Middleton, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.79 · 468 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
And then our sister full of hire, and baseness. There had been boiling led again, The Duke's sons great Concubine: A drab of State, a cloth a silver slut, To have her train borne up, and her soul trail i'th' dirt; great. To be miserably great, rich to be eternally wretched. O common madness: Ask but the thrivingst harlot in cold blood, she'd give the world to make her honour good, Perhaps you'll say but only toth' Duke's son, In private; why, she first begins with one, Who afterward to thousand proves a whore: Break Ice in one place, it will crack in more. Most certainly applied? Oh Brother, you forget our business. And well remembered, joy's a subtle elf, I think man's happiest, when he forgets himself: Farewell once dried, now holy-watered Mead, Our hearts wear Feathers, that before wore Lead. I'll give you this, that one I never knew Plead better, for, and 'gainst the Devil, than you. You make me proud on't. Commend us in all virtue to our Sister. I for the love of heaven, to that true maid. With my best words. Why that was motherly said. I wonder now what fury did transport me? I feel good thoughts begin to settle in me. Oh with what forehead can I look on her? Whose honour I've so impiously beset, And here she comes, Now mother, you have wrought with me so strongly, That what for my advancement, as to calm The trouble of your tongue: I am content. Content, to what? To do as you have wished me, To prostitute my breast to the Duke's son: And put myself to common Usury. I hope you will not so. Hope you I will not? That's not the hope you look to be saved in. Truth but it is. Do not deceive yourself, I am, as you e'en out of Marble wrought, What would you now, are ye not pleased yet with me, You shall not wish me to be more lascivious Than I intend to be. Strike not me cold, How often have you charged me on your blessing To be a cursed woman— when you knew, Your blessing had no force to make me lewd, You laid your curse upon me, that did more, The mother's curse is heavy, where that fights, Sons set in storm, and daughters lose their lights? Good child, dear maid, if there be any spark Of heavenly intellectual fire within thee, oh let my breath, Revive it to a flame: Put not all out, with woman's wilful follies, I am recovered of that foul disease That haunts too many mothers, kind forgive me, Make me not sick in health?— if then My words prevailed when they were wickedness, How much more now when they are just and good?
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And then our sister full of hire, and bassenesse. There had beene boyling lead agen, The dukes sonnes great Concubine: A drab of State, a cloath a siluer slut, To haue her traine borne vp, and her soule traile i'th durt; great. To be miserably great, rich to be eternally wretched. O common madnesse: Aske but the thriuingst harlot in cold bloud, Sheed giue the world to make her honour good, Perhaps youle say but onely to'th Dukes sonne, In priuate; why, shee first begins with one, Who afterward to thousand prooues a whore: Breake Ice in one place, it will crack in more. Most certainly applyed? Oh Brother, you forget our businesse. And well remembred, ioye's a subtill elfe, I thinke man's happiest, when he forgets himselfe: Farewell once dryed, now holy-watred Meade, Our hearts weare Feathers, that before wore Lead. Ile giue you this, that one I neuer knew Plead better, for, and gainst the Diuill, then you. You make me proud ont. Commend vs in all vertue to our Sister. I for the loue of heauen, to that true maide. With my best words. Why that was motherly sayd. I wonder now what fury did transport me? I feele good thoughts begin to settle in me. Oh with what fore-head can I looke on her? Whose honor I'ue so impiouslie beset, And here shee comes, Now mother, you haue wrought with me so strongly, That what for my aduancement, as to calme The trouble of your tongue: I am content. Content, to what? To do as you haue wisht me, To prostitute my brest to the Dukes sonne: And put my selfe to common Vsury. I hope you will not so. Hope you I will not? That's not the hope you looke to be saued in. Truth but it is. Do not deceiue your selfe, I am, as you een out of Marble wrought, What would you now, are yee not pleasde yet with me, You shall not wish me to be more lasciuious Then I intend to be. Strike not me cold, How often haue you chargd me on your blessing To be a cursed woman—when you knew, Your blessing had no force to make me lewd, You laide your cursse vpon me, that did more, The mothers curse is heauy, where that fights, Sonnes set in storme, and daughters loose their lights? Good childe, deare maide, if there be any sparke Of heauenly intellectuall fire within thee, oh let my breath, Reuiue it to a flame: Put not all out, with womans wilfull follyes, I am recouerd of that foule disease That haunts too many mothers, kinde forgiue me, Make me not sick in health?—if then My words preuailde when they were wickednesse, How much more now when they are iust and good?