Jonson, Ben · published 1609 · first performed or written 1597 [1597-1598; interpolations later] (Annals) comedy · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 472 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
No by my troth, but I have such an odd pretty apprehension of his humour methinks: that I am e'en tickled with the conceit of it. O he is a fine man. And methinks another may be as fine as he. O Angelio, do you think I do urge any comparison against you? no, I am not so ill bred, as to be a depraver of your worthiness: believe me, if I had not some hope of your abiding with us, I should never desire to go out of black whilst I lived: but learn to speak i'the nose, and turn puritan presently. I thank you Lady: I know you can flout. Come do you take it so? i'faith you wrong me. ay, but madam, Thus to disclaim in all the effects of pleasure, May make your sadness seem to much affected, And then the proper grace of it is lost. Indeed sir, if I did put on this sadness Only abroad, and in Society, And were in private merry; and quick humoured; Then might it seem affected and abhorred: But as my looks appear, such is my spirit, Drowned up with confluence of grief, and melancholy, That like to rivers run through all my veins, Quenching the pride and fervour of my blood. My honourable Lord? no more. There is the honour of my blood engaged, For your sons safety. signor, blame me not, For tending his security so much, He is mine only son, and that word only, Hath with his strong, and repercussive sound, Stroke my heart cold, and given it a deep wound. Why but stay, I beseech you, had your Lordship ever any more sons than this. Why have not you known it Maximilian? Let my Sword fail me then. I had one other younger borne than this, By twice so many hours as would fill The circle of a year, his name Camillo, Whom in that black, and fearful night I lost, ('tis now a nineteen years agone at least, And yet the memory of it fits as fresh Within my brain as 'twere but yesterday) It was that night wherein the great Chamont, The general for France surprised Vicenza, methinks the horror of that clamorous shout His soldiers gave when they attained the wall, Yet tingles in mine ear, methinks I see With what amazed looks, distracted thoughts, And minds confused, we, that were citizens, Confronted one another: every street Was filled with bitter self tormenting cries, And happy was that foot, that first could press, The flowery champaign, bordering on Verona Here I (employed about my dear wives safety) Whose soul is now in peace) lost my Camillo. Who sure was murdered by the barbarous Soldiers, Or else I should have heard— my heart is great. Sorrow is faint? and passion makes me sweat.
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)
No by my troth, but I haue ſuch an odde prety apprehenſion of his humour me thinks: that I am eene tickled with the conceite of it. O he is a fine man. And me thinks another may be as fine as he. O Angelio, do you thinke I do vrge any compariſon againſt you? no, I am not ſo ill bred, as to be a deprauer of your worthines: beleeue me, if I had not ſome hope of your abiding with vs, I ſhould neuer deſire to go out of black whilſt I liued: but learne to ſpeake i'the noſe, and turne puritan preſently. I thanke you Lady: I know you can flout. Come doe you take it ſo? I faith you wrong me. I, but Maddame, Thus to diſclaime in all the effects of pleaſure, May make your ſadneſſe ſeeme to much affected, And then the proper grace of it is loſt. Indeed ſir, if I did put on this ſadneſſe Onely abroad, and in Society, And were in priuate merry; and quick humor'd; Then might it ſeeme affected and abhord: But as my lookes appeare, ſuch is my ſpirit, Drown'd vp with confluence of griefe, and melancholy, That like to riuers run through all my vaines, Quenching the pride and feruour of my bloud. My honorable Lord? no more. There is the honour of my bloud ingag'd, For your ſonnes ſafety. Signior, blame me not, For tending his ſecurity ſo much, He is mine onely ſonne, and that word onely, Hath with his ſtrong, and reprecuſſiue ſound, Stroke my heart cold, and giuen it a deepe wound. Why but ſtay, I beſeech you, had your Lordſhip euer any more ſonnes then this. Why haue not you knowen it Maximilian? Let my Sword faile me then. I had one other yonger borne then this, By twiſe ſo many how ers as would fill The circle of a yeare, his name Camillo, Whome in that blacke, and fearfull night I loſt, (Tis now a nineteene yeares agone at leaſt, And yet the memory of it fits as freſh Within my braine as twere but yeſterday) It was that night wherein the great Chamont, The generall for France ſurpriſed Vicenza, Me thinks the horrour of that clamorous ſhout His ſouldiers gaue 'when they attaind the wall, Yet tingles in mine eare, me thinkes I ſee With what amazed lookes, diſtracted thoughts, And minds confuſ'd, we, that were citizens, Confronted one another: euery ſtreet Was fild with bitter ſelfe tormenting cries, And happy was that foote, that firſt could preſſe, The flowry champaigne, bordering on Verona Heere I (imploy'd about my deare wiues ſafety) Whoſe ſoule is now in peace) loſt my Camillo. Who ſure was murdered by the barbarous Souldiers, Or elſe I ſhould haue heard—my heart is great. Sorrow is faint? and paſſion makes me ſweat.