Marston, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) (?) T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.66 · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Cato grants that I am sure, for he was valiant, and honest, which an Epicure near was, and a coward never will be. Then Cato holds a distinct notion, Of individual actions after death: This being argued his resolve maintains, A true magnanimous spirit should give up dirt To dirt, and with his own flesh dead his flesh, Fore chance should force it crouch unto his foe: To kill one's self some I, some hold it no, O these are points would entice away ones soul: To breaks indenture of base prentisage, And run away from's body in swift thoughts To melt in contemplation luscious sweets, Now my voluptuous Duke i'll feed thy sense, Worth his creation: give me audience. My liege my royal liege, hear, hear my suit. Now may thy breath near smell sweet as long as thy lungs can pant for breaking my speech, thou Muscovite, thou stinking perfumer. Is not this Albano our some times Courtier? No troth but Francisco your always perfumer. Lorenzo Celso our brave Venice Duke, Albano Belletzo, thy Merchant, thy soldier, thy Courtier, thy slave, thy anything, thy What thou wilt, kisseth thy noble blood, do me right or else I am canonised a cuckold, canonised a cuckold, I am abused, I am abused, my wife's abused, my clothes abused, my shape, my house my all abused, I am sworn out of myself, beated out of myself baffled, jeered at, laughed at, barred my own house, debarred my own wife, whilst others swill my wines, gormandize my meat, meat, kiss my wife, O gods, O gods, O gods, O gods, O gods. Who is't? who is't? Come sweet this is your waggery i'faith, as if you knew him not. Yes I fear I do too well, would I could slide away invisible. Assured this is he. My worthy liege the jest comes only thus. Now to stop and cross it with mere like deceit: All being known the French knight hath disguised, A fiddler like Albano too, to fright the perfumer, this is all. Art sure 'tis true. 'tis confessed 'tis right. It is right, 'tis true, right, I am a fiddler, a fiddler, a fiddler uds fut a fiddler; I'll not believe thee thou art a woman, and 'tis known veritas non querit angulos, truth seeks not to lurk under farthingales, veritas non querit angulos, a fiddler? Worthy sir pardon, and permit me first to confess yourself, your deputation dead hath made my love live, to offend you. ay, mock on, scoff on, flout on, do do do. Troth sir in serious. I good, good, come hither Celia, Burst breast, rive heart asunder? Celia Why startest thou back: seest thou this Celia O me how often with lascivious touch thy lip, Hath kissed this mark? how oft this much wronged breast Hath borne the gentle weight of thy soft cheek? O me my dearest Lord, my sweet, sweet love.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Cato grantes that I am sure, for he was valiant, and honest, which an Epicure nere was, and a coward neuer will be. Then Cato holdes a distinct notion, Of indiuiduall actions after death: This being argu'd his resolue maintaines, A true magnanimous spirit should giue vp durt To durt, and with his owne flesh dead his flesh, Fore chance should force it crouch vnto his foe: To kill ones selfe some I, some hold it no, O these are pointes would intice away ones soule: To breakes indenture of base prentisage, And run away from's boddy in swift thoughts To melt in contemplation lushious sweetes, Now my voluptious Duke ile feede thy scence, Worth his creation: giue me audience. My leidge my royall leidge, heare, heare my sute. Now may thy breath nere smell sweete as long as thy loungs can pant for breaking my speech, thou Muscouite, thou stinking perfumer. Is not this Albano our some times Courtier? No troth but Francisco your alwaies perfumer. Lorenzo Celso our braue Venice Duke, Albano Belletzo, thy Merchant, thy soldier, thy Courtier, thy slaue, thy any-thing, thy What thou wilt, kisseth thy noble bloud, doe mee right or els I am canonized a cuckold, canonized a cuckold, I am abus'd, I am abusd, my wifes abusd, my cloathes abusd, my shape, my house my all abusd, I am sworne out of my selfe, beated out of my selfe baffled, geird at, laught at, bard my owne house, debard my owne wife, whilst others swill my wines, gurmandize my meat, meat, kisse my wife, O gods, O gods, O gods, O gods, O gods. Who ist? who ist? Come sweete this is your waggery yfaith, as if you knew him not. Yes I feare I do too wel, would I could slide away invisible. Assured this is hee. My worthy leidge the iest comes only thus. Now to stop and crosse it with mere like deceite: All being knowne the French knight hath disguisd, A fiddler like Albano too, to fright the perfumer, this is all. Art sure tis true. Tis confest tis right. It is right, tis true, right, I am a fiddler, a fiddler, a fidler vds fut a fidler; Ile not beleeue thee thou art a woman, and tis knowne veritas non querit angulos, truth seekes not to lurke vnder varthingalls, veritas non querit angulos, a fidler? Worthy sir pardon, and permit me first to confesse your selfe, your deputation dead hath made my loue liue, to offend you. I, mock on, skoffe on, flout on, do do do. Troth sir in serious. I good, good, come hether Celia, Burst breast, riue heart a sunder? Celia Why startest thou back: seest thou this Celia O me how often with lasciuious touch thy lip, Hath kissd this mark? how oft this much wrong'd breast Hath borne the gentle waight of thy soft cheeke? O me my deerest Lord, my sweete, sweete loue.