Technogamia, or The Marriages of the Arts · chunk 7 of 64
Holyday, Barten · published 1618 · first performed or written 1618 [Feb 13] (Annals) comedy · at University unassigned nearest T16 Gallantry: ladies, lordships and complim · 516 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T16: lady, madam, gentleman, lordship, ladies, honour, mistress, sweet, court, servant.
Mine? If I had not called thee my Fiddle before, I might now call thee my Trumpet, but I will yet call thee my Pipe, my Syrinx, a piece of Pan's Reed: but prithee, sirrah, who were they? O Melancholico! here's a Wench, if her Mistress would part with her, would make thee live one seven years longer, but to be in her company. 'Tis a merry Wench indeed. Why, there was my Lady, with Astrologia, and Arithmetica. Thy Lady? Indeed I have heard thy Lady loves Music well, and for that respect I have had a conceit to Her myself. A conceit? Well, I can't stay or else I could say more. Hold her, Melancholico, she shall not begone yet. Why how now Sir? Faith, Poeta, your man looks as if he would fall in love with me. Fa, la, la, la, la, sol, la, mi, fa. Nay, prithee Musica, tell me how thou camest to attend on Astronomia first. Alas, 'tis beyond my remembrance to tell that: only I have heard a certain Philosopher that was in love with Astronomia, bestowed me upon her when I was but a child: but I'm sure she entertains me so well, that I care for no other service now under Heaven, she's a Divine Lady, A Divine Lady, and since my coming thither, she has made rare devices, rare devices to cause Harmony: but I must be gone, I can't stay. Fa, la, la, la, la, sol, la, mi, fa. 'Tis a merry Wench. But a Divine Lady! but a Divine Lady! I cannot tell what ails me, but I am not very well. Follow me in, Melancholico. I follow, Sir. WHat should I cry out now against the iniquity of the Fates, for wrapping up all in blind Fortune, and for the unequal distribution of their gifts? I have indeed been about all the world, and brought home nothing but a World of care. I could cry, I confess, but that I can't find in my heart to be such a fool, unless my tears would turn to gold, as those of Phaeton's sisters did to Amber; and then i'faith I'd turn a most devout penitent: but, Phantastes, put up the Siquis, put up the Siquis. I will, I will. Faith I'm almost extracted, I'm come to the Mercury already; there's nothing left but my wits: but what if I can get no customers now? Faith you had best turn Paper-man, & sell Maps; and yet that trade is almost down the wind now: or you may get a pretty young— one— and set up a tobacco-shop. Foh! that's a stinking trade. Oh your fattest soils are most full of dirt; and I have known a fellow, that was not worth a hair of his head, nay, that had not an hair of an honest man, gather more gold out of this dunghill, then ever Maro did out of his Ennius; that now he cares not for any man in the Parish: Oh! this is the trade that yields è fumo fulgorem; Gold out of smoke.
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)
Mine? If I had not call'd thee my Fiddle before, I might now call thee my Trumpet, but I will yet call thee my Pipe, my Syrinx, a peece of Pan's Reed: but prethee, ſirrah, who were they? O Melancholico! here's a Wench, if her Miſtris would part with her, would make thee liue one ſeuen yeeres longer, but to be in her company. 'Tis a merry Wench indeed. Why, there was my Lady, with Aſtrologia, and Arithmetica. Thy Lady? Indeede I haue heard thy Lady loues Muſicke well, and for that reſpect I haue had a conceit to Her my ſelfe. A conceit? Well, I can't ſtay or elſe I could ſay more. Hold her, Melancholico, ſhe ſhall not begon yet. Why how now Sir? Faith, Poeta, your man lookes as if hee would fall in loue with me. Fa, la, la, la, la, ſol, la, mi, fa. Nay, prethee Muſica, tell me how thou cameſt to attend on Astronomia firſt. Alas, 'tis beyond my remembrance to tell that: onely I haue heard a certaine Philoſopher that was in loue with Aſtronomia, beſtow'd mee vpon her when I was but a childe: but I'me ſure ſhe entertaines me ſo well, that I care for no other ſeruice now vnder Heauen, ſhee's a Diuine Lady, A Diuine Lady, and ſince my comming thither, ſhee has made rare deuices, rare deuices to cauſe Harmony: but I muſt bee gone, I can't ſtay. Fa, la, la, la, la, ſol, la, mi, fa. 'Tis a merry Wench. But a Diuine Lady! but a Diuine Lady! I cannot tell what ayles me, but I am not very well. Follow me in, Melancholico. I follow, Sir. WHat ſhould I cry out now againſt the iniquitie of the , for wrapping vp all in blinde Fortune, and for the vnequall diſtribution of their gifts? I haue indeed beene about all the world, and brought home nothing but a World of care. I could cry, I confeſſe, but that I can't find in my hart to be ſuch a foole, vnleſſe my teares would turne to gold, as thoſe of Phaetons ſiſters did to Amber; and then yfaith I'd turne a moſt deuout penitent: but, Phantaſtes, put vp the Siquis, put vp the Siquis. I will, I will. Faith I'me almoſt extracted, I'me come to the Mercury already; there's nothing left but my wits: but what if I can get no cuſtomers now? Faith you had beſt turne Paper-man, & ſell Maps; and yet that trade is almoſt downe the wind now: or you may get a pretty young—one—and ſet vp a Tabacco-ſhop. Foh! that's a ſtinking trade. Oh your fatteſt ſoiles are moſt full of dirt; and I haue knowne a fellow, that was not worth a haire of his head, nay, that had not an haire of an honeſt man, gather more gold out of this dung-hill, then euer Maro did out of his Ennius; that now he cares not for any man in the Pariſh: Oh! this is the trade that yeelds è fumo fulgorem; Gold out of ſmoke.