Philaster, or Love Lies a-Bleeding · chunk 37 of 40
Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1620 · first performed or written 1609 [May(?)] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Globe unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 452 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
O my brave Citizens, as I live I will not buy a pin Out of your walls for this: nay, you shall cozen me, And I'll thank you, and send you brawn and bacon, Every long vocation; and foul shall come up fat And in brave liking. What they will do with that poor Prince, the gods know, I fear. Why, they'll flay him, and make Church buckets on's skin, to quench rebellion, then clap a revit in's sconce, and hang him up for a sign. O worthy Sir, forgive me: Do not make your miseries And my faults meet together, to bring a greater danger, Be yourself still sound amongst diseases, I have wronged you, And though I find it last, and beaten to't, Let me your goodness know, calm the people, and be What you were born to, take your love, & with her my repentance, All my wishes, and all my prayers, by the gods, My heart speaks all this, and if the least fall from me, Not performed, may I be struck with thunder. Mighty Sir, I will not do your greatness so much wrong, As not to make your word truth, free the Princess and the boy, And let me stand the shock of this mad sea-breach, Which I'll either turn, or perish with it. Let your own word free her. Then thus I take my leave, kissing your hand, And hanging on your noble word, be Kingly, And be not moved Sir, I shall bring you peace, Or never bring myself back. Now all the gods go with thee. Come my brave Mermedons, fall on, let your caps swarm, & your nimble tongues forget your gibberish, of what you lack, and set your mouths ope children, till your palates fall frighted half a fathom past the cure of bay-salt & gross pepper; and then cry Phylaster, brave Phylaster. Let Phylaster be deep in request, my ding-adings, my pair of dear Indentures: King of clubs, then your cut-water-chamlets, and your painting: let not your hasty silks, dearly belovers of Custards & Cheesecakes, or your branch cloth of bodkins, or your tiffanies, your Robin-hood scarlet and Iohns, tie your affections in durance to your shops, my dainty duckers, up with your three piled spirits, that right valourous, and let your acute colours make the King to feel the measure of your mightiness; Phylaster, cry, myrose nobles, cry. Phylaster, Phylaster. How do you like this, my Lord prisoner? These are mad boys I can tell you, These be things that will not strike topsail to a Foist, And let a Man of war, an argosy, Stoop to carry coals. Why, you damned slaves, do you know who I am?
seed 43: T57 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O my braue Citizens, as I liue I will not buy a pin Out of your walls for this: nay, you shall cosen me, And I'le thanke you, and send you brawne and bakon, Euery long vocation; and foule shall come vp fat And in braue liking. What they wil do with that poore Prince, the gods know, I feare. Why, they'le flea him, and make Church buckets on's skin, to qucnch rebellion, then clap a reuit in's sconce, and hang him vp for a signe. O worthy Sir, forgiue me: Do not make your miseries And my faults meete together, to bring a greater danger, Be your selfe still sound amongst diseases, I haue wrong'd you, And though I finde it last, and beaten to't, Let me your goodnesse know, calme the people, and be What you were born to, take your loue, & with her my repentance, All my wishes, and all my prayers, by the gods, My heart speakes all this, and if the least fall from me, Not perform'd, may I be strooke with thunder. Mighty Sir, I will not doe your greatuesse so much wrong, As not to make your word truth, free the Princesse and the boy, And let me stand the shock of this mad sea-breach, Which I'le either turne, or perish with it. Let your owne word free her. Then thus I take my leaue, kissing your hand, And hanging on your noble word, be Kingly, And be not moou'd Sir, I shall bring you peace, Or neuer bring my selfe back. Now all the gods go with thee. Come my braue Mermedons, fal on, letyour caps swarm, & your nimble tongues forget your gibrish, of what you lack, and set your mouthes ope' children, till your pallats fall frighted halfe a fathom past the cure of bay-salt & grosse pepper; and then crie Phylaster, braue Phylaster. Let Phylaster be deep in request, my ding-adings, mypaire of deare Indentures: King of clubs, thē your cut-water-chamlets, and your painting: let not your hasty silkes, deerly belouers of Custards & Cheescakes, or your branch cloth of bodkins, or your tyffenies, your robbin-hood scarlet and Iohns, tie your affections in durance to your shops, my dainty duckers, vp with your three pil'd spirits, that rightvalourous, and let your accute colours make the King to feele the measure of your mightinesse; Phylaster, cry, myrose nobles, cry. Phylaster, Phylaster. How doe you like this, my Lord prisoner? These are mad boyes I can tell you, These bee things that will not strike top-sayle to a Foyst, And let a Man of warre, an Argosea, Stoope to carry coales. Why, you damn'd slaues, doe you know who I am?