Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
I do see The old 〈◊〉, Virtue, was not lost, Nor the Drug, Money, used to make your compound. There is a strange Nobility, i'your eye; This lip, that chin. Me thinks you do resemble One o'the Austrian Princes. Very like, Her Father was an Irish Costermonger. The house of Valois, just, had such a Nose; And such a Forehead, yet, the Medici Of Florent boast. Troth, and I have been likened To all these Princes. I'll be sworn, I heard it. I know not, how; It is not any one, Butee'n the very choice of all their features. I'll in, and laugh. A certain touch, or air, That 〈◊〉 a divinity, beyond An earthly beauty. O, you play the Courtier. Good Lady gi'me leave. In faith, I may not, To mock me, Sir. To burn in'is sweet flame: The Phoe●x never knew a nobler death. Nay, now you court, the Courtier, and destroy What you would build. This Art Sir, i'your words Calls your whole faith in question By my soul.— Na● Oaths are made o'the same air, Sir. Nature Never bestowed upon mortality, A more unblamed, a more harmonious feature: She played the Stepdame in all faces, else. Sweet Madam, le' me be particular. Particular, Sir? I pray you know your distance. In no ill sense, sweet Lady, but to ask How your fair Graces pass the hours? I see Ye are lodged, here, i'the house of a rare man, An excellent Artist; But, what's that to you? Yes, Sir. I study here the Mathematiques, And distillation. O, I cry your pardon. he's a Divine Instructor, can extract The souls of all things, by his art, call all The virtues, and the miracles of the Sun, Into a temperate furnace: teach dull Nature What her own forces are. A man, the Emperor Has courted, above Kelley: sent his medals, And chains, t'invite him. ay, and for his Physic, Sir. Above the art of Aesculapius, That drew the envy of the Thunderer. I know all this, and more. Troth, I am taken, Sir, Whole, with these studies, that contemplate Nature: It is a noble Humour. But, this form Was not intended to so dark a use. Had you been crooked, foul, of some course mould, A Cloister, had done well: but, such a feature That might stand up the Glory of a Kingdom To live recluse? is a mere solecism, Though in a Nunnery. It must not be. I muse, my Lord your Brother will permit it: You should spend half my Land first, were I he. Does not this Diamant better, on my finger, Then i'the quarry? Yes. Why you are like it. You were created, Lady, for light. Hear, You shall wear it; take it, the first pledge Of what I speak: to bind you, to believe me. In chains of Adamant? Yes, the strongest bands: And take a secret, too. Here, by your side, Doth stand, this hour, the happiest man, of Europe. You are contented, Sir? Nay, in true being: The envy of Princes, and the fear of States.
seed 43: T13 · seed 44: T16 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I doe see The old , Vertue, was not lost, Nor the Drug, Money, vs'd to make your compound. There is a strange Nobilitie, i'your eye; This lip, that chinne. Me thinkes you doe resemble One o'the Austrack Princes. Very like, Her Father was an Irish Coster-monger. The house of Valois, iust, had such a Nose; And such a Fore-head, yet, the Medic Of Floren boast. Troth, and I haue beene lik'ned To all these Princs. I'll be sworne, I heard it. I know not, how; It is not any one, Butee'n the very choise of all their features. I'll in, and laugh. A certaine touch, or ayre, That a diuitie, beyond An earthly beauty. O, you play the Courtier. Good Lady gi'me leaue. In faith, I may not, To mock me, Sir. To burne i'this sweet flame: The Phoex neuer knew a nobler death. Nay, now you court, the Courtier, and destroy What you would build. This Art Sir, i'your words Calls your whole faith in question By my soule.— Na Othes are made o'the same ayre, Sir. Nature Neuer bestow'd vpon mortalitie, A more vnblam'd, a more harmonious feature: She play'd the Step-dame in all faces, else. Sweet Madame, le' me be particular. Particular, Sir? I pray you know your distance. In no ill sense, sweet Lady, but to aske How your fayre Graces passe the howers? I see Yo' are lodg'd, here, i'the house of a rare man, An excellent Artist; But, what's that to you? Yes, Sir. I study here the Mthematiques, And distillation. O, I cry your pardon. H'is a Diuine Instructer, can extract The soules of all things, by his art, call all The vertues, and the miracles of the Sunne, Into a temperate fornace: teach dull Nature What her owne forces are. A man, the Emp'rour Has courted, aboue Kelley: sent his medalls, And chaines, t'invite him. I, and for his Physick, Sir. Aboue the art of Aesculapius, That drew the enuy of the Thunderer. I know all this, and more. Troth, I am taken, Sir, Whole, with these studies, that contemplate Nature: It is a noble Humor. But, this forme Was not entended to so darke a vse. Had you beene crooked, foule, of some course mould, A Cloyster, had done well: but, such a feature That might stand vp the Glory of a Kingdome To liue recluse? is a mere solaecisme, Though in a Nunnery. It must not be. I muse, my Lord your Brother will permit it: You should spend halfe my Land first, were I hee. Dos not this Diamant better, on my finger, Then i'the quarry? Yes. Why you are like it. You were created, Lady, for light. Heare, You shall weare it; take it, the first pledge Of what I speake: to binde you, to beleeue me. In chaines of Adamant? Yes, the strongest bands: And take a secret, too. Here, by your side, Doth stand, this hower, the happiest man, of Europe. You are contented, Sir? Nay, in true being: The enuy of Princes, and the feare of States.