Field, Nathan · published 1612 · first performed or written 1609 [1609-1610] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queens Revels (Children of the Whitefriars) (?) · before the Court unassigned nearest T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions · 442 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
WHereas you write, my fortunes and my birth Made above yours, may be a real cause That I must leave you, know thou worthiest man, Thou hast a soul, whose plenteous wealth supplies All the lean wants blind Chance hath dealt to thee. Yet could I think, the Gods from all their store, Who ne'er knew indigence unto their will, Would (out of all their stock of Virtue left, Or out of all new graces they can make) Make such another piece as Scudmore is, Then might he justly fear; but otherwise, Sooner the Masculine Element of Fire, Shall flame his Pyramids down to the Earth; Sooner her Mountains shall swell up to Heaven; Or softest April showers quench fires in Hell; Sooner shall Stars from this Circumference, Drop like false fiery exhalation, Than I be false to vows made unto thee; In whom, ought ne'er a fault: I ne'er could see, But that you doubted once my constancy. If (what I feel) I could express in words, Methinks I could speak joy enough to men, To banish sadness from all love, forever: Oh thou that reconcil'st the faults of all That frothy sex, and in thy single self Confin'st, nay haste engrossed Virtue enough To frame a spacious world of virtuous women; Hadst thou been the Beginning of thy sex. I think the Devil in the serpent's skin, Had wanted Cunning to o'ercome thy goodness, And all had lived and died in Innocency The white Original Creation. whose's there? Come in. What, up already Scudmore, near a Wench with thee? Not thy Laundress? Good-morrow my dear Nevill. What's this? A Letter; Sure it is not so, A Letter written to Hieronimo! By Heaven you must excuse me; Come, I know You will not wrong my friendship and your manners to tempt me so. Not for the world my friend, Farewell, Good-morrow. Nay Sir, Neither must you Depart in anger from this friendly hand: I swear, I love you better than all men, Equally with all Virtue in the world: Yet this would be a Key to lead you to A prize of that importance. Worthy friend, I leave you not in anger: What d'ye mean? Nor am I of that inquisitive Nature framed, To thirst to know your private businesses: Why, they concern not me; If they be ill And dangerous, 'twould grieve me much to know 'em. If good; they be so, though I know 'em not: Nor would I do your love so gross a wrong, To Covet, to participate affairs Of that near touch, which your assured love Doth think not fit, or dares not trust me with.
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)
WHereas you write, my fortunes and my birth Made aboue yours, may be a reall cause That I must leaue you, know thou worthiest man, Thou hast a soule, whose plenteous wealth supplies All the leane wants blinde Chance hath dealt to thee. Yet could I thinke, the Goddes from all their store, Who ne're knew indigence vnto their will, Would (out of all their stocke of Vertue left, Or out of all new graces they can make) Make such another peece as Scudmore is, Then might he iustly feare; but otherwise, Sooner the Masculine Element of Fire, Shall flame his Pyramids downe to the Earth; Sooner her Mountaines shall swell vp to Heauen; Or softest Aprill showers quench fires in Hell; Sooner shall Starres from this Circumference, Drop like false fierie exhalation, Then I be false to vowes made vnto thee; In whom, outh ne're a fault: I ne're could see, But that you doubted once my constancie. If (what I feele) I could expresse in words, Methinkes I could speake ioy enough to men, To banish sadnesse from all loue, foreuer: Oh thou that reconcil'st the faults of all That froathy sex, and in thy single selfe Confin'st, nay hast engrost Vertue enough To frame a spacious world of vertuous women; Hadst thou bin the Beginning of thy sex. I thinke the Deuill in the Serpents skin, Had wanted Cunning to orecome thy goodnesse, And all had liu'd and dy'de in Innocency The white Originall Creation. Whose there? Come in. What, vp already Scudmore, neare a Wench with thee? Not thy Laundresse? Good-morrow my deare Neuill. What's this? A Letter; Sure it is not so, A Letter written to Hieronimo! By Heauen you must excuse me; Come, I know You will not wrong my friendship and your manners to tempt me so. Not for the world my friend, Farewell, Good-morrow. Nay Sir, Neither must you Depart in anger from this friendly hand: I sweare, I loue you better then all men, Equally with all Vertue in the world: Yet this would be a Key to lead you to A prize of that importance. Worthy friend, I leaue you not in anger: What de'e meane? Nor am I of that inquisitiue Nature fram'd, To thirst to know your priuate businesses: Why, they concerne not me; If they be ill And dangerous, t'would greeue me much to know em. If good; they be so, though I know em not: Nor would I do your loue so grosse a wrong, To Couet, to participate affaires Of that neere touch, which your assured loue Doth rhinke not fit, or dares not trust me with.