Middleton, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.87 · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
I wonder what you mean, are not you she For whose infect persuasions I could scarce Kneel out my prayers, and had much ado In three hours reading, to untwist so much Of the black serpent, as you wound about me. 'tis unfruitful, held tedious to repeat what's past, I'm now your present Mother. Push, now 'tis too late, Bethink again, thou know'st not what thou sayst. No, deny advancement, treasure, the Duke's son. O see, I spoke those words, and now they poison me: What will the deed do then? Advancement, true: as high as shame can pitch, For Treasure; who ere knew a harlot rich? Or could build by the purchase of her sin, An hospital to keep their bastards in: The Duke's son, Oh when women are young Courtiers, they are sure to be old beggars, To know the miseries most harlots taste, Thou'dst wish thyself unborn, when thou art unchaste. O mother let me twine about your neck, And kiss you till my soul melt on your lips, I did but this to try you. O speak truth. Indeed I did not, for no tongue has force to alter me from honest If maidens would, men's words could have no power, A virgin honour is a crystal Tower. Which being weak is guarded with good spirits, Until she basely yields no ill inherits. O happy child! faith and thy birth hath saved me, 'mongst thousand daughters happiest of all others, Buy thou a glass for maids and I for mothers. So, so, he leans well, take heed you wake him not brother I warrant you my life for yours. That's a good lay, for I must kill myself? Brother that's I: that sits for me: do you mark it, And I must stand ready here to make away myself yonder— I must sit to be killed, and stand to kill myself, I could vary it not so little as thrice over again, 'tas some eight returns like Michaelmas Term. That's enough a conscience. But sirrah does the Duke's son come single? No, there's the hell on't, his faith's too feeble to go alone? he brings flesh-flies after him, that will buzz against supper time, and hum for his coming out. Ah the fly-flop of vengeance beat 'em to pieces? here was the sweetest occasion, the fittest hour, to have made my revenge familiar with him, show him the body of the Duke his father, and how quaintly he died like a Politician in hugger-mugger, made no man acquainted with it, and in Catastrophe slain him over his father's breast, and oh I'm mad to lose such a sweet opportunity. Nay push, prithee be content! there's no remedy present, may not hereafter times open in as fair faces as this. They may if they can paint so well? Come, now to avoid all suspicion, let's forsake this room, and be going to meet the Duke's son.
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)
I wonder what you meane, are not you she For whose infect perswasions I could scarce Kneele out my prayers, and had much adoo In three houres reading, to vntwist so much Of the black serpent, as you wound about me. Tis vnfruitfull, held tedious to repeate whats past, Ime now your present Mother. Push, now 'tis too late, Bethinke agen, thou knowst not what thou sayst. No, deny aduancement, treasure, the Dukes sonne. O see, I spoke those words, and now they poyson me: What will the deed do then? Aduancement, true: as high as shame can pitch, For Treasure; who ere knew a harlot rich? Or could build by the purchase of her sinne, An hospitall to keepe their bastards in: The Dukes sonne, Oh when woemen are yong Courtiers, they are sure to be old beggars, To know the miseries most harlots taste, Thoudst wish thy selfe vnborne, when thou art vnchast. O mother let me twine about your necke, And kisse you till my soule melt on your lips, I did but this to trie you. O speake truth. Indeed I did not, for no tong has force to alter me from honest If maydens would, mens words could haue no power, A vergin honor is a christall Tower. Which being weake is guarded with good spirits, Vntill she basely yeelds no ill inherits. O happy child! faith and thy birth hath saued me, Mongst thousand daughters happiest of all others, Buy thou a glasse for maides and I for mothers. So, so, he leanes well, take heede you wake him not brother I warant you my life for yours. Thats a good lay, for I must kill my selfe? Brother thats I: that sits for me: do you marke it, And I must stand ready here to make away my selfe yonder—I must sit to bee kild, and stand to kill my selfe, I could varry it not so little as thrice ouer agen, tas some eight returnes like Michelmas Tearme. Thats enow a conscience. But sirrah dos the Dukes sonne come single? No, there's the hell on't, his faith's too feeble to go alone? hee brings flesh-flies after him, that will buzze against supper time, and hum for his comming out. Ah the fly-flop of vengeance beate 'em to peeces? here was the sweetest occasion, the fittest houre, to haue made my reueng familiar with him, show him the body of the Duke his father, and how quaintly he died like a Polititian in huggermugger, made no man acquainted with it, and in Catastrophe slaine him ouer his fathers brest, and oh I'me mad to loose such a sweete opportunity. Nay push, pree-thee be content! there's no remedy present, may not hereafter times open in as faire faces as this. They may if they can paint so well? Come, now to auoide al suspition, lets forsake this roome, and be going to meete the Dukes sonne.