Marston, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) (?) unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 455 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
Where is the strumpet, where's the hot veined French, Lives not Albano, hath Celia so forgot, Albanos love, that she must forthwith wed, A runabout, a skipping Frenchman— Now you must grow in heat and stut. An odd phantasma, a beggar, a Sir, a who who who what you will, a straggling go go go gound, f f f f fut— Passing like him, passing like him, O 'twill strike all dead. I am ravished 'twill be peerless exquisite, Let him go out instantly. O not till twilight, mean time I'll prop up The tottering Rumor of Albanos scape. And safe arrival, it begins to spread, If this plot live Frenchman thy hopes are dead. And if it live strike of this little head. Can it be? is't possible? is't within the bounds of faith? O villainy. The clapper of Rumor strikes on both sides ringing out the French knight is in firm possession of my mistress your wife. Is't possible I should be dead so soon? In her affects, how long is't since our shipwreck? Faith I have little arithmetic in me, yet I remember the storm made me cast up perfectly the whole sum of all I had received, three days before I was liquored soundly my guts were rinsed for the heavens: I look as pale ever since as if I had ta'en the diet this spring. But how long is't since our shipwreck? Mary since we were hung by the heels on the batch of Sicily to make a jail delivery of the sea in our maws 'tis just three months: shall I speak like a Poet? Talk not of horns. O Celia how oft (When thou hast laid thy cheek upon my breast And with lascivious petulancy sewed. For Hymeneal dalliance marriage rights) O then how oft with passionate protests And zealous vows hast thou obliged thy love, In dateless bands unto Albanos breast? Then did I but mention second Marriage With what a bitter hate would she inveigh 'gainst retailed wedlocks. O would she lisp If you should die, (then would she slide a tear, And with a wanton languishment intwist Her hands) O God and you should die. Marry? Could I love life; my dear Albano dead Should any Prince possess his widows bed? And now see, see, I am but rumoured drowned. she'll make you Prince, your worship must be crowned O master you know the woman is the weaker creature, She must have a prop: the maid is the brittle metal Her head is quickly cracked: the wife is queasy stomached She must be fed with novelties; but then what's your widow, Custom is a second nature, I say no more but think you the rest.
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)
Where is the strumpet, where's the hot vain'd French, Liues not Albano, hath Celia so forgot, Albanos loue, that she must forth-with wed, A runne-about▪ a skipping French-man— Now you must grow in heate and stut. An odde phantasma, a beggar, a Sir, a who who who what you will, a straggling go go go gunds, f f f f fut— Passing like him, passing like him, O 'twill strike all dead. I am rauished 'twill be peerles exquisite, Let him go out instantly. O not till twy-light, meane time Ile prop vp The tottering Rumor of Albanos skape. And safe arriuall, it begins to spread, If this plot liue Frenchman thy hopes are dead. And if it liue strike of this little head. Can it be? ist possible? ist within the bounds of faith? O vilany. The clapper of Rumor strikes on both sides ringing out the French knight is in firme possessiō of my Misteris your wife. Ist possible I should be dead so soone? In her affectes, how long ist since our shipprack? Faith I haue little arithmatique in me, yet I remember the storme made mee cast vp perfectly the whole sum of all I had receiu'd, three daies before I was liquord soundly my guts were rinc'd for the heauens: I looke as pale euer since as if I had tane the diet this spring. But how long ist since our ship-wrack? Mary since wee were hung by the heeles on the batch of Cycily to make a iayle deliuery of the sea in our mawes tis iust three monthes: shall I speake like a Poet? Talke not of hornes. O Celia how oft (When thou hast lay'd thy cheeke vppon my breast And with laciuious petulancy sew'd. For Hymeneall dalliance marriage rightes) O then how oft with passionate protestes And zealous vowes hast thou oblig'd thy loue, In dateles bands vnto Albanos breast? Then did I but mention second Marriage With what a bitter hate would she inuaigh Gainst retaild wedlockes. O would she lispe If you should die, (then would she slide a teare, And with a wanton languishment in-twist Her hands) O God and you should die. Marry? Could I loue life; my deare Albano dead Should any Prince possesse his widdowes bed? And now see, see, I am but rumord drown'd. Sheele make you Prince, your worship must be crown'd O master you know the woman is the weaker creature, She must haue a prop: the maide is the brittle mettell Her head is quickly crackt: the wife is queasie stomackt She must be fed with nouelties; but then whats your widdowe, Custome is a second nature, I say no more but think you the rest.