Day, John · published 1606 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Nay and ye can dote well enough yourself, I care for neither of them both, but indeed I love to have a thing well done, for says my mother, a thing once well done, is twice done, and I am in her mind for that up and down, whose's with my Lord the Duke, it cannot be, Mine eye would not conceal such treachery. 'tis not the Duchess sure, no it is amorous Ioue, that seeing Zelmane passionate for love, Descends to comfort her, Ioue if there be A powerful Phoebus' God of poetry, In dear remembrance of fair Daphne's rape, to win my love, lend me some stranger shape, Such as yourselves have worn, that when your fame is sung by poets, they may cote my name, Sure 'tis my daughter, Daughter: how her eye Cuts out new forms, new shapes of jealousy: As sure as death 'tis she, for see they stand like amorous twins, entwisted hand in hand, Breast against breast, and that no joy be missing, To hear discourse, their lips keep time with kissing, I'll not endure impatience grow strong, And though a prince, tell him he doth thee wrong. Do prithee do, this sweetens all the rest, But here would be the elixir of the jest, if whilst we kept each other at a bay, A third should come, and bear the hare away. villainous poetry, unchristian like poetry, I am cozened of my gold by poetry, robbed of my charge by poetry, made an apparent fool by poetry vilanous Oak, accursed Dorus, unfortunate Dametas: whose's there my daughter and with Zelmane? a well-willer to Dorus, a favourite to poetry, and therefore enemy to Dametas, come hither mop so, a thy father's blessing come not near her: what Mopsa. yes, whose's there? Dorus. Confusion a Dorus, I am thy miserable father, didst not see Hippolita, no by my troth not I? Did ye not see Dorus. Pox of dorus I am undone madam and thou tell'st me not of Hipolita, Pox a Hippolita, I am a dumb woman and you can tell me news of Dorus I had rather see ten doruses hanged then loose Hippolita, I had rather see ten fathers dammed then lose my sweet dorus, I shall run mad and I find not Hippolita. I shall run frantic and I find not Dorus. What's here, I shall run mad for Hipolita. And I shall run frantic and I find not Dorus, I hold my life we have some comedy in hand, we shall have a full scene, for here comes more actors. Assures I am a sinner to God madam, that same's he. What with a brace of wenches, i'faith old brock, have I ta'en you in the manner, is this the fruits of your lying alone? is this your court custom with a wanion, lend me thy knife, though I had neither house, nor land to give 'em, i'll bestow a whore's make betwixt you and yet I will not scold neither. What a gudyere ail you mother, are you frampold, know you not your own daughter.
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)
Nay and ye can dote wel inough your ſelfe, I care for neither of them both, but indeed I loue to haue a thing wel done, for ſaies my mother, a thinge once wel done, is twice done, and I am in her mind for that vp and downe, Whoſe with my Lord the Duke, it cannot be, Mine eie would not conceale ſuch trechery. Tis not the Dutches ſure, no it is amarous Ioue, that ſeeing Zelmane paſſionate for loue, Deſcends to comfort her, Ioue if there be A powerful Phebus God of poetry, In deare remembrance of faire Daphnes rape, to win my loue, lend me ſome ſtranger ſhape, Such as your ſelues haue worne, that when your fame is ſung by poets, they maie cote my name, Sure tis my daughter, Daughter: how her eie Cuts out new formes, new ſhapes of iealouſie: As ſure as death tis she, for ſee they ſtand like amarous twins, intwiſted hand in hand, Breaſt againſt breaſt, and that no ioy be miſſing, To heare diſcourſe, their lips keepe time with kiſsing, Ile not indurſt impatience grow ſtrong, And tho a prince, tel him he doth thee wrong. Do preethe do, this ſweetens al the reſt, But here would be the elixar of the ieſt, if whilſt we kept each other at a baie, A third should come, and beare the hare away. villanous poetrie, vnchriſtian like poetry, I am cozend of my golde by poetrie, robd of my charge by poetrie, made an apparent foole by poetrie vilanous Oke, accurſt Dorus, vnfortunat Dametas: whoſe there my daughter and with Zelmane? a wel-willer to Dorus, a fauorite to poetrie, and therfore enemie to Dametas, come hither mop ſo, a thy fathers bleſsing come not neare her: what Mopſa. yes, whoſe there? Dorus. Confuſion a Dorus, I am thy miſerable father, didſt not ſee Hippolita, no by my troth not I? Did ye not ſee Dorus. Poxe of dorus I am vndone madam and thou telſt mee not of Hipolita, Pox a Hippolita, I am a dumbe woman and you can tel me newes of Dorus I had rather ſee ten doruſes hangd then loſe Hippolita, I had rather ſee ten fathers damd then loſe my ſweet dorus, I shal run mad and I find not Hippolita. I ſhall run franticke and I find not Dorus. Whats heere, I ſhall run mad for Hipolita. And I ſhall run franticke and I find not Dorus, I hold my life we haue ſome comedy in hand, we ſhall haue a full ſceane, for here comes more actors. Aſſures I am a ſinner to God madam, that ſames he. What with a brace of wenches, I faith olde brocke, haue I tane you in the maner, is this the fruits of your lying alone? is this your court cuſtome with a wanion, lend mee thy knife, tho I had neither houſe, nor land to giue em, ile beſtow a whores make betwixt you and yet I will not ſcold neither. What a gudyere aile you mother, are you frampall, know you not your owne daughter.