The Two Merry Milkmaids, or The Best Words Wear the Garland · chunk 45 of 54
Cumber, John · published 1620 · first performed or written 1619 [1619-1620] (Annals) comedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) · before the Court unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 454 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Why she is gone my Lord. Be thoug thou gone too, and after her and fetch her, And bring her to me, or lay down thy duty, And let me never see it in a face, Or an officious leg again presented, zounds are you scraping there when I forbid you. Alas my Lord. My Lord, my Loggerhead, begone. O Madam, you come like to the Halcion, and bring fair weather with you. Thou art my truth, and I will study thee, No more shall misbelief enter my thoughts: For thy Idea standing in my heart, As in a Temple shall fright all false suggestions, To the Tartars. Give me instead of Laurel, For my deed, a sugared kiss, and crown my joys. Away you are a villain, I came back to tell you so: And long life which is a blessing to others, unto thee's a curse: thou shame of such a reverence dost not see, to what a monster lust in thee is grown: at lest in men's imaginations. A man as old in show as time himself, Made up for counsel like another Nestor: At least in men's imaginations, To be so monstrous Goatishly inclined. O fie my Lord! think with yourself this ill, Provokes not in the flesh, but in your will: Your blood moves slow and cold and all the fire, That strikes up any heat, is in desire: I blush for you, think of it. Yes i'll think of it, but you shall give me time, And you and I will now go and consult of it. Keep of. Why you wonot stab. Yes to the heart believe it. Why then a combat; look you, I am provided too Will you yield now? No. This would show handsome on a Stage, An old man and a woman at the point: Believe it i'll stab too. Thy worst: for I will mine, This is scurvy wooing, Iulia no more. Farewell then, and repent, Nay then you stir me, yield, or I will force thee. And after pay, thy perjury with death, Are you so mannish. Desist vild ravisher. Ha, the Duke, than rage rise high in me, And add unto this wickedness a worse. Villain, what wilt thou do, keep of. O I am lost. A guard. Cease on the Traitor,— O that those hairs, Which are the badge of truth and as I thought, The care of her should shrouded such villainies, So monstrously betraying and abusing: Away with him to death. To death. Yes a cruel and a lasting. I beseech your grace. Wilt thou beg for him whom he so hath wronged And which is more, made me the instrument? Yes, good my Lord his pardon?
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)
Why she is gone my Lord. Be thoug on to then, and after her and fetchher, And bring her to me, or lay downe thy duty, And let me neuer see it in a face, Or an officious leg againe presented, Zoones are you scraping there when I forbid you. Alas my Lord. My Lord, my Loggerhead, begon. O Maddam, you come like to the Halcion, and bring faire weather with you. Thou art my truth, and I will studdy thee, No more shall misbeliefe enter my thoughts: For thy Idea standing in my heart, As in a Temple shall fright all false suggestions, To the Tartars. Giue me instead of Lawrell, For my deed, a sugred kisse, and crowne my ioyes. Away you are a villaine, I came back to tell you so: And long life which is a blessing to others, vnto thee's a cursse: thou shame of such a reuerence dost not see, to what a monster lust in thee is growne: at lest in mens immaginations. A man as old in show as time himselfe, Made vp for counsell like another Nestor: At least in mens imaginations, To be so monstrous Goatishly inclind. O fie my Lord! thinke with your selfe this ill, Prouokes not in the flesh, but in your will: Your bloud moues slow and cold and all the fire, That strikes vp any heat, is in desire: I blush for you, thinke of it. Yes i'le thinke of it, but you shall giue me time, And you and I will now goe and consult of it. Keepe of. Why you wonnot stab. Yes to the hart beleeue it. Why then a combat; look you, I am prouided too Will you yeeld now? No. This wud shew handsome on a Stage, An old man and a woman at the point: Beleeue it i'le stab too. Thy worst: for I will mine, This is scuruey wooing, Iulia no more. Farwell then, and repent, Nay then you stir me, yeeld, or I will force thee. And after pay, thy periury with death, Are you so mannish. Desist vild rauisher. Ha, the Duke, then rage rise high in me, And add vnto this wickednesse a worse. Villaine, what wilt thou do, keepe of. O I am lost. A gaurd. Cease on the Traitor,—O that those haires, Which are the badge of truth and as I thought, The care of her shud shru'de such villanies, So monstrously betraying and abusing: Away with him to death. To death. Yes a cruell and a lasting. I beseech your grace. Wilt thou beg for him whom he so hath wronged And which is more, made me the instrument? Yes, good my Lord his pardon?