The White Devil (Vittoria Corombona) · chunk 28 of 49
Webster, John · published 1612 · first performed or written 1612 [Winter 1612-1613] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
I have drunk Lethe. Vittoria? My dearest happiness? Vittoria? What do you ail my Love? why do you weep? Yes, I now weep poniards, do you see. Are not those matchless eyes mine? I had rather. They were not matches. Is not this lip mine? Yes: thus to bite it off, rather than give it thee. Turn to my Lord, good sister. Hence you Pandar. Pandar! Am I the author of your sin? Yes: he's a base thief that a thief lets in. we're blown up, my Lord, Wilt thou hear me? Once to be jealous of thee is t' express That I will love thee everlastingly, And never more be jealous. O thou fool, Whose greatness hath by much o'ergrown thy wit! What dar'st thou do, that I not dare to suffer, Excepting to be still thy whore? for that; In the Sea's bottom sooner thou shalt make A bonfire. O, no oaths for God's sake. Will you hear me? Never. What a damned impostume is a woman's will? Can nothing break it? fie, fie, my Lord. Women are caught as you take Tortoises, She must be turned on her back. Sister, by this hand I am on your side. Come, come, you have wronged her. What a strange credulous man were you, my Lord, To think the Duke of Florence could love her? Will any Mercer take another's ware When once 't is toused and sullied? And, yet sister, How scurvily this frowardness becomes you? Young Leverets stand not long; and women's anger Should, like their flight, procure a little sport; A full cry for a quarter of an hour; And then be put to th' dead quat. Shall these eyes, Which have so long time dwelled upon your face, Be now put out? No cruel Landlady' i'th' world, Which lends forth groats to broom-men, & takes use for them, Would do't. Hand her, my Lord, and kiss her: be not like A ferret to let go your hold with blowing. Let us renew right hands. Hence. Never shall rage, or the forgetful wine, Make me commit like fault. Now you are i'th' way out, follow 't hard. be thou at peace with me; let all the world Threaten the Cannon. Mark his penitence. Best natures do commit the grossest faults, When they're given over to jealousy; as best wine Dying makes strongest vinegar. I'll tell you; The Sea's more rough and raging than calm rivers, But nor so sweet nor wholesome. A quiet woman Is a still water under a great bridge. A man may shoot her safely. O ye dissembling men! we sucked that, sister, from women's breasts, in our first infancy. To ad misery to misery. Sweetest. Am I not low enough? ay, ay, your good heart gathers like a snowball Now your affection's cold. uds'foot, it shall melt, To a heart again, or all the wine in Rome Shall run o'th' lees for't.
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)
I haue drunke Lethe. Uittoria? My dearest happinesse? Vittoria? What doe you aile my Loue? why doe you weepe? Yes, I now weepe poniardes, doe you see. Are not those matchlesse eies mine? I had rather. They were not matches. Is not this lip mine? Yes: thus to bite it off, rather than giu e it thee. Turne to my Lord, good sister. Hence you Pandar. Pandar! Am I the author of your sinne? Yes: Hee's a base theif that a theif lets in. Wee're blowne vp, my Lord, Wilt thou heare mee? Once to bee iealous of thee is t' expresse That I will loue thee euerlastingly, And neuer more bee iealous. O thou foole, Whose greatnesse hath by much oregrowne thy wit! What dar'st thou doe, that I not dare to suffer, Excepting to bee still thy whore? for that; In the seas bottome sooner thou shalt make A bonefire. O, no othes for gods sake. Will you heare mee? Neuer. What a damn'd impostume is a womans will? Can nothing breake it? fie, fie, my Lord. Women are caught as you take Tortoises, Shee must bee turn'd on her backe. Sister, by this hand I am on your side. Come, come, you haue wrong'd her. What a strange credulous man were you, my Lord, To thinke the Duke of Florence could loue her? Will any Mercer take an others ware When once 't is tows'd and sullied? And, yet sister, How scuruily this frowardnesse becomes you? Yong Leuerets stand not long; and womens anger Should, like their flight, procure a little sport; A full crie for a quarter of an hower; And then bee put to th' dead quat. Shall these eies, VVhich haue so long time dwelt vpon your face, Be now put out? No cruell Land-ladie 'ith' world, VVhich lend's forth grotes to broome-men, & takes vse for thē, VVould doe't. Hand her, my Lord, and kisse her: be not like A ferret to let go your hold with blowing. Let vs renew right handes. Hence. Neuer shall rage, or the forgetfull wine, Make mee commit like fault. Now you are ith' way out, follow 'thard. Bee thou at peace with mee; let all the world Threaten the Cannon. Marke his penitence. Best natures doe commit the grossest faultes, When they're giu'n ore to iealosie; as best wine Dying makes strongest vinneger. Ile tell you; The Sea's more rough and raging than calme riuers, But nor so sweet nor wholesome. A quiet woman Is a still water vnder a great bridge. A man may shoot her safely. O yee dissembling men! Wee suckt that, sister, from womens brestes, in our first infancie. To ad miserie to miserie. Sweetest. Am I not low enough? I, I, your good heart gathers like a snow-ball Now your affection's cold. Vd'foot, it shall melt, To a hart againe, or all the wine in Rome Shall run o'th lees for't.