Markham, Gervase / Sampson, William · published 1622 · first performed or written 1622 [c.1619-1622] (Annals) tragedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) · Red Bull unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Pitiful fool, go sleep, or thou'lt run mad else, Sizers, sweet Scissors; sharp, but gentle ones; That once did cut the Locks of Salumith; Making them in humility hang down On either side her cheeks, as 'twere to guard The Roses, that there flourish: O, go rest, Rest in this peaceful Case; and let no hand Of mortal race profane you. 'sfoot, the Slave Will beggar himself with buying new Instruments. O 'tis a piece of strange Idolatry. Toothpick, dear Toothpick; Ear-pick, both of you Have been her sweet Companions; with the one I've seen her pick her white Teeth; with the other Wriggle so finely wormlike in her Ear; That I have wished, with envy, (pardon me) I had been made of your condition: But 'tis too great a blessing. What, to be made a Toothpick? Nay, you'll spoil all, if you interrupt him. Salumith, O Salumith; When first I saw thy golden Locks to shine, I broke my glass; needing no Face, but thine: When at those coral Lips, I was a gazer; Greedy of one sweet touch, I broke my Razor: When to thy Cheeks, thou didst my poor Eyes call; Away flew Scissors, Basin, Balls and all: On y the Crisping-Irons I kept most dear; To do thee service here and everywhere. Not everywhere good Triphon, some place still Must be reserved for other purposes. Bright Goddess. Well proceed; What, at a stand? has true love got the power, To strike dumb such a nimble wit? Cry hem, pluck up thy heart man? what, a polling shaving Squire, and struck dead with a woman? Nothing so, he does but mock, he loves not Salumith. Not love you Lady? O strange blasphemy! Faith, what wouldst thou do now but for a kiss of her hand. What would I do? what not? O any thing. I'll number all those Hairs my Scissors cut, And dedicate those Numbers to her Shrine; A Breath more loathsome than the Stench of Nile, I'll rectify, and, for her sake, make pleasant; A Face more black than any Aethiop, I'll scour as white as Silver; to attain But one touch of her finger, I'd beget Things beyond wonder; stab, poison, kill, Break mine own neck, my friends, or any man's. Spoke like a daring servant; hark thine ear; Do this and have thy wishes. What, but this? No more believe it: why, 'tis nothing man; Only, it asks some seriousness and Art, By which to move the King, and gain belief. But shall I have a kiss from that white hand, Which gripes my heart within it? Sir, you shall; 'tis there, pay your devotion. Then by this kiss I'll do it; honey kiss There's resolution in thee, and I'm fixed To doc it swiftly, quickly; from my lip Thy sweet taste shall not part, till I have spoke All that your wishes look for: boast of this; Y'ave bought two Princes lives with one poor kiss. Spoke like a noble Servant.
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)
Pittifull foole, goe sleepe, or thoult runne mad els, Sizers, sweet Sizers; sharpe, but gentle ones; That once did cut the Locks of Salumith; Making them in humility hang downe On either side her cheekes, as 'twere to guard The Roses, that there flourish: O, goe rest, Rest in this peacefull Case; and let no hand Of mortall race prophane you. Sfoote, the Slaue Will begger himselfe with buying new Instruments. O tis a piece of strange Idolatry. Tooth-pick, deare Tooth-pick; Eare-pick, both of you Haue beene her sweet Companions; with the one I'ue seene her picke her white Teeth; with the other Wriggle so finely worme-like in her Eare; That I haue wisht, with enuy, (pardon me) I had beene made of your condition: But tis too great a blessing. What, to be made a Tooth-picke? Nay, youle spoyle all, if you interrupt him. Salumith, O Salumith; When first I saw thy golden Lockes to shine, I brake my glasse; needing no Face, but thine: When at those corrall Lips, I was a gazer; Greedy of one sweet touch, I broke my Razor: When to thy Cheekes, thou didst my poore Eyes call; Away flew Sizers, Bason, Balls and all: On y the Crisping-Irons I kept most deare; To doe thee seruice heere and euery where. Not euery where good Triphon, some place still Must be reseru'd for other purposes. Bright Go-o-o-desse. Well proceede; What, at a stand? has true loue got the power, To strike dumbe such a nimble wit? Cry hem, pluck vp thy heart man? what, a polling shauing Squire, and strucke dead with a woman? Nothing so, he does but mocke, he loues not Salumith. Not loue you Lady? O strange blasphemy! Faith, what wouldst thou do now but for a kisse of her hand. What would I do? what not? O any thing. Ile number all those Hayres my Sizers cut, And dedicate those Numbers to her Shrine; A Breath more loathsome then the Stench of Nile, Ile rectifie, and, for her sake, make pleasant; A Face more black then any Aethiope, Ile scoure as white as Siluer; to attaine But one touch of her finger, I'de beget Things beyond wonder; stab, poyson, kill, Breake mine owne necke, my friends, or any mans. Spoke like a daring seruant; harke thine eare; Doe this and haue thy wishes. What, but this? No more beleeue it: why, tis nothing man; Only, it asks some seriousnes and Art, By which to moue the King, and gaine beleefe. But shall I haue a ksse from that white hand, Which gripes my heart within it? Sir, you shall; tis there, pay your deuotion. Then by this kisse Ile do it; hney kisse There's resol tion in thee, and I'm fixt To doc it swiftly, quickly; from my lip Thy sweet taste shall not part, till I haue spoke All that your wishes looke for: boast of this; Y'aue bought two Princes liues with one poore kisse. Spoke like a noble Seruant.