Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1609 [c.1608-1611] (Annals) romance · King's Men T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti typicality 0.77 · 477 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Thanks fairest Lady: What are men mad? Hath Nature given them eyes To see this vaulted Arch, and the rich Crop Of Sea and Land, which can distinguish 'twixt The fiery Orbs above, and the twinned Stones Upon the numbered Beach, and can we not Partition make with Spectales so precious Twixt fair, and foul? What makes your admiration? It cannot be i' th' eye: for Apes, and Monkeys 'Twixt two such She's, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mows the other. Nor i' th' judgement: For Idiots in this case of favour, would Be wisely definite: Nor i' th' Appetite. Sluttery to such near Excellence, opposed Should make desire vomit emptiness, Not so allured to feed. What is the matter trow? The Cloyed will: That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that Tub Both filled and running: Ravening first the Lamb, Longs after for the Garbage. What, dear Sir, Thus raps you? Are you well? Thanks Madam well: Beseech you Sir, Desire my Man's abode, where I did leave him: He's strange and peevish. I was going Sir, To give him welcome. Continues well my Lord? His health beseech you? Well, Madam. Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is. Exceeding pleasant: none a stranger there, So merry, and so gamesome: he is called The Britain Reveller. When he was here He did incline to sadness, and oft times Not knowing why. I never saw him sad. There is a Frenchman his Companion, one An eminent Monsieur, that it seems much loves A Gallian-Girle at home. He furnaces The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Britain, (Your Lord I mean) laughs from's free lungs: cries oh, Can my sides hold, to think that man who knows By History, Report, or his own proof What woman is, yea what she cannot choose But must be: will's free hours languish: For assured bondage? Will my Lord say so? I Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter, It is a Recreation to be by And hear him mock the Frenchman: But heaven's know some men are much too blame. Not he I hope. Not he: But yet heaven's bounty towards him, might Be used more thankfully. In himself 'tis much; In you which I account his beyond all Talents. Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound To pity too. What do you pity Sir? Two Creatures heartyly. Am I one Sir? You look on me: what wrack discern you in me Deserves your pity? Lamentable: what To hide me from the radiant Sun, and solace I' th' Dungeon by a Snuff. I pray you Sir, Deliver with more openness your answers To my demands. Why do you pity me? That others do, (I was about to say) enjoy your— but It is an office of the Gods to venge it, Not mine to speak on't.
seed 43: T31 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thankes faireſt Lady: What are men mad? Hath Nature giuen them eyes To ſee this vaulted Arch, and the rich Crop Of Sea and Land, which can diſtinguiſh 'twixt The firie Orbes aboue, and the twinn'd Stones Vpon the number'd Beach, and can we not Partition make with Spectales ſo pretious Twixt faire, and foule? What makes your admiration? It cannot be i' th' eye: for Apes, and Monkeys 'Twixt two ſuch She's, would chatter this way, and Contemne with mowes the other. Nor i' th' iudgment: For Idiots in this caſe of fauour, would Be wiſely definit: Nor i' th' Appetite. Sluttery to ſuch neare Excellence, oppos'd Should make deſire vomit emptineſſe, Not ſo allurd to feed. What is the matter trow? The Cloyed will: That ſatiate yet vnſatisfi'd deſire, that Tub Both fill'd and running: Rauening firſt the Lambe, Longs after for the Garbage. What, deere Sir, Thus rap's you? Are you well? Thanks Madam well: Beſeech you Sir, Deſire my Man's abode, where I did leaue him: He's ſtrange and peeuiſh. I was going Sir, To giue him welcome. Continues well my Lord? His health beſeech you? Well, Madam. Is he diſpos'd to mirth? I hope he is. Exceeding pleaſant: none a ſtranger there, So merry, and ſo gameſome: he is call'd The Britaine Reueller. When he was heere He did incline to ſadneſſe, and oft times Not knowing why. I neuer ſaw him ſad. There is a Frenchman his Companion, one An eminent Monſieur, that it ſeemes much loues A Gallian-Girle at home. He furnaces The thicke ſighes from him; whiles the iolly Britaine, (Your Lord I meane) laughes from's free lungs: cries oh, Can my ſides hold, to think that man who knowes By Hiſtory, Report, or his owne proofe What woman is, yea what ſhe cannot chooſe But muſt be: will's free houres languiſh: For aſſured bonage? Will my Lord ſay ſo? I Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter, It is a Recreation to be by And heare him mocke the Frenchman: But Heauen's know ſome men are much too blame. Not he I hope. Not he: But yet Heauen's bounty towards him, might Be vs'd more thankfully. In himſelfe 'tis much; In you which I account his beyond all Talents. Whil'ſt I am bound to wonder, I am bound To pitty too. What do you pitty Sir? Two Creatures heartyly. Am I one Sir? You looke on me: what wrack diſcerne you in me Deſerues your pitty? Lamentable: what To hide me from the radiant Sun, and ſolace I' th' Dungeon by a Snuffe. I pray you Sir, Deliuer with more openneſſe your anſweres To my demands. Why do you pitty me? That others do, (I was about to ſay) enioy your—but It is an office of the Gods to venge it, Not mine to ſpeake on't.