Philaster, or Love Lies a-Bleeding · chunk 16 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 · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Sir, I must chide you dearly for this looseness, You have wronged a Lady, but no more, Conduct him to his lodging, and to bed. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed indeed. 'tis strange a man cannot ride a Stage or two, To breathe himself, without a warrant: if this gear hold, That lodgings be searched thus, pray God we may lie With our own wives in safety, that they be not by some trick of state mistaken. Now Lady of honour, where's your honour now? No man can fit your palate but the Prince, Thou most ill shrouded rottenness, thou piece Made by a Painter and Apothecaries, thou troubled sea of lust, Thou wilderness inhabited by wild thoughts, Thou swollen cloud of infection, thou ripe mine of all diseases, Thou all sin and hell, and last all devils, tell me, Had you none to pull on with your courtesies, But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter: By all the gods: all these, all the Pages, and all the Court Shall hoot thee through the Court, fling rotten oranges: Make ribald rhymes, and sear thy name with candles Upon walls, do you laugh Lady Venus? Faith sir you must pardon me, I cannot choose but laugh, To see you merry, if you do this O King; Nay, if you dare do it, by all those gods you swore by, And as many more of my own, I will have fellows, And such fellows in it, that shall make noble mirth: The Princess your dear daughter shall stand by me, Upon walls, and sung in ballads, or any thing, urge me no more, I know her and her haunts, her fair leaps And outlying, and will discover all, and will dishonour her, I know the boy she keeps, a handsome boy, about eighteen, Knows what she does with him, where, when; Come sir, you put me to a woman's madness, The glory of a fury, and if I do not do it to the height— What boy is that she raves at? Alas good minded Prince, you know not these things, I am loath to reveal 'em: keep this fault As you would keep your health from the hot air Of the corrupted people, or by heaven, I will not sink alone, what I have known, Shall be as public as in Print, all tongues shall speak it, As they do the language they're borne in, as free and commonly, I'll set it like a prodigious star, for all to gaze at, And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms far and foreign, Shall read it there, travail with it, till they find no tongue, To make it more, nor no more people, And then behold the fall of your fair Princess. Has she a boy? So please your grace I have seen a boy wait on her, a fair boy. Go get you to your quarters, for this time, i'll study to forget you.
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)
Sir, I must chide you deerely for this loosenesse, You haue wrongd a Lady, but no more, Conduct him to his lodging, and to bed. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed indeed. Tis strange a man cannot ride a Stage or two, To breath himselfe, without a warrant: if this geare hold, That lodgings be searcht thus, pray God we may lye With our owne wiues in safety, that they be not by some tricke of state mistaken. Now Lady ofhonour, where's your honour now? No man can fit your palat but the Prince, Thou most ill shrowded rottennesse, thou peece Made by a Painter and Apothecaries, thou troubled sea of lust, Thou wildernesse inhabited by wild thoughts, Thou swolne clowd of infection, thou ripe mine of all diseases, Thou all sinne and hell, and last all diuels, tell me, Had you none to pull on with your courtesies, But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter: By all the gods: all these, all the Pages, and all the Court Shall whoote thee through the Court, fling rotten orrenges: Make reball rymes, and seare thy name with candles Vpon wals, doe you laugh Lady Venus? Faith sir you must pardon me, I cannot chuse but laugh, To see you merry, if you do this O King; Nay, if you dare do it, by all those gods you swore by, And as many more of my owne, I will haue fellowes, And such fellowes in it, that shall make noble mirth: The Princesse your deere daughter shall stand by me, Vpon wals, and sung in ballads, or any thing, vrge me no more, I know her and her haunts, her fayre leaps And out-lying, and will discouer all, and will dishonour her, I know the boy she keepes, a hansome boy, about eighteene, Knowes what she dos with him, where, when; Come sir, you put me to a womans madnesse, The glory of a fury, and if I doe not doe it to the height — What boy is that she raues at? Alas good minded Prince, you know not these things, I am loth to reueale vm: keepe this fault As you would keepe your health from the hote ayre Of the corrupted people, or by heauen, I will not sinke alone, what I haue knowne, Shall be as publike as in Print, all tongues shall speake it, As they doe the language they're borne in, as free and commonly, I'le set it like a prodigious starre, for all to gaze at, And so high and glowing, that other kingdomes far and forraigne, Shall read it there, trauaile with it, till they finde no tongue, To make it more, nor no more people, And then behold the fall of your faire Princesse. Has she a boy? So please your grace I haue seene a boy waite on her, a faire boy. Go get you to your quarters, for this time, i'le study to forget you.