine owne disgrace. This way or this way, neuer shall mine eye Looke thus, or thus: but (oh me) presentlie, (Take them for Gods sake Furio) presentlie I shall spend childish teares: true teares indéed, That thus I wrong my babes and make her bleede, Goe Grissill get you in. I goe my Lorde. Farewell sweet sweet deare babes, so you were free, Would all the worlds cares might be throwne on me. Ha, ha, why this is pleasing harmonie.