Marston, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) (?) unassigned nearest T45 Widows, wooing and remarriage · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T45: widow, widows, hoord, master, gentlemen, wife, randalls, wit, mistress, married.
But as we see the son of a Divine Seldom proves Preacher, or a lawyers son Rarely a pleader, (for they strive to Run A various fortune from their Ancestors) So 'tis right geason for the merchants widow, To be the Citizens loved second spouse. Variety of objects please us still One dish though near so cooked doth quickly fill. When diverse cates the palates sense delight And with fresh fast creates new appetite Therefore my widow she cashiers the blacks For swears turns of the furred-gowns, and surveys The bead-roll of her suitors thinks and thinks, And straight her questing thoughts springs up a knight, Have after then a main the game's a foot The match clapped up, tut 'tis the knight must do't. Then must my pretty peat be fanned and Coached. Muffed Masked and Ladied, with my more than most sweet Madam, But how long doth this perfume of sweet Madam last? Faith 'tis but a wash sent. My Riotous sir Begins to crack jests on his Lady's front, Touches her new stamped gentry, takes a glut Keeps out, abandons home, and spends and spends Till stock be melted, than sir takes up here Takes up there, till nowhere ought is left. Then for the Low-countries, hay for the French And so (to make up rhyme) god night sweet wench. By blessedness we'll stop this fatal lot. But how: but how? Why stay let's think a plot. Was not Albano Beletzo honourable rich? Not peered in Venice, for birth, fortune love. 'tis scarce three months since fortune gave him dead. In the black fight in the Venetian gulf. You hold a truth. Now what a giglet is this Celia? To match so sudden so unworthily? Why she might have— Who might not Celia have? The passionate enamoured Iacomo. The passionate enamoured Iacomo. Of honoured lineage, and not meanly rich. The sprightful Piso, the great Florentine, Aurelius Tuber. And to leave these all, And wed a wandering Knight Sir Laverdure, A God knows what? Brother she shall not, shall our blood be mongreled with the corruption of a straggling French? Saint Mark she shall not, She shall not fathers by; our brother souls. Good day. Wish me good day? it stands in idle stead, My Celia's lost, all my good days are dead. Hark Lorenzo Celso the loose Venice Duke, Is going to bed, 'tis now a forward morn 'fore he take rest. O strange transformed sight, When Princes make night day the day there night. Come we'll petition him, Away away, He scorns all plaints makes jest of serious suit. Fall out as't 'twill I am resolved to do't. Saint Mark Saint Mark. Did not I tell you, lose no more rich time, What can one get but mire from a swine? Let's work a cross, we'll fame it all about The French man's gelded. O that's absolute. Fie on't away, she knows to well 'tis false, I fear it to well. No no I have't will strongly do't, Who knows Francisco Soranza?
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 as we see the sonne of a Diuine Seldome proues Preacher, or a Lawiers sonne Rarely a pleader, (for they striue to Run A various fortune from their Auncestors) So tis right geason for the Marchantes widow, To be the Cytizens lou'd second spouse. Variety of obiectes please vs still One dish though nere so cookt doth quickly fill. When diuerse cates the pallats scence delight And with fresh fast creates new appetite Therefore my widdow she casheers the blackes For sweares turnes of the furd-gownes, and suruaies The bedrowle of her sutors thinkes and thinkes, And straight her questing thoughts springs vp a knight, Haue after then a maine the gam's a foote The match clapt vp, tut tis the knight must do't. Then must my pretty peate be Fan'd and Coach'd. Muffd Mask'd and Ladied, with my more then most sweete Madam, But how long doth this perfume of sweete Madam last? Faith tis but a wash sent. My Riotous sir Beginnes to crack Gestes on his Ladies front, Touches her new stampt gentry, takes a glut Keepes out, abandons home, and spends and spends Till stock be melted, then sir takes vp heere Takes vp there, till no where ought is left. Then for the Low-countries, hay for the French And so (to make vp rime) god night sweete wench. By blessednesse weele stop this fatall lot. But how▪ but how? Why stay lets thinke a plot. Was not Albano Beletzo honorable rich? Not peer'd in Venice, for birth, fortune loue. Tis skarce three monthes since fortune gaue him dead. In the blacke fight in the Venetian gulfe. You hold a truth. Now what a gigglet is this Celia? To match so suddaine so vnworthely? Why she might haue — Who might not Celia haue? The passionate mamord Iacomo. The passionate mamord Iacomo. Of honord linage, and not meanly rich. The sprightfull Piso, the great Florentine, Aurelius Tuber. And to leaue these all, And wed a wandring Knight Sir Lauerdure, A God knowes what? Brother she shall not, shal our blood be moungreld with the corruption of a stragling French? Saint Marke she shall not, She shall not fathers by; our brother soules. Good day. Wish me good day? it stands in idle stead, My Celias lost, all my good daies are dead. Harke Lorenzo Celso the loose Venice Duke, Is going to bed▪ tis now a forward morne Fore he take rest. O strange transformed sight, When Princes make night day the day there night. Come weele peticion him, Away away, He skornes all plaints makes iest of serious sute. Fall out as't twill I am resolued to do't. Saint Marke Saint Marke. Did not I tell you, loose no more rich time, What can one get but mier from a swine? Lets worke a crosse, weele fame it all aboute The French mans gelded. O thats absolute. Fie ont away, she knowes to well tis false, I feare it to well. No no I hau't will strongly doe't, Who knowes Francisco Soranza?