Marston, John / Machin, Lewis / Barkstead, William · published 1613 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1607-1608; revised 1609-1613] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Queen's Revels (?); Children of the King's Revels (?) · Whitefriars T45 Widows, wooing and remarriage typicality 0.81 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T45: widow, widows, hoord, master, gentlemen, wife, randalls, wit, mistress, married.
O great act of justice! well, and my Husband come cleanly off with this, he shall ne'er betray his weakness more, but confess himself a Citizen hereafter, and acknowledge their wit, for alas they come short. Good my Lord, be my expositor. The Sun setting, a man pointing at it: The Motto, Senso tamen ipso Calarem: Fair Bride, some servant of yours, that here imitates To have felt the heat of Love bred in your brightness, But setting thus from him, by marriage, He only here acknowledgeth your power, And must expect beams of a morrow Sun. Lord Bridegroom, will you interpret me? A sable Shield: the word, Vidua spes. What the forlorn hope, in black, despairing? Lady Lentulus, is this the badge of all your Suitors? I by my troth my Lord, if they come to me. I could give it another interpretation. methinks this Lover has learned, of women, to deal by contraries: if so, then here he says, the Widow is his only hope. No: good my Lord, let the first stand. Inquire of him, and he'll resolve the doubt. What's here? a Ship sailing nigh her haven? With good ware belike: 'tis well ballast. O, your this device smells of the Merchant. What's your ship's name, I pray? The forlorn Hope? No: The Merchant Royal. And why not Adventurer? You see no likelihood of that: would it not fain be in the haven? The word, Vt tangerem Portum. Marry, for aught I know, God grant it. What's there? Mine's an Azure shield: marry what else; I should tell thee more than I understand; but the word is, Aut precio, aut precibus. ay, ay, some Common-counsel device. Fair widow, how like you this change? I changed too lately to like any. O your husband! you wear his memory like a Deaths-head. For heavens love think of me as of the man Whose dancing days you see are not yet done. Yet you sink apace sir. The fault's in my Upholsterer, Lady. Thou shalt as soon find Truth telling a lie, Virtue a Bawd, Honesty a Courtier, As me turned recreant to thy least design: Love makes me speak, and he makes love divine. Would Love could make you so: but 'tis his guise To let us surfeit ere he open our eyes. You grasp my hand too hard i'faith, fair sir, Not as you grasp my heart, unwilling wanton. Were but my breast bare and Anatomised, Thou shouldst behold there how thou torturest it: And as Appelles limbed the Queen of Love, In her right hand grasping a heart in flames, So may I thee, fairer, but crueler. Well sir, your vizor gives you colour for what you say. Grace me to wear this favour, 'tis a gem That veils to your eyes, though not to th'Eagles, And in exchange give me one word of comfort. I marry: I like this wooer well: he'll win's pleasure out o'the stones.
seed 43: T40 · seed 44: T40 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O great act of Iustice! vvell, and my Husband come cleanly off with this, hee shall ne'er betray his weakenesse more, but confesse himselfe a Citizen hereafter, and acknowledge their wit, for alas they come short. Good my Lord, be my expositer. The Sunne setting, a man pointing at it: The Motto, Senso Calarem: Faire Bride, some seruant of yours, that here imitates To haue felt the heate of Loue bred in your brightnesse, But setting thus from him, by marriage, He onely here acknowledgeth your power, And must expect beames of a morrow Sunne. Lord Bridegroome, will you enterprete me? A sable Shield: the word, Vidua spes. What the forlorne hope, in blacke, despairing? Lady Lentulus, is this the badge of all your Sutors? I by my troth my Lord, if they come to me. I could giue it another interpretation. Me thinkes this Louer has learn'd, of women, to deale by contraries: if so, then here he sayes, the Widow is his onely hope. No: good my Lord, let the first stand. Inquire of him, and heele resolue the doubt. What's here? a Ship sailing nigh her hauen? With good ware belike: 'tis well ballast. O, your this deuice smels of the Marchant. What's your ships name, I pray? The forlorne Hope? No: The Merchant Royall. And why not Aduenturer? You see no likelihood of that: would it not faine be in the hauen? The word, Vt tangerem Portum. Marry, for ought I know, God grant it. What's there? Mine's an Azure shield: marry what else; I should tell thee more then I vnderstand; but the vvord is, Aut precio, aut precibus. I, I, some Common-counsell deuice. Faire widow, how like you this change? I chang'd too lately to like any. O your husband! you weare his memory like a Deaths-head. For heauens loue thinke of mee as of the man Whose dancing dayes you see are not yet done. Yet you sinke apace sir. The fault's in my Vpholsterer, Lady. Thou shalt as soone finde Truth telling a lye, Vertue a Bawd, Honestie a Courtier, As me turn'd recreant to thy least designe: Loue makes me speake, and hee makes loue diuine. Would Loue could make you so: but t'is his guise To let vs surfet ere hee ope our eyes. You graspe my hand too hard ifaith, faire sir, Not as you graspe my hart, vnwilling wanton. Were but my breast bare and Anatomized, Thou shouldst behold there how thou tortur'st it: And as Appelles limb'd the Queene of Loue, In her right hand grasping a heart in flames, So may I thee, fairer, but crueller. Well sir, your vizor giues you colour for what you say. Grace me to weare this fauour, 'tis a Iemme That vailes to your eyes, though not to th'Eagles, And in exchange giue me one word of comfort. I marry: I like this wooer well: Hee'll win's pleasure out o'the stones.