The Valiant Welshman (Caradoc the Great) · chunk 7 of 32
A., R. · published 1615 · first performed or written 1612 [1610-1615] (Annals) history · Prince Henry's Men unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 447 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Sit, Princes, and let each man, as befits This solemn Festival, tune his sullen senses, To merry Carols, and delightsome thoughts, Comic inventions, and such pleasant strains As may decipher time to be well pleased. All things distinguished are into their times And jovial hours, unfit for grave designs. A health unto the Bride and Bridegroom. Lords, Let it go round. How fares our princely Daughter? Me thinks, your looks are too composed for such a holiday. Oh my good Lord, to put your Highness out of your suspect, Which your weak argument draws from my looks: 'tis true, that heathen Sages have affirmed, That Nature's Tablet fixed within our look, Gives scope to read our hearts, as in a book. Yet this affirmative not always holds; For sometimes as the urine, that foretells The constitution of each temperature, It falsely wrongs the judgement, makes our wit Turn Mountybanke in falsely judging it: And like the outward parts of some fair whore, Deceives, even in the object we adore: My Lord, my soul's so rapt In contemplation of my happy choice, That inward silence makes it more complete, By how much more it is remote From custom of a superficial joy, That's merely incorporeal, a mere dream, To that essential joy my thoughts conceive. How learnedly hath thy persuasive tongue Discovered a new passage unto joy, In mental reservation? True joy is strung Best with the heartstrings, sounds only in the tongue. But where's Sir Morgan, Earl of Anglesey? He promised us some pleasant masking sight, To crown these Nuptials with their due delight. Oh my Lord, my father is coming to your Grace, with such a many of Damsons and she Shittle-cocks: They smell of nothing in the world but Rozin and cobblers wax; such a many lights in their heels, & lungs in their hands, above all cry, i'faith. By my troth, my stomach rumbleth at the very conceit of this Iamall love, even from the sole of my head, to the crown of the foot. Surely, I will have more acquaintance of that Gentlewoman; me thinks she danceth like a Hobby-horse. Thanks, Cousin Morgan. But soft, what Trumpets this? A messenger, my Lord, from King Gederus, King of Brytayne, desires access unto your Majesty. Admit him to our presence. Health to this princely presence, and specially to great Octavian; for unto him I must direct my speech. To us? then freely speak the tenor of thy speech, And we as freely will reply to it. Thy Master is a Prince, whom we affect, For honourable causes known to us: Then speak, as if the power we have to grant, Were tied to his desire.
seed 43: T14 · seed 44: T9 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Sit, Princes, and let each man, as befits This solemne Festiuall, tune his sullen senses, To merry Carols, and delightsome thoughts, Comicke inuentions, and such pleasant straines As may decypher time to be well pleased. All things distinguisht are into their times And Iouiall howres, vnfit for graue designes. A health vnto the Bride and Bridegroome. Lords, Let it goe round. How fares our princely Daughter? Me thinks, your looks are too composde for such a holiday. Oh my good Lord, to put your Highnes out of your suspect, Which your weak argument draws frō my looks: Tis true, that heathen Sages haue affirmed, That Natures Tablet fixt within our looke, Giues scope to reade our hearts, as in a booke. Yet this affirmative not alwayes holds; For sometimes as the vrine, that foretels The constitution of each temperature, It falsely wrongs the iudgement, makes our wit Turne Mountybanke in falsely iudging it: And like the outward parts of some fayre whore, Deceiues, euen in the obiect we adore: My Lord, my soule's so rapte In contemplation of my happy choyce, That inward silence makes it more complete, By how much more it is remote From custome of a superficiall ioy, Thats meerely incorporeall, a meere dreame, To that essentiall ioy my thoughts conceyue. How learnedly hath thy perswasiue toung Discouered a new passage vnto ioy, In mentall reseruation? True ioy is strung Best with the heart-strings, sounds onely in the tongue. But where's Sir Morgan, Earle of Anglesey? He promised vs some pleasant masking sight, To crowne these Nuptials with their due delight. Oh my Lord, my father is comming to your Grace, with such a many of Damsons and shee Shittlecockes: They smell of nothing in the world but Rozin and Coblers waxe; such a many lights in their heeles, & lungs in their hands, aboue all cry, yfaith. By my troth, my stomacke rumbleth at the very conceit of this Iamall loue, euen from the sole of my head, to the crowne of the foote. Surely, I will haue more acquaintance of that Gentlewoman; me thinks she daunceth like a Hobby-horse. Thanks, Cousin Morgan. But soft, what Trumpets this? A messenger, my Lord, from King Gederus, King of Brytayne, desires accesse vnto your Maiesty. Admit him to our presence. Health to this princely presence, and specially to great Octauian; for vnto him I must direct my speech. To vs? then freely speake the tenor of thy speech, And wee as freely will reply to it. Thy Master is a Prince, whom wee affect, For honourable causes knowne to vs: Then speake, as if the power we haue to graunt, Were tied to his desire.