Day, John · published 1608 · first performed or written 1604 [1604-1607] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels unassigned nearest T21 Cupid, Venus and the nymphs · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T21: cupid, venus, love, ceres, diana, fair, nymphs, goddess, bow, damon.
Close, cock, sure, be wise, They only thrive that best can temporize. A rare vault by this light, and never devised without the advice of a grand jury of Bawds, a word with your lips Tris. As god mend me Prince you smell bawdy. Since I came into thy company Win. And how is't Tris? fore-God a pretty lodging. And very fair hangings. Passing good workmanship, what story is this Tris? Why my Lord? the Poetical fiction of Venus kissing Adonis in the violet bed. Fore-god 'tis true, and mark where the Cuckoldly knave Vulcan stands sneaking behind the brake bush to watch 'em. A pretty conceit Iulio, dost see Vulcan with the horning parenthesis in his forehead! I hit indirectly upon the left pap at three passes for a hundred Crowns. Not for a hundred. Is't a match? 'tis done, where will you take your stand? Here, anywhere, heart has the Arras an ague, it trembles so? No, Vulcan's fearful. And with a fear it comes, have at the Cuckold. Oh! Hark, the Arras is in labour. Mass I heard something groan. I'll be the Midwife and help to deliver it. Sweet Prince. Hark Wench, I smell boar's grease. Will you but hear me? Now excuse what trick? She whispers to him. How? but a Picture? i'll try that presently, If you love me, disfigure it not, I esteem it only for the lively workmanship. Then let me have a sight on't. Upon condition you'll neither deface it with weapon, nor soil it with your breath— On my Virginities maidenhead we will not discover Lurdo behind the Arras. Heart a the Devil, your Uncle. O forbear, fore God passing good workman indeed. Mark but the glance of his eye. The hanging of his neither lip. The blush of his cheek. The curl of his hair. The pit of a chin. What a smooth hand a hath? Long fingers like a Lady. Not so much but a seal Ring. arms and all, viz a tame Gudgeon. And the fool swallows it rarely, & you mark him. Is the numb Ass insensible of Scoffs? I'll touch him nearer, yet mine eye deceives me, And this be not Count Lurdo's counterfeit. You may soon know that my Lord. As How? If it be his, a hath the Gout in his left foot, The very same, his shoe is cut and all, Farewell Tris, and yet i'll startle him a little better afore we leave him, fore-god 'tis so like him, I doubt, whether it be the shadow or his substance. A block. A shadow. A mere senseless stone. Then 'tis a counterfeit. An absolute counterfeit, what do you mean? Marry many Counterfeits walk in the likeness of good money, and so may this do, which to prevent i'll nail him to a post, for fear a pass currant on your lips in my absence, and so deceive me?
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)
Cloſe, cocke, ſure, be wiſe, They onely thrine that beſt can temporize. A rare vault by this light, and neuer deuiſ'd without the aduice of a grand Iurie of Bawdes, a word with your lips Tris. As god mend me Prince you ſmell bawdie. Since I came into thy company Win. And how iſt Tris? fore-God a prettie lodging. And verie faire hangings. Paſſing good workman-ſhip, what ſtorie is this Tris? Why my Lord? the Poeticall fiction of Ʋenus kiſſing Adonis in the violet bed. Fore-god tis true, and marke where the Cuckoldly knaue Vulcan ſtands ſneaking behinde the brake buſh to watch a▪m. A prettie conceit Iulio, dooſt ſee Vulcan with the horning parentheſis in his fore-head! I hit indirectly vpon the leaft pap at three paſſes for a hundred Crownes. Not for a hundred. Iſt a match? Tis done, where will you take your ſtand? Here, any where, hart has the Arras an ague, it trembles ſo? No, Vulcans fearefull. And with a feare it comes, haue at the Cuckkold. Oh! Harke, the Arras is in labour. Mas I heard ſomething groane. Ile be the Mid-wife and helpe to deliuer it. Sweet Prince. Harke Wench, I ſmell Bores greaſe. Will you but heare me? Now excuſe what tricke? She whiſpers to him. How? but a Picture? ile trie that preſently, If you loue me, diſfigure it not, I eſteeme it onely for the liuely workmanſhip. Then let me haue a ſight on't. Vpon condition youle neither deface it with weapon, nor ſoile it with your breath— On my Virginities maiden-head wee will not diſcouer Lurdo behinde the Arras. Hart a the Deuill, your Vncle. O forbeare, fore God paſſing good workman indeede. Marke but the glance of his eye. The hanging of his neither lip. The bluſh of his cheeke. The curle of his haire. The pit of a chin. What a ſmooth hand a hath? Long fingers like a Lady. Not ſo much but a ſeale Ring. Armes and all, viz a tame Gudgeon. And the foole ſwallowes it rarely, & you marke him. Is the numbe Aſſe inſenſible of Scoffes? Ile touch him neerer, yet mine eye deceiues me, And this be not Count Lurdoes counterfeit. You may ſoone know that my Lord. As How? If it be his, a hath the Gowte in his left foote, The verie ſame, his ſh oe is cut and all, Farwell Tris, and yet ile ſtartle him a little better afore we leaue him, fore-god tis ſo like him, I doubt, wether it be the ſhadow or his ſubſtance. A blocke. A ſhadow. A meere ſenceleſſe ſtone. Then tis a counterfeit. An abſolute counterfeit, what doe you meane? Marrie many Counterfeits walke in the likeneſſe of good mony, and ſo may this doe, which to preuent ile naile him to a poaſt, for feare a paſſe currant on your lips in my abſence, and ſo deceiue me?