Heywood, Thomas · published 1615 · first performed or written 1594 (Annals) romance · Worcester's Men · Red Bull unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Great were th'offence, I would not clear for you. The poor boy, brother, stays within my Tent, But so disguised you cannot know him now, For he's turned wench: and but I know the wag, To be a joy, to see him thus transformed, I should have sworn he had been a Wench indeed. Pray, let me see him, brother in that habit, I would not lose the villain for more gold, Than Zion would be sold for; he will blush To be ta'en tardy in his Maid's attire. You have pardoned him? I have. Then lack appear: Nay blush not to be in your woman's gear. Leap heart, dance spirit, be merry jocund soul, 'Tis she undoubtedly. You know me then! I do, 'twas that disguise, That all this while hath blinded my clear eyes. Fie, are you not ashamed to kiss a boy, And in your arms to grasp him with such joy? She is no boy, you do mistake her quite. A boy, a Page, a wagtail by this light. What say you sister? Sure he told me so, For if he be a maid, I made him one. Do not mistake the sex man, for he's none, It is a rogue, a wag, his name is Iack, A notable dissembling lad, a Crack. Brother, 'tis you that are deceived in her, Beshrew her, she hath been my bedfellow A year and more, yet I had not the grace. Brothers receive a sister; reverent father Accept a daughter, whilst I take a wife, And of a great king's daughter make a Queen. This is the beauteous virgin, the French Lady, To whom my fortune still remains in debt. A Lady, than I cry you mercy brother, A gallant Bride would I had such another. A wondrous change! she that your Page hath been Is now at length transformed to be your Queen. Pardon me Guy, my love drew me along, No shameless lust. Fair Saint, I did you wrong. If fortune had not been your friend in this, You had not lain thus long without a kiss. Father, embrace her; brothers; sister, all. This fortune makes our joys mere comical. The fame of our success all Europe rings: The father, Patriarch, sees his sons all Kings. The heavens are full of bounty; then brave Princes, First in the Temple hang these Trophies up, As a remembrance of your fortunes past. You good old father, wear your Patriarchs Robes, Prince Godfrey, walk you with your Crown of Thorns; Guy with his Lady; Tancred with his wife: Charles with his Crown of Cyprus, and young Eustace Crowned with the rich Sicilian Diadem; I with the honour of the pagans' deaths. So in Procession walk we to Christ's Tomb, With humble hearts to pay our pilgrims vows. Repair we to our Countries, that once done, For Zion and Ierusalem are won.
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)
Great were th'offence, I would not cleare for you. The poore boy, brother, stayes within my Tent, But so disguis'd you cannot know him now, For hee's turn'd wench: and but I know the wagge, To be a oy, to see him thus transform'd, I should hue sworne he had bene a we indeed. Pray, let me see him, brother in that habite, I would not loose the villaine for more gold, Then Syon would be sold for; he will blush To be tane tardy in his Maids attire. You haue pardoned him? I haue. Then lacke appeare: Nay blush not to be in your womans geere. Leape heart, dance spirit, be merry iocund soule, 'Tis she vndoubtedly. You know me then! I do, 'twas that disguise, That all this wile hath blinded my cleere eyes. Fie, are you not asham'd to kisse a boy, And in your armes to graspe him with such ioy? She is no boy, you do mistake her quite. A boy, a Page, a wagtaile by this light. VVhat say you sister? Sure he told me so, For if he be a maide, I made him one. Do not mistake the sex man, for he's none, It is a rogue, a wag, his name is Iack, A notable dissembling lad, a Crack. Brother, 'tis you that are deceiu'd in her, Beshrew her, she hath beene my bedfellow A yare and more, yet I had not the grace. Brothers receiue a sister; reuerent father Accept a daughter, whilst I take a wife, And of a great Kings daughter make a Queene. This is the beauteous virgin, the French Lady, To whom my fortune still remaines in debt. A Lady, then I cry you mercy brother, A gallan Bride would I hd such another. A wondrous change! she that your Page hath beene Is now at length transform'd to be your Qeene. Pardon me `Guy,' my loue drew me along, No hamelesse lust. Faire Saint, I did you wrong. If fortune had not bene your friend in this, You had not laine thus long without a kisse. Father, embrace her; brothers; sister, all. This fortune makes our ioyes meere comicall. The fame of our successe all Europe rings: The father, Patriarch, sees his sonnes all Kings. The heauens are full of bounty; then braue Princes, First in the Temple hang these Trophies vp, As a remembrance of your fortunes past. You good old father, weare your Patriarchs Roabes, Prince Godfrey, walke you with your Crowne of Thorn; Guy with his Lady; Tancred with his wife: Charles with his Crowne of Cyprus, and yong Eustace Crown'd with the rich Sicilian Diadem; I with the honour of the Pagans deaths. So in Procession walke we to CHRISTS Tombe, With humble hearts to pay our Pilgrimes vowes. Repaire we to our Countries, that once done, For Syn and Ierusalem are wonne.