Marston, John · published 1606 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
But what hope rests for Nymphadora, thou art now within the buttons of the Prince: shall the Duke his Father marry she Lady? 'tis to be hoped, not. That's some relief as long as there's hope. But sure sir 'tis almost undoubted the Lady will carry him. O pestilent air, is there no plot so cunning, no surmise so false, no way of avoidance? Hast thou any pity, either of his passion, or the lady's years, a Gentleman in the summer & hunting season of her youth, the Lady met in the same warmth, were't not to be wept that such a sapless chafingdish using old dotard as the Duke of Ferrara with his withered hand, should pluck such a bud, such a: Oh the life of sense! Thou art now a perfect Courtier of just fashion, good grace, canst not relieve us? ha' ye any money? Pish Fawn, we are young Gallants. The liker to have no money. But my young Gallants to speak like myself, I must hug your humour. Why look you there is fate, destiny, constellations, and Planets, (which though they are under nature, yet they are above women,) who hath read the book of chance? no, cherish your hope, sweeten your imaginations, with thoughts of, ah why women are the most giddy, uncertain motions under heaven, 'tis neither proportion of body, virtue of mind, amplitude of fortune, greatness of blood, but only mere chanceful appetite sways them: which makes some one like a man, be it but for the paring of his nails, viah, as for inequality, art not a gentleman? That I am, and my beneficence shall show it. I know you are, by the only word beneficence, which only speaks of the future tense (shall know it,) but may I breathe in your bosoms; I only fear Tiberio will abuse your father's trust, and so make your hopes desperate. How? the Prince? would he only stood cross to my wishes, he should find me an Italian. How, an Italian: By thy aid an Italian, dear Fawnus, thou art now wriggled into the PRINCE's bosom, and thy sweet hand should Minister that Nectar to him, should make him immortal; Nymphadoro in direct phrase, thou shouldst murder the Prince, so revenge thine own wrongs, and be rewarded for that revenge. Afore the light of my eyes, I think I shall admire, wonder at you. What? ha' ye plots, projects, correspondences, and stratagems: why are not you in better place? Who's this Herod my eldest Brother sir Amoroso Debilidoso? Oh I know him, God bless thine eyes sweet sir Amoroso, a rous, a vin de monte, to the health of thy Chine my dear sweet signior. Oh no sir, he takes the diet this spring always, boy my brother's bottle. Faith Fawn, an odd unwholesome cold, makes me still hoarse and rheumatic. Yes in troth a paltry murr, last morning he blew nine bones out of his nose with an odd unwholesome murr: how does my sister your Lady, what does she breed?
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)
But what hope rests for Nymphadora, thou art now within the buttons of the Prince: shall the Duke his Father marry she Ladie? Tis to be hoped, not. That's some releefe as long as ther's hope. But sure sir tis almost vndoubted the Ladie will carrie him. O pestilent ayre, is there no plot so cunning, no surmise so false, no way of auoidance? Hast thou any pittie, either of his passion, or the Ladies yeares, a Gentleman in the summer & hunting season of hir youth, the Ladie met in the same warmth, wer't not to bee wept that such a saplesse chafing-dish vsing old dotard as the Duke of Ferrara with his withered hand, shoulde plucke such a bud, such a: Oh the life of sence! Thou art now a perfect Courtier of iust fashion, good grace, canst not releeue vs? Ha ye any money? Pish Fawne, we are young Gallants. The liker to haue no mony. But my young Gallants to speake like my selfe, I must hugge your humor. Why looke you there is fate, destiny, constellations, and Planets, (which though they are vnder nature, yet they are aboue women,) who hath read the booke of chaunce? no, cherish your hope, sweeten your imaginations, with thoughts of, ah why women are the most giddie, vncertaine motions vnder heauen, tis neither proportion of body, vertue of minde, amplitude of fortune, greatnesse of blood, but onely meere chancefull appetie swayes them: which makes some one like a man, be it but for the paring of his nales, viah, as for inequalitie, art not a gentleman? That I am, and my benificence shall shew it. I know you are, by the onely worde benificence, which onely speakes of the future tence (shall know it,) but may I breath in your bosoms; I onely feare Tiberio will abuse your fathers trust, and so make your hopes desperate. How? the Prince? would hee onely stood crosse to my wishes, he should find me an Italian. How, an Italian: By thy ayd an Italian, deere Fawnus, thou art now wrigled into the Princes bosome, and thy sweet hand should Minister that Nectar to him, should make him immortall; Nymphadoro in direct phrase, thou shouldst murther the Prince, so reuenge thine owne wronges, and be rewarded for that reuenge. Afore the light of my eyes, I thinke I shall admire, wonder at you. What? ha ye plots, proiects, correspondences, and stratagems: why are not you in better place? Who's this Herod my eldest Brother sir Amoroso Debilidoso? Oh I know him, God blesse thine eyes sweet sir Amoroso, a rous, a vin de monte, to the health of thy Chyne my deere sweet Signiour. Oh no sir, hee takes the diet this spring alwaies, boy my brothers bottell. Faith Fawne, an odde vnwholsome cold, makes mee still hoarse and rhumatique. Yes in troth a paltrie murre, last morning hee blew nine bones out of his nose with an odde vnwholesome murre: how do's my sister your Ladie, what do's she breed?