May, Thomas · published 1622 · first performed or written 1620 (Annals) comedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 471 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
ROscio. My Lord. Hast thou divulged the news That my son died at Athens. Yes my Lord, With every circumstance, the time, the place, And manner of his death; that it is believed And told for news with as much confidence As if 'twere writ in Gallobelgicus. That's well, that's very well, now Roscio Follows my part, I must express a grief Not usual, not like a well left heir For his dead father, or a lusty Widow For her old husband, must I counterfeit, But in a deeper, a far deeper strain Weep like a Father for his only son, Is not that hard to do, ha, Roscio? Oh no my Lord, Not for your skill, has not your Lordship seen A player personate Ieronimo? By th'mass 'tis true, I have seen the knave paint grief In such a lively colour, that for false And acted passion he has drawn true tears From the spectator's eyes, Ladies in the boxes Kept time with sighs, and tears to his sad accents As had he truly been the new man he seemed. Well then I'll ne'er despair; but tell me thou Thou that hast still been privy to my bosom, How will this project take? Rarely my Lord, when now my thinks, I see your Lordship's house Is with suitors of the noblest rank, And my young Lady your supposed Heir Tired more with wooing then the Grecian Queen In the long absence of her wandering Lord. There's not a ruinous nobility In all this kingdom, but conceives a hope Now to rebuild his fortunes on this match. Those are not they I looke for, no, my ne Are spread for other game, the rich and greedy Those that have wealth enough, yet gape for more They are for me, Others will come my Lord, All sorts of fish will press upon your nets, Then in your Lordship's wisdom it must lie To cull the great ones, and reject the fry. Nay fear not that, there's none shall have access To see my daughter, or to speak to her, But such as I approve, and aim to catch. The jest will be, my Lord, when you shall see How your aspiring suitors will put on The face of greatness, and belie their fortunes Consume themselves in show, wasting like Merchants Their present wealth in rigging a fair ship For some ill venture de voyage, that undoes 'em. Here comes a youth with letters from the Court, Bought of some favourite at such a price As will for ever sink him, yet alas All's to no purpose, he must lose the prize. This was a jest well thought of, the conceit Will feed me fat, with sport that it shall make, Besides the large adventures it brings home Unto my daughter. How now.
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)
ROſcio. My Lord. Haſt thou divulg'd the newes That my ſonne dy'd at Athens. Yes my Lord, With euery circumſtance, the time, the place, And manner of his death; that it is beleeu'd And told for newes with as much confidence As if twere writ in Gallobelgicus. That's well, that's very well, now Roſcio Followes my part, I muſt expreſſe a griefe Not vſuall, not like a well left heire For his dead father, or a luſty Widdow For her old husband, muſt I counterfeit, But in a deeper, a farre deeper ſtraine Weepe like a Father for his onely ſonne, Is not that hard to doe, ha, Roſcio? Oh no my Lord, Not for your skill, has not your Lordſhip ſeene A player perſonate Ieronimo? By th'maſſe tis true, I haue ſeen the knaue paint griefe In ſuch a liuely colour, that for falſe And acted paſſion he has drawne true teares From the ſpectators eyes, Ladyes in the boxes Kept time with ſighes, and teares to his ſad accents As had he truely bin the new man he ſeemd. Well then Ile neere diſpaire; but tell me thou Thou that haſt ſtill beene priuy to my boſome, How will this proiect take? Rarely my Lord, hen now my thinkes, I ſee your Lordſhips houſe with ſuitors of the nobleſt ranke, And my yong Lady your ſuppoſed Heire more with woing then the Grecian Queene In the long abſence of her wandring Lord. Theres not a ruinous nobility In all this kingdome, but conceiues a hope Now to ebuild his fortunes on this match. Thoſe are not they I looke for, no, my ne Are ſpread for other game, the rich and greedy Thoſe that haue wealth enough, yet gape for more They are for me, Others will come my Lord, All ſorts of fiſh will preſſe vpon your nets, Then in your Lordſhips wiſedome it muſt lie To cull the great ones, and reiect the frie. Nay feare not that, there's none ſhall haue acceſſe To ſee my daughter, or to ſpeake to her, But ſuch as I approue, and ayme to catch. The ieſt will be, my Lord, when you ſhall ſee How your aſpiring ſuitors will put on The face of greatneſſe, and bely their fortunes Conſume themſelues in ſhew, waſting like Merchants Their preſent wealth in rigging a fayre ſhip For ſome ill venture de voyage, that vndoes vm. Here comes a youth with letters from the Court, Bought of ſome fauourite at ſuch a price As will for euer ſinke him, yet alas all's to no purpoſe, he muſt looſe the prize. This was a ieſt well thought of, the conceit Will feed me fat, with ſport that it ſhall make, Beſides the large aduentures it brings home Vnto my daughter. How now.