S., S. · published 1616 · first performed or written 1615 [c.1614-1615] (Annals) comedy · Queen Anne's Men unassigned nearest T52 Prodigals, portions and poor kin · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T52: brother, father, uncle, cousin, son, poor, bread, old, given, master.
You had need of a bell to ring you in. Your father has stayed supper for you this hour. Come then, let's walk on— what's here a portmanteau? Oh, oh, do not touch it: it's venom. Why my wise Cousin? why are you so timorous? Oh it lies there for a wager: there be thieves about it. Take heed Cousin; I found a portmanteau once, and lost all the money in my purse. Fly, fly— Are you gone? Well, I see now, he that will be wise by calendar, shall be a fool by destiny. Sure, this is Bromley's budget, and has gold Put up for his escape: 'tis so by th'weight. It falls into my hands most luckily: For I have need of cash in these occasions. Yet I'll repay't again: my honesty Shall be his friend, whose fear was friend to me. Oh, in this glass my represented soul Stands manifest to my impartial eye. Ye heavens rain showers of mercy on my sins: Lest where my pleasure ends my woe begins. run faster, ye dull legs of motion, That time may follow with a swifter pace. Let wanton Epicures wish you cripple-limbs, Insatiate with the riot of their joys; And chide the hasty forwardness of day, That will not dance attendance on their play. My spirits wrought upon with tedious woes, Think that each hour lingering and lazy goes. Impartial fates, how you delude our thoughts! Guiding events to their determined ends, Whether our strength with or against contends. Whether the passenger wake, or sleep his fill, The wave and wind-moved vessel goes on still. Patience then heart! they do not valour know, That weary faint, but who can suffer woe. Who's this? By your leave, Mistress Sorrow. Right, thouhast hit my name. Yet clear of sin, my sorrow has no shame. I have letters from Mr. Ben Gripe. They're welcome. (poor boy how am I undone! 'tis hard, a mother must not own her son. Sure I should know that face and language too. A chill disquiet troubles my soft peace, And runs like a cold fever through my blood. I'm very sick of somewhat. Oh 'tis then Error, the sickness in all minds of men. But that I know her absence gives her dead. I' would swear it was my mother. 'las vain thoughts, How you would flatter me! Your provident friend, Benjamin Gripe. Leave out that Gripe: it's an unproper name; Cannot denominate thee for such a creature. A name can never constitute a nature. If blessed mankind have a Phoenix left; And vice of that good hath not time bereft; In this degenerate world's apostasy; The plural number's lost: that one is he,— Son Zlid she calls me Son. That word's o'erslipped. How easily love is in her language tripped. Son— of compelling nature not forbears: Passion must vent itself in speech or tears. Dost thou not know me? Yes: this testify. I beg your blessing on my humbled knee.
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)
You had need of a bell to ring you in. Your father has ſtayd ſupper for you this houre. Come then, let's walke on—what's here a Portmantua? Oh, oh, do not touch it: it's venome. Why my wiſe Couſin? why are you ſo timorous? Oh it lies there for a wager: there be theeues about it. Take heed Couſin; I found a Portmantua once, and loſt all the money in my purſe. Fly, fly— Are you gone? Well, I ſee now, hee that will be wiſe by Calender, ſhall be a foole by deſtinie. Sure, this is Bromleys budget, and has gold Put vp for his eſcape: 'tis ſo by th'weight. It falls into my hands moſt luckily: For I haue need of caſh in theſe occaſions. Yet Ile repay't againe: my honeſtie Shall be his friend, whoſe feare was friend to me. Oh, in this glaſſe my repreſented ſoule Stands manifeſt to my impartiall eye. Ye heauens rayne ſhowers of mercy on my ſins: Leſt where my pleaſure ends my wo begins. RVnne faſter, ye dull legges of motion, That time may follow with a ſwifter paſe. Let wanton Epicures wiſh you creeple-limbes, Inſatiate with the ryot of their ioyes; And chide the haſty forwardneſſe of day, That will not dance attendance on their play. My ſpirits wrought vpon with tedious woes, Thinke that each houre lingring and lazy goes. Impartiall fates, how you delude our thoughts! Guiding euents to their determin'd ends, Whether our ſtrength with or againſt contends. Whether the paſſenger wake, or ſleepe his fill, The waue and wind-mov'd veſſell goes on ſtill. Patience then heart! they do not valour know, That weary faint, but who can ſuffer woe. Who's this? By your leaue, Miſtris Sorrow. Right, th'haſt hit my name. Yet cleare of ſinne, my ſorrow has no ſhame. I haue letters from Mr. Ben. Gripe. They're welcome. (poore boy how am I vndone! Tis hard, a mother muſt not owne her ſonne. Sure I ſhould know that face and language too. A chill diſquiet troubles my ſoft peace, And runs like a cold feuer through my bloud. I'm very ſicke of ſomewhat. Oh 'tis then Errour, the ſickneſſe in all minds of men. But that I know her abſence giues her dead. I' would ſweare it was my mother. 'las vaine thoughts, How you would flatter me! —Your prouident friend, Beniamin Gripe. Leaue out that Gripe: it's an vnproper name; Cannot denominate thee for ſuch a creature. A name can neuer conſtitute a nature. If bleſſed mankinde haue a Phaenix left; And vice of that good hath not time bereft; In this degenerate worlds apoſtacie; The plurall number's loſt: that one is hee,—Sonne Zlid ſhe calls me Sonne. That word's oreſlipt. How eaſily loue is in her language trip't. Sonne—of compelling nature not forbeares: Paſſion muſt vent it ſelfe in ſpeech or teares. Doſt thou not know me? Yes: this teſtifie. I begge your bleſsing on my humbled knee.