Tomkis, Thomas · published 1615 · first performed or written 1615 [Mar 9] (Annals) comedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
Most dear Antonio, Was not your passage dangerous from Barbarie? We had great winds and tempests; and I fear me, You felt the force at sea. Yes dearest Ronca. How's this? I see his hands, and yet my purse is gone. signor Antonio, I see your mind's much troubled About affairs of worth; I take my leave, And kiss your hands of liberality. And kiss my hands of liberality? I gave him nothing: O my purse, my purse! Dear master Ronca. What's your pleasure sir? Show me your hand. Here 'tis. But where's th'other? Why here. But I mean where's your other hand? Think you me the Giant with a hundred hands? Give me your right. My right? Your left. My left? Now both. There's both my dear Antonio▪ Keep yourself dark, eat broth; your fearful passage, And want of natural rest hath made you frantic. Villain, rogue, cutpurse, thief, dear Ronca stay: he's gone I'th' devils name, how could this fellow do it? I felt his hands fast locked about my neck; And still he spoke, it could not be his mouth For that was full of dear Antonio. My life he stol't with's feet: such a trick more Will work worse with me then a looking-glass. To lose five pound in curtsy, and the rest In salutation! signor Antonio, What ails you? Ronca a rogue, a cutpurse, Hath robbed me of five twenty-shilling pieces. What kind of man was he? something like me? Had such a thievish countenance as your own, But that he wore a black patch o'er his eye. Met you with Ronca? 'tis the cunningest nimmer Of the whole company of cutpurse hall▪ I am sorry I was not here to warn you of him. FVrbo no more, unless thy words were charms Of power to revive him: Antonio's dead. he's dead, and in his death hath buried All my delights: my ears are deaf to music That sounds of pleasure: sing then the doleful'st notes That ere were set by melancholy: O Antonio! Flow streams of liquid salt from my sad eyes, To celebrate his mournful exequies. Antonio's dead, he's dead, and I remain To draw my poor life in continual pain, Till it have paid to his sad memory Duty of love: o then most willingly Drowned with my tears, as he with waves, I die. Break thy sad strings, and instrument: O strange! he's here. signor Antonio! my heart's sweet content! My life and better portion of my soul! Are you returned? and safe? for whose sad death I spent such streams of tears, and gusts of sighs? Or is't my love, that to my longing fancy Frames your desired shape, and mocks my senses? Whom do you talk withal fair gentlewoman? With my best friend, commander of my life, My most beloved Antonio. With me? What's your desire with me sweet Lady?
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)
Most deare Antonio, Was not your passage dangerous from Barbarie? We had great windes and tempests; and I feare me, You felt the force at sea. Yes dearest Ronca. How's this? I see his hands, and yet my purse is gone. Signior Antonio, I see your mind's much troubled About affaires of worth; I take my leaue, And kisse your hands of liberalitie. And kisse my hands of liberalitie? I gaue him nothing: O my purse, my purse! Deare master Ronca. What's your pleasure sir? Shew me your hand. Here 'tis. But wheres th'other? Why here. But I meane where's your other hand? Thinke you me the Giant with a hundred hands? Giue me your right. My right? Your left. My left? Now both. There's both my deere Antonio ▪ Keepe your selfe darke, eate broath; your fearefull passage, And want of naturall rest hath made you franticke. Villaine, rogue, cut-purse, theefe, deare Ronca stay: hee's gone I'th Diuels name, how could this fellow do it? I felt his hands fast lock't about my necke; And still he spoke, it could not be his For that was full of deere Antonio. My life he stol't with's feet: such a tricke more Will worke worse with me then a looking-glasse. To loose fiue pound in curt'sie, and the rest In salutation! Signior Antonio, What ailes you? Ronca a rogue, a cut-purse, Hath rob'd mee of fiue twenty-shilling peeces. What kind of man was he? something like me? Had such a theeuish countenance as your owne, But that he wore a black patch ore his eye. Met you with Ronca? 'tis the cunningst nimmer Of the whole company of cut-purse hall▪ I am sorry I was not here to warne you of him. FVrbo no more, vnlesse thy words were charmes Of power to reuiue him: Antonio's dead. Hee's dead, and in his death hath buried All my delights: my eares are deafe to musicke That sounds of pleasure: sing then the doleful'st notes That er'e were set by melancholy: O Antonio! Flow streames of liquid salt from my sad eyes, To celebrate his mournfull exequies. Antonio's dead, hee's dead, and I remaine To draw my poore life in continuall paine, Till it haue paid to his sad memory Dutie of loue: ô then most willingly Drown'd with my teares, as hee with waues, I dye. Breake thy sad strings, and instrument: O strange! hee's here. Signior Antonio! my heart's sweet content! My life and better portion of my soule! Are you return'd? and safe? for whose sad death I spent such streames of teares, and gusts of sighes? Or is't my loue, that to my longing fancy Frames your desired shape, and mockes my senses? Whom do you talke withal faire gentlewoman? With my best friend, commander of my life, My most belou'd Antonio. With me? What's your desire with me sweet Lady?