Philaster, or Love Lies a-Bleeding · chunk 3 of 40
Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1620 · first performed or written 1609 [May(?)] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Globe unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 467 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Miracles! This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but a large Inventory of his own commendations. I wonder what's his price? for certainly he'll sell him, he has so be praised his shape: But here comes one, more worthy those large praises, than the large speaker of them; Let me be swallowed quick, if I can find all the Anatomy of yond man's virtues unseen to sound enough, to promise for him, he shall be Constable by this Sun: he'll ne'er make King, unless it be of trifles in my poor judgement. Right noble sir, as low as my obedience, with a heart as loyal as my knee, I beg for favour. Rise, you have it sir. Mark but the King how pale he looks, he fears, and this same whoreson conscience, ah how it jades us. Speak your intents sir. Shall I speak on freely, be still my royal Sovereign. As a subject we give you freedom. Now it heats. Then thus I turn my language to you Prince, you foreign man ne'er start, nor put on wonder; you must endure me, and you shall: This earth you tread upon, a dowry as you hope with this sweet Princess, whose memory I bow to, was not left by my dead father, O I had a father: to your inheritance, and I up and living, having myself about me and my sword the souls of all my name and memories: these arms and some few friends besides the gods to part so calmly with it, and sit still and say I might have been, I tell thee Pharamont, when thou art King, look I be dead and rotten, and my name ashes, as I: for hear me Pharamont, this very ground thou goest on, this fat earth my father's friends made fertile with their faiths: before that day of shame shall gape and swallow thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave into his hidden bowels: Prince it shall, by the just gods it shall. he's mad, beyond cure mad. Here's a fellow has some fire in his veins, the outlandish Prince looks like a tooth-drawer. I Prince of popines, I will make it well appear to you I am not mad. You displease us, you are too bold. No sir, I am too tame, too much a Turcle, A thing borne without passion, a faint shadow: That every drunken cloud sails over, And make nothing. I do not fancy this choler, Sure he's somewhat tainted. I do not think 'twill prove so. Has given him a general purge already, for all the right he has, and now he means to let him blood: be constant gentle heavens, I'll run his hazard although I run my name out of the Kingdom. Peace, we are all one soul.
seed 43: T14 · seed 44: T9 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Miracles! This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but a large Inuentorie of his owne commendations. I wonder whats his price? for certainely he'le sell him, he has so be praisd his shape: But here comes one, more worthy those large praises, then the large speaker of them; Let mee bee swallowed quicke, if I can finde all the Anatomy of yon mans vertues vnseene to sound enough, to promise for him, hee shall bee Constable by this Sun: he'le ne're make King, vnlesse it be of trifles in my poore iudgement. Right noble sir, as low as my obedience, with a heart as loyall as my knee, I beg for fauour. Rise, you haue it sir. Marke but the King how pale he lookes, he feares, and this same whorsone conscience, ah how it iades vs. Speake your intents sir. Shall I speake on freely, be still my royall Soueraigne. As a subiect we giue you freedome. Now it heates. Then thus I turne my language to you Prince, you forraigne man nere start, nor put on wonder; you must indure mee, and you shal: This earth you tread vpon, a dowry as you hope with this sweet Princesse, whose memory I bow to, was not left by my dead father, O I had a father: to your inheritance, and I vp and liuing, hauing my selfe about me and my sword the soules of all my name and memories: these armes and some few friends besides the gods to part so calmely with it, and sit still and say I might haue bin, I tell thee Pharamont, when thou art King, looke I be dead and rotten, and my name ashes, as I: for heare mee Pharamont, this very ground thou goest on, this fat earth my fathers friends made firtile with their faiths: before that day of shame shall gape and swollow thee and thy nation, like a hungry graue into his hidden bowels: Prince it shall, by the iust gods it shall. Hee's mad, beyond cure mad. Heres a fellow has some fire in his vaines, the outlandish Prince lookes like a tooth-drawer. I Prince of popines, I will make it well appeare to you I am not mad. You displease vs, you are too bold. No sir, I am too tame, too much a Turcle, A thing borne without passion, a faint shaddow: That euery drunken clowde sayles ouer, And make nothing. I doe not fancy this choller, Sure hee's somewhat tainted. I doe not thinke twill proue so. Has giuen him a generall purge already, for all the right he has, and now he meanes to let him bloud: be constant gentle heauens, I'le run his hazard although I runne my name out of the Kingdome. Peace, we are all one soule.