Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1616 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1616] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
Fair Gentlewoman, my name is Roger. Then gentle Roger. Ungentle Abigall. Why Mr. Roger will you set your wit to a weak woman's. You are weak indeed: for so the Poet sings. I do confess my weakness sweet Sir Roger. Good my Lady's Gentlewoman, or my good lady's Gentlewoman (this trope is lost to you now) leave your prating, you have a season of your first Mother in ye: and surely had the devil been in love, he had been abused too, go Dalida; you make men fools, and wear fig breeches. Well, well, hard hearted man; dilate upon the weak infirmities of women: these are fit texts: but once there was a time, would I had never seen those eyes, those eyes, those orient eyes. I they were pearls once with you. Saving your reverence Sir, so they are still. Nay, nay, I do beseech you leave your cogging, what they ate, they are, they serve me without Spectacles I thank 'em, O will you kill me? I do not think I can, You're like a Copyhold with nine lives in't. You were wont to bear a Christian fear about you: For your own worship's sake. I was a Christian fool then: Do you remember what a dance you led me? how I grew quaumed in love, and was a dunce? could expound but once a quarter, & then was out too: and then at prayers once (out of the stinking stir you put me in) I prayed for mine own royal issue. You do remember all this? O be as then you were. I thank you for it; surely I will be wiser Abigall: and as the Ethnic Poet sings, I will not lose my oil and labour too. You're for the worshipful I take it Abigall. O take it so, and then I am for thee. I like these tears well, and this humbling also, they are Symptoms of contrition, as a Father saith. If I should fall into my fit again, would you not shake me into a quotidian Coxcomb? Would you not use me scurvily again, and give me possets with purging comsets in't? I tell thee Gentlewoman, thou hast been harder to me then a long chapter with a pedigree. O Curate cure me: I will love thee better, dearer, longer, I will do anything, betray the secrets of the main household to thy reformation. My Lady shall look lovely on thy learning; and when true time shall point thee for a Parson, I will invert thy eggs to penny custards, and thy tithe goose shall graze and multiply. I am mollified: as well shall testify this faithful kiss: and have a great care Mistress, Abigall, how you depress the spirit any more with your rebukes and mocks: for certainly the edge of such a folly cuts itself.
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)
Faire Gentlewoman, my name is Roger. Then gentle Roger. Vngentle Abigall. VVhy Mr. Reger will you set your wit to a weak womans. You are weake indeed: for so the Poet sings. I doe confesse my weaknesse sweet Sir Roger. Good my Ladies Gentlewoman, or my ood Ladies Gentlewoman (this trope is lost to you now) leaue your prating, you haue a season of your first Mother in yee: and surely had the diuel beene in loue, he had beene abused too, goe Dalid; you make men fooles, and weare figge breeches. VVell, well, hard hearted man; dilate vpon the weake infirmities of wmen: these are fit texts: but ce there was a time, would I had neuer seene those eies, those eies, those orient eies. I they were pearles once with you. Sauing your reuerence Sir, so they are still. Nay, nay, I doe beseech you leaue your cogging, what they ate, they are, they serue me without Spectacles I thanke vm, O will you kill me? I doe not thinke I can, Y'are like a Coppy-hold with nine liues in't. You were wont to beare a Christian feare about you: For your owne VVorships sake. I was a Christian foole then: Doe you remember what a dance you led me? how I grew quaum'd in loue, and was a dunce? could expound but once a quarter, & then was out too: and then at prayers once (out of the stinking stir you put me in) I praid for mine owne royall issue. You doe remember all this? O be as then you were. I thanke you for it; surely I vvil be wiser Abigall: and as the Ethnick Poet sings, I wil not loose my oile and labour too. Y'are for the worshipfull I take it Abigall. O take it so, and then I am for thee. I like these teares well, and this humbling also, they are Symptomes of contrition, as a Father saith. If I should fall into my fit againe, would you not shake me into a quotidian Coxcombe? Would you not vse me scuruily againe, and giue me possets with purging comsets in't? I tel thee Gentlewoman, thou hast been harder to me then a long chapter with a pedigree. O Curate cure me: I will loue thee better, dearer, longer, I wil doe anything, betray the secrets of the maine household to thy reformation. My Ladie shall looke louely on thy learning; and when true time shal point thee for a Parson, I will ennuert thy egs to penny custards, and thy tythe goose shall grase and multiplie. I am mollified: as wel shal testifie this faithful kisse: and haue a great care Mistres, Abigall, how you depresse the spirit any more with your rebukes and mokes: for certainely the edge of such a folly cuts it selfe.