Day, John · published 1633 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 520 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
Mopsa? O insufferable wrong, make thine own natural child thy Bawd? Here's an excellent pattern for wives to learn to scold by. What Mistress Amazon? ha you such a cocking spirit, honest women cannot keep their husbands at home for you? 'tis not for nothing now I see, that the Duchess looks yellow on you, but I'll tear that painted whores face of yours, (by this light) and yet I will not scold neither. Madam. I'll mad you with a vengeance. Touch not the Prince. On your allegiance forbear, what means this outrage, cannot our private walks be privileged from your wild contentions? How fares the Prince? How cheers my good Zelmane? Zelmane? No Gods my judge my liege ● am Manasses, miserable Manasses▪ your husband's Scribe-major Madam. Manasses? A fool. My man. And my dear h●●d●…a● sweet love, what makest th●● here? M●…y work for the Hangman, and the Duke be not the more merciful. There's some deceit in this: Dametas, where's Hippolita? ay, I, there's some knavery in this: Mopsa, where's Hippolita? Doubtless there some villainy in this: Mopsa, where's Hippolita? There's no plain dealing in this, Manasses, where's Dorus? Answer directly, where's Hippolita? Alas Madam I know not, whilst I almost melted myself with digging of gold in Diana's Oak, I left her in my wife's charge. And whilst I ran to Manasses, thinking to take my husband and his wife in the manner, I left Hippolita in my daughter's chamber. And whilst ● came to Adonis' chapel, to be tossed in my marriage blankets with Dorus, I left my little dog Pearl picking daisies. Who sent you to Diana's Oak to dig gold? Who sent you to take your husband in Manasses house? Dorus. Who sent you to Adonis' Chapel? Dorus. And who turned you into this shape? They that I fear have made Gulls of us all, Zelmane and Dorus. We are all simply gulled, and see where the Son scarce half ready, skips from his Eastern bed, smiling at our gullery. Come where's this lusty wit-master? The Keeper of this Love-lotterie. This gallant juventus of fourscore, that like my Lady of the Lake, displays against all comers. May a couple of plaine-witted Princes have a sight of your prizes? Where be these Ladies, ha? ha your wits had such a skir mishing, that the two Maids have lost their heads in the conflict? Heads? I and bodies too my Lord, and all at one shot, and which is worse, our wits are so scattered with the terrible blow, that, to be plain, we are scarce our own men again. Then you had some knocking. So it appears by the story my Lord. How say you my Lady, what Owl sings out of that Ivy-bush? Was your wit Knighted in this last action? I am not such a fool, I love my Lord, I am no Knight, I am Manasses, they made a plain fool. The only wear, for the guarded fool is out of request: but faith my Liege, how did your opposites behave themselves, did they win the wenches fair at the point?
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)
Mopſa? O inſufferable wrong, make thine owne naturall child thy Bawd? Here's an excellent patterne for wives to learne to ſcold by. What Miſtreſſe Amazon? ha you ſuch a cocking ſpirit, honeſt women cannot keep their husbands at home for you? tis not for nothing now I ſee, that the Dutcheſſe lookes yellow on you, but Ile teare that painted whores face of yours, (by this light) and yet I will not ſcold neither. Madam. Ile mad you with a vengeance. Touch not the Prince. On your allegeance forbeare, what means this outrage, cannot our private walkes be priviledg'd from your wild contentions? How fares the Prince? How cheeres my good Zelmane? Zelmane? No Gods my judge my iege am Manaſſes, miſerable Manaſſes▪ your husbands Scribe-major Madam. Manaſſes? A foole. My mn. And my deare hda ſweet love, what makeſt th here? My worke for the Hang-man, and the Duke bee not the more mercifull. There's ſome deceipt in this: Dametas, where's Hippolita? I, I, there's ſome knavery in this: Mopſa, where's Hippolita? Doubtles ther ſome villany in this: Mopſa, wher's Hipolita? There's no plaine dealing in this, Manaſſes, where's Dorus? Anſwer directly, where's Hippolita? Alas Madam I know not, whil'ſt I almoſt meled my ſelfe with digging of gold in Diana's Oke, I left her in my wives charge. And whil'ſt I ran to Manaſſes, thinking to take my husband and his wife in the manner, I left Hippolita in my daughters chamber. And whil'ſt came to Adonis chappel, to be toſt in my mariage blankets with Dorus, I left my litle dog Pearle picking dazies. Who ſent you to Diana's Oake to dig gold? Who ſent you to take your husband in Manaſſes houſe? Dorus. Who ſent you to Adonis Chappell? Dorus. And who turn'd you into this ſhape? They that I feare have made Gulls of us all, Zelmane and Dorus. We are all ſimply gulld, and ſee where the Sn ſcarce halfe ready, skips from his Eaſterne bed, ſmiling at our gullery. Come where's this luſty wit-maſter? The Keeper of this Love-lotterie. This gallant Iuventus of foureſcore, that like my Ladie of the Lake, diſplayes againſt all commers. May a couple of plaine-witted Princes have a ſight of your prizes? Where be theſe Ladies, ha? ha your wits had ſuch a skir miſhing, that the two Maids have loſt their heads in the conflict? Heads? I and bodies too my Lord, and all at one ſhot, and which is worſe, our wits are ſo ſcattered with the terrible blow, that, to be plaine, we are ſcarce our owne men againe. Then you had ſome knocking. So it appeares by the ſtorie my Lord. How ſay you my Lady, what Oule ſings out of that Ivy-buſh? VVas your wit Knighted in this laſt action? I am not ſuch a foole, I love my Lord, I am no Knight, I am Manaſſes, they made a plaine foole. The onely weare, for the guarded foole is out of requeſt: but faith my Liege, how did your oppoſites behave themſelves, did they winne the wenches faire at the point?