Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1615 · first performed or written 1608 [c.1607-1608] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Queen's Revels T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.90 · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Why dost thou think me so base to tell? These limbs of mine shall part From one another on a wrack, Ere I disclose; But thou dost utter words That much afflict me: you did seem as ready Sweet Bacha as myself. You are right a man: when they have witched us into misery, poor innocent souls, They lay the fault on us: But be it so- For prince Leucippus' sake I will bear anything. Come weep no more. I wrought thee to it, it was my fault: Nay, see if thou wilt leave? Here, take this pearl, Kiss me sweet Bacha, and receive this purse. What should I do with these? they will not deck my mind. Why keep 'em to remember me. I must be gone, I have been absent long: I know the Duke my Father is in rage, But I will see thee suddenly again. Farewell my Bacha. Gods keep you: Do you hear Sir: pray give me a point to wear. Alas good Bacha, take one, I pray thee where thou wilt. Coming from you: This point is of as high Esteem with me, as all pearl and gold: nothing but good be ever with or near you. Fare thee well mine own good Bacha; I will make all haste. just as you are a dozen I esteem you: No more, does he think I would prostitute myself for love: it was the love of these pearls And gold that wan me, I confess I lust more after him then any other, And would at any rate if I had store, Purchase his fellowship: but being poor, I'll both enjoy his body and his purse, And he a Prince, near think myself the worse. Nay, you must back and show us what it is, That witches you out of your Honour thus. whose's that? Look there Sir. Lady, never fly you are betrayed. Leave me my tears a while, And to my just rage give a little place: What saucy man are you, that without leave, Enter upon a widows mournful house? You hinder a dead man from many tears. Who did deserve more than the world can shed, Though they should weep themselves to Images: If not for of me, yet of yourself A way, for you can bring no comfort to me. But you may carry hence, you know not what. Nay sorrow is infectious. Thou thyself Art grown infectious: wouldst thou know my name? I am the Duke, father to this young man Whom thou corrupt'st. Has he then told him all. You do her wrong Sir. O he has not told. Sir I beseech you pardon My wild tongue, directed by a weak distempered head, madded with grief: Alas I did not know You were my Sovereign; but now you may Command my poor unworthy life, Which will be none I hope ere long.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Why doest thou thinke mee so base to tell? These limmes of mine shall part From one another on a wracke, Ere I disclose; But thou doest vtter words That much asflict mee: you did seeme as ready Sweete Bacha as my selfe. You are right a man: when they haue witcht vs into miserie, poore innocent soules, They lay the fault on vs: But bee it so- For prince Leucippus sake I will beare anything. Come weepeno more. I wrought thee to it, it was my fault: Nay, see if thou wilt leaue? Here, take this pearle, Kisse me sweete Bacha, and receiuet this purse. What should I doe with these? they will not decke my minde. Why keepe em to remember mee. I must be gone, I haue bene absent long: I know the Duke my Father is in rage, But I will see thee suddenly againe. Farewell my Bacha. Gods keepe you: Do you heare Syr: pray giue me a point to weare. Alas good Bacha, take one, I pray thee where thou wilt. Comming from you: This point is of as high Esteeme with mee, as all pearle and golde: nothing but good bee euer with or neere you. Fare thee well mine owne good Bacha; I will make all haste. Iust as you are a Dosen I esteeme you: No more, does he thinke I would prostitute My selfe for loue: it was the loue of these pearles And golde that wanne mee, I confesse I lust more after him then anyother, And would at any rate if I had store, Purchase his fellowship: but being poore, Ile both enjoy his bodie and his purse, And hee a Prince, nere thinke my selfe the worse. Nay, you must backe and shew vs what it is, That witches you out of your Honour thus. Whose that? Looke there Syr. Lady, neuer flye you are betrayde. Leaue mee my teares a while, And to my iust rage giue a little place: What saucy man are you, that without leaue, Enter vpon a Widdowes mournefull house? You hinder a dead man from many teares. Who did deserue more then the world can shed, Though they should weepe themselues to Images: If not for of mee, yet of your selfe A way, for you can bring no comfort to mee. But you may carry hence, you know not what. Nay sorrow is infectious. Thou thy selfe Art growne infectious: woulst thou know my name? I am the Duke, father to this young man Whom thou corruptst. Has he then told him all. You doe her wrong Sir. O he has not told. Sir I beseech you pardon My wild tongue, directed by a weak distempord head, madded with griefe: Alas I did not know You were my Soueraigne; but now you may Command my poore vnworthy life, Which will be none I hope ere long.