Day, John · published 1608 · first performed or written 1604 [1604-1607] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
divine invention, O how I could hug, And like an amorous Lover court thy beauty, That crown'st me King of pleasures! were my brain Forged out of vulgar metal without fire, And sprightly motion, my big-swollen hopes, Had been stillborn, but when dejected minds, Out slept the golden pleasure of the night: My serious meditations have outwatched, The glorious tapers that attend the Moon: I turned my thoughts into a thousand shapes: Moulded the fashion of ten thousand plots, Liked and disliked so many, that my brain The mother of Invention grew barren, Almost past bearing, still my labouring thoughts Conceived a yet more strange and quaint Idea, Gave it proportion, and I brought it forth: And that blessed infant of Invention Beyond all hope hath my contentment won, And that's loves heaven I love a face more fair Than Cinthia's as hue that seems above compare, But hell, her husband with a jealous eye Ushers her steps, oh wedded slavery! This tender rose, whom artless marriage, Hath grafted on a nettle (testy age) Have I ungrafted, made himself untie The knot of wedlock: thanks sweet industry. And here 'a comes, that which most heaps my fame, His wit's well spoken of. This wit's a sprightly thing. For such as have't. It not alone doth bring, Public applause, but knowledge i'the law, Teacheth to speak in distance. How the daw Scours o'er his rusty phrases? honoured Count, How grows your plot? My thriving fortunes mount Above suppose, even to my heart's content: we are divorced. My hopes are prevalent. You know the cause on't, two sufficient men Swore her a harlot, and the partial Bench inspired by my good Angels (Angels wings Sweep a clear passage to the seat of Kings) Sealed our divorce. But doth her brother swallow This gross abuse? Abuse, away, away. They know me rich Horatio, chink, chink: Whilst this holds out, my cause shall never sink. See where 'a comes, his sad complexion wears, Griefs mourning livery, he is clothed in tears. Whence springs this sorrow? For my sister's shame, My sister, oh my sister, whose repute Hung like a Jewel on her sex's forehead. And what of her? she is, o no she was Pure as the Diamond, clear as crystal glass, But now, O hell, her credit is more foul, Then speckled scandal, or black murders soul. I cannot think it. But I know't too true, She was my wife and by her means, my head Was fairly tupped and you will buy a lantern: Bespeak my sconce, 'tis ready horned and all. Not yet, but I'll take order that it shall. And are ye parted? What a question's that? Shall I wear cracked rings, Diamonds with a flaw, I'll carry coals and you will, no horns, I know the law. Is this your grief? This is enough, to make Patience turn, she that was the pattern, To whose proportion all our courtly dames, Cut out their actions, she to fall: a sign— More will fall shortly. Her shame—
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)
DIuine inuention, O how I could hug, And like an amorous Louer court thy beauty, That crownſt me King of pleaſures! were my braine Fordg'dout of vulgar metall without fier, And ſprightly motion, my big-ſwolne hopes, Had bene ſtill-borne, but when deiected minds, Out ſlept the golden pleaſure of the night: My ſerious meditations haue out-watch'd, The glorious tapers that attend the Moone: I turnd my thoughts into a thouſand ſhapes: Moulded the faſhion of ten thouſand plots, Lik'd and diſlik'd ſo many, that my brayne The mother of Inuention grew barrayne, Almoſt paſt bearing, ſtill my laboring thoughts Conceiu'd a yet more ſtrange and quaint Idea, Gaue it proportion, and I brought it forth: And that bleſt infant of Inuention Beyond all hope hath my contentment woon, And that's Loues heauen I loue a face more faire Then Cinthe as hue that ſeems aboue compare, But hell, her husband with a iealous eye Vſhers her ſteps, oh wedded ſlauery! This tender roſe, whom artles marriage, Hath grafted on a nettle (teſty age) Haue I vngrafted, made himſelfe vntie The knot of wedlock: thanks ſweete induſtrie. And here a comes, that which moſt heaps my fame, His wit's well ſpoken of. This wit's a ſprightly thing▪ For ſuch as haue't. It not alone doth bring, Publique applauſe, but knowledge i'the law▪ Teacheth to ſpeake in diſtance. How the daw Scoures ore his ruſtie phraſes? honord Count, How growes your plot? My thriuing fortunes mount Aboue ſuppoſe, euen to my harts content: Wee are diuorc'd. My hopes are preualent. You know the cauſe on't, two ſufficient men Swore her a harlot, and the partiall Bench Inſpirde by my good Angels (Angels wings Sweepe a cleare paſſage to the ſeat of Kings) Seald our diuorce. But doth her brother ſwallow This groſſe abuſe? Abuſe, away, away. They know me rich Horatio, chinke, chinke: Whilſt this holds out▪ my cauſe ſhal neuer ſincke. See where a comes, his ſad complexion weares, Griefs mourning liuery, he is clothde in teares. Whence ſprings this ſorrow? For my ſiſters ſhame, My ſiſter, oh my ſiſter, whoſe repute Hung like a Jewell on her ſexes forehead. And what of her? Shee is, o no ſhe was Pure as the Diamond, cleere as chriſtall glaſſe, But now, O hell, her credit is more foule, Then ſpeckled ſcandall, or black murders ſoule. I cannot thinke it. But I know't too true, She was my wife and by her meanes, my head Was fay rely tupt and you will buy a Lanthorne: Beſpeake my ſconce, tis ready hornd and all. Not yet, but Ile take order that it ſhall. And are yee parted? What a queſtion's that? Shall I weare crackt rings, Diamonds with a flaw, Ile carry coles and you wil, no hornes, I know the law. Is this your griefe? This is inough, to make Patience tuneruſſin, ſhe that was the paterne, To whoſe proportion all our courtly dames, Cut out their actions, ſhe to falla ſigne— More will fall ſhortly. Her ſhame—