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 T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti typicality 0.67 · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Zounds, is the Huritano coming? Claridiana what's the matter? The Countess of Swevia has new taken horse. Fly Phoebus, fly, the hour is six o'clock. Whither is she going signor? even as Ioue went to meet his simile. To the Devil I think. You know not wherefore? To say sooth I do not. So in immortal wise shall I arrive. At the Gallows. What in a passion signor? Zounds, do not hold me sir: Beauteous Thais, I am all thine wholly. The staff is now advancing for the Rest, And when I tilt, Mizaldus aware thy Crest. What's here? the capering cods-head tilting in the air? The Gods send her no Horse, a poor old age. Eternal woe, and sickness lasting rage. My Lord, you may yet o'ertake'em. Furies supply that place, for I will not: no, She that can forsake me when pleasure's in the full, Fresh and untired, what would she on the least barren coldness? I warrant you she has already got Her Bravoes, and her Ruffians: the meanest whore Will have one buckler, but your great ones more. The shores of Sicilie retains not such a Monster, Though to galleyslaves they daily prostitute. To let the Nuptial Tapers give light to her new lust, Who would have thought it? She that could no more forsake my company, Then can the day forsake the glorious presence of the Sun. When I was absent, than her galled eyes Would have shed April showers, and outwept The clouds in that same overpassionate mood: When they drowned all the world, yet now forsakes me: Women your eyes shed glances like the Sun: Now shines your brightness, now your light is done. On the sweetest Flowers you shine, 'tis but by chance, And on the basest Weed you'll waste a glance. Your beams once lost can never more be found: Unless we wait until your course run round, (And take you at fist hand.) Since I cannot Enjoy the noble title of a man, But afterages, as our virtues are Buried whilst we are living, will sound out My infamy, and her degenerate shame; Yet in my life I'll smother't if I may, And, like a dead man, to the world bequeath These houses of vanity, Mils, and Lands. Take what you will, I will not keep among you Servants, And welcome some religious Monastery, A true sworn Beadsman I'll hereafter be, And wake the morning cock with holy prayers. Good my Lord: noble Master. Dissuade me not, my will shall be my King; I thank thee Wife, a fair change thou hast given, I leave thy lust to woo the Love of Heaven. This is conversion, is't not? as good as might have been, He turns religious upon his Wives turning Courtesan. This is just like some of our gallant Prodigals, When they have consumed their Patrimonies wrongfully, They turn Capuchins for devotion,
seed 43: T31 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Zounds, is the Huritano comming? Claridiana what's the matter? The Countesse of Sweuia has new taken horse. Flye Phoebus, flye, the houre is sixe a clocke. Whither is shee going Signior? Euen as Ioue went to meete his simile. To the Diuell I thinke. You know not wherefore? To say sooth I doe not. So in immortall wise shall I ariue. At the Gallowes. What in a passion Signior? Zounds, doe not hold me sir: Beautious Thais, I am all thine wholy. The staffe is now aduancing for the Rest, And when I tilt, Mizaldus aware thy Crest. What's here? the capring Cods-head tilting in the aire? The Gods send her no Horse, a poore olde age. Eternall woe, and sicknesse lasting rage. My Lord, you may yet o'er-take'em. Furies supply that place, for I will not: no, Shee that can forsake mee when pleasure's in the full, Fresh and vntir'd, what would she on the least barren coldnes? I warrant you she has already got Her Brauoes, and her Ruffians: the meanest whore Will haue one buckler, but your great ones more. The shores of Sicilie retaines not such a Monster, Though to Galley-slaues they daily prostitute. To let the Nuptiall Tapers giue light to her new lust, Who would haue thought it? Shee that could no more forsake my company, Then can the day forsake the glorious presence of the Sunne. When I was absent, then her galled eyes Would haue shed Aprill showers, and out-wept The clouds in that same o'er-passionate moode: When they drown'd all the world, yet now forsakes me: Women your eyes shed glances like the Sunne: Now shines your brightnesse, now your light is done. On the sweetest Flowers you shine, 'tis but by chance, And on the basest Weede you'll waste a glance. Your beames once lost can neuer more be found: Vnlesse we waite vntill your course runne round, (And take you at fist hand.) Since I cannot Enioy the noble title of a man, But after-ages, as our vertues are Buryed whilst we are liuing, will sound out My infamie, and her degenerate shame; Yet in my life Ile smother't if I may, And, like a dead man, to the world bequeath These houses of vanitie, Mils, and Lands. Take what you will, I will not keepe among you Seruants, And welcome some religious Monasterie, A true sworne Beads-man Ile hereafter be, And wake the morning cocke with holy prayers. Good my Lord: noble Master. Disswade me not, my will shall be my King; I thanke thee Wife, a faire change thou hast giuen, I leaue thy lust to woo the Loue of Heauen. This is conuersion, is't not? as good as might haue beene, He turnes religious vpon his Wiues turning Curtezan. This is iust like some of our gallant Prodigals, When they haue consum'd their Patrimonies wrongfully, They turne Capuchins for deuotion,