Massinger, Philip · published 1623 · first performed or written 1621 [1621-1623] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.85 · 515 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
She frowns, as if Her looks could fright us. May it please your greatness, We heard that your late Physic hath not worked, And that breed, Melancholy, as your Doctor tells us: To purge which, we that are born your highness' Vassals, And are to play the fools to do you service, Present you with a fit of mirth: what think you Of a new Antic? I would show rare in Ladies. Being intended for so sweet a creature, Were she but pleased to grace it. ay, she will, Be it ne'er so mean: she's made of courtesy. The Mistress of all hearts; one smile I pray you On your poor servants, or a fiddler's fee: Coming from those fair hands, though but a Ducat, We will enshrine it as a holy relic. 'Tis, Wormwood, and it works. If I lay by My fears, and griefs (in which you should be sharers) If doting age could let you but remember, You have a son; or frontless impudence, You are a sister; and in making answer, To what was most unfit for you to speak, Or me to hear: borrow of my just anger. A set speech on my life. Penned by her Chaplain. Yes, it can speak, without instruction speak; And tell your want of manners, that you're rude, And saucily rude, too. Now the game begins. You durst not else on any hire or hope, (Remembering what I am, and whose I am) Put on the desperate boldness, to disturb The least of my retirements. Note her now. For both shall understand; though th'one presume Upon the privilege due to a Mother, The Duke stands now on his own legs, and needs No nurse to lead him. How, a Nurse? A dry one, And useless too: But I am merciful, And dotage signs your pardon. I defy thee, Thee, and thy pardons, proud one. For you, Puppet. What, of me? Pinetree. Little you are, I grant, And have as little worth, but much less wit, You durst not else, the Duke being wholly mine, His power and honour mine, and the allegiance, You owe him, as a Subject, due to me. To you? To me: And therefore as a Vassal, From this hour learn to serve me, or, you'll feel, I must make use of my authority, And as a Princess punish it. A Princess? I had rather be a Slave unto a Moore, Than know thee for my equal. Scornful thing, Proud of a white Face. Let her but remember The Issue in her Leg: The charge, she puts The State too, for Perfumes. And, howsoe'er, She seems, when she's made up: As she's herself, She stinks above ground. O that I could reach you, The little one you scorn so, with her nails, Would tear your painted Face, & scratch those Eyes out. Do but come down. Were there no other way, But leaping on thy Neck, to break mine own, Rather than be outbraved thus. forty ducats Upon the little Hen: She's of the kind, And will not leave the Pit.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
She frownes, as if Her lookes could fright vs. May it please your greatnesse, We heard that your late Physicke hath not work'd, And that breed, Melancholy, as your Doctor tells vs: To purge which, we that are born your Highnesse Vassals, And are to play the fooles to doe you seruice, Present you with a sit of mirth: what thinke you Of a new Anticke? I would show rare in Ladies. Being inteaded for so sweet a creature, Were she but pleas'd to grace it. ye, she will, Be it nere so meane: shee's made of courtesie. The Mistresse of all hearts; one smile I pray you On your poore seruants, or a Fidlers fee: Comming from those faire hands, though but a Ducat, We will inshrine it as a holy relique. 'Tis, Wormewood, and it workes. If I lay by My feares, and griefes (in which you should be sharers) If doting age could let you but remember, You haue a sonne; or frontlesse impudence, You are a sister; and in making answere, To what was most vnfit for you to speake, Or me to heare: borrow of my iust anger. A set speech on my life. Pen'd by her Chaplaine. Yes, it can speake, without instruction speake; And tell your want of manners, that y'are rude, And sawcily rude, too. Now the game begins. You durst not else on any hire or hope, (Remembring what I am, and whose I am) Put on the desperate boldnesse, to disturbe The least of my retirements. Note her now. For both shal vnderstand; though th'one presume Vpon the priuiledge due to a Mother, The Duke stands now on his owne legs, and needs No nurse to leade him. How, a Nurse? A dry one, And vselesse too: But I am mercifull, And dotage signes your pardon. I defie thee, Thee, and thy pardons, proud one. For you, Puppet. What, of me? Pine-tree. Little you are, I grant, And haue as little worth, but much lesse wit, You durst not else, the Duke being wholly mine, His power and honour mine, and the alleageance, You owe him, as a Subiect, due to me. To you? To me: And therefore as a Vassal, From this houre learne to serue me, or, you'l feele, I must make vse of my authoritie, And as a Princesse punish it. A Princesse? I had rather be a Slaue vnto a Moore, Than know thee for my equall. Scornefull thing, Proud of a white Face. Let her but remember The Issue in her Legge: The charge, she puts The State too, for Perfumes. And, howsoe're, She seemes, when she's made vp: As she's her selfe, She stinkes aboue ground. O that I could reach you, The little one you scorne so, with her nayles, Would teare your painted Face, & scratch those Eyes out. Doe but come downe. Were there no other way, But leaping on thy Neck, to breake mine owne, Rather than be outbrau'd thus. Fourtie Dacats Vpon the little Hen: She's of the kind, And will not leaue the Pit.