Marston, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) (?) unassigned nearest T13 Knights, squires and ladies · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T13: knight, raph, lady, knights, george, master, squire, rafe, pray, god.
Is this my favour? am I crowned with scorn? Then thus I manumit my slaved condition. Celia but hear me execrate thy love. By heaven that once was conscious of my love By all that is that knows my all was thine I will pursue with detestation. Thawart without stretched vehemence of hate Thy wished Hymen: I will craze my brain But all discover all: thy hopes unite What rage so violent as love turned spite? Humbly complaining kissing the hands of your excellence your poor orators Randolfo and Andrea beseecheth forbidding of the dishonoured match of their Niece Celia Widow to their Brother— O 'twill do, 'twill do, it can not choose but do. What should one say what should one do now; umph If she do match with you same wandering knight she's but undone, her estimation, wealth— Nay sir her estimations mounted up She shall be Ladied and sweet Madamed now. Be Ladied ha, ha, O could she but recall The honoured Port of her deceased love; But think whose wife she was, God wot no knights But one (that title of) was even a Prince A Sultan Soliman: thrice was he made In dangerous arms Venice providetore. He was a Merchant, but so bounteous Valiant, wise, learned, all so absolute That naughts, was valued praiseful excellent But in it was he most praiseful excellent. O I shall near forget how he went clothed He would maintain't a base ill used fashion To bind a Merchant to the sullen habit Of precise black, chiefly in Venice state. Where merchants guilt the top And therefore should you have him pass the bridge Up the Rialto like a soldier (As still he stood a Potestate at sea) In a black beaver felt, ash colour plain A Florentine cloth of silver jerkin, sleeves White satin cut on tinsel, then long stock. French pains embroidered, goldsmith's work, O God! methinks I see him now how he would walk: With what a jolly presence he would pace Round the Rialto. Well he's soon forgot A straggling sir in his rich bed must sleep Which if I can not cross, I'll curse and weep. Shall I be plain as Truth, I love your Sister My education birth and wealth deserves her I have no cross, no rub to stop my suit But Lauardur's a knight, that strikes all mute. I there's the devil, she must be Ladied now. O ill nursed custom no sooner is the wealthy Merchant dead His wife left great in fair possessions But giddy rumor grasps it twixt his teeth And shakes it 'bout our ears. Then thither flock A rout of crazed fortunes whose cracked states Gape to be soldered up by the rich mass Of the deceased labores, and now and then The troop of I beseech and I protest And believe it sweet, is mixed with too or three Hopeful, well stocked, neat clothed Citizens
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)
Is this my fauor? am I crown'd with skorne? Then thus I manumit my slau'd condition. Celia but heare me execrate thy loue. By heauen that once was consious of my loue By all that is that knowes my all was thine I will perseu with detestation. Thawart without stretched vehemence of hate Thy wished Hymen: I will craze my braine But all disceauer all: thy hopes vnite What rage so violent as loue turn'd spight? Humbly complayning kissing the hands of your excelence your pore orators Randolfo and Andrea beseecheth forbidding of the dishonord match of their Neece Celia Widdow to their Brother— O twill do, twill do, it can not chuse but doe. What should one say what should one do now; vmph If she do match with you same wandring knight Shee's but vndone, her estimation, wealth — Nay sir her estimations mounted vp She shall be Ladi'd and sweete Madam'd now. Be Ladi'd ha, ha, O could she but recaule The honord Port of her deceased loue; But thinke whose wife she was, God wot no knights But one (that title of) was euen a Prince A Sultane Sollyman: thrice was he made In dangerous armes Venice prouidetore. He was a Marchant, but so bounteous Valiant, wise, learned, all so absolute That naughts, was valewed praisfull excellent But in it was he most praisfull excellent. O I shall nere forget how he went cloath'd He would maintaine't a base ill vs'd fashion To bind a Marchant to the sullen habit Of precise black, cheefly in Venice state. Where Marchants guilt the top And therefore should you haue him passe the bridge Vp the Rialto like a soldier (As still hee stood a Potestate at sea) In a black beuer felt, ash colour plaine A Florentine cloth of siluer Ierkin, sleeues White satten cut on tinsell, then long stocke. French paines imbroder'd, Gold-smithes worke, O God! Me thinkes I see him now how he would walke: With what a iolly presence he would pace Round the Rialto. Well hee's soone forgot A straggling sir in his rich bed must sleepe Which if I can not crosse▪ Ile curse and weepe. Shall I be plaine as Truth, I loue your Sister My education birth and wealth deserues her I haue no crosse, no rub to stop my sute But Lauardur's a knight, that strikes all mute. I ther's the diuill, she must be Ladi'd now. O ill nurs'd custome no soner is the wealthy Marchant dead His wife left great in faire possessions But giddie rumor graspes it twixt his teeth And shakes it bout our eares. Then thether flock A rout of crased fortunes whose crakt states Gape to be sodderd vp by the rich masse Of the deceased labores, and now and then The troupe of I beseech and I protest And beleeue it sweete, is mix'd with too or three Hopefull, well stockt, neat clothed Cytizens