Davenant, William · published 1630 · first performed or written 1627 [licensed for stage, Jan 12] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Though Modesty would suffer me to boast, Yet 'twere not in the power of breath, to make My joy so known, as it is felt. Come then (my dear Corsa) the Priest attends Within; the world wants Men; and Hymen is A nimble God. When all is past prevention The Duke shall know my choice. This disgrace, makes thy Cousen boil his heart In his own blood. He hath writ a most pestilent Libel Which must be sung all about the city, By one he calls his Daw; A tall, big, fellow. I know him. He sings like Phalaris Bull. I supposed at first, he would have sent him A Challenge. But that's contingent now: Foreste Being made Secretary of State. I'have heard o'th' new edict, which institutes A mysterious toy, i'th'' Hatband, for those Of the faction. Why about two days since: one of the sect Sent me a Challenge. Because my sister Drunk his Lords health, with her Coif on. Each hour These giddy Participles do embark Themselves for Duels. The one is a kin To my honourable Lady. Th' other To my very good Lord. There comes my Cousen, chawing his lean heart. Good morrow to the Court Satirist. The world is altered Dorido, Foreste Is stepped beyond my reach: we cannot meet In Duel: The Heralds stand between. But my fine Thrush, can sing you a new Libel. We shall have your Thrush, in a Cage shortly. Remember, who you deal withal. Hang him, dull, open slave, His thoughts may be Discerned, through the shaving of a deal board. I'll sift and winnow him, in an old hat. Prithee (sweet Castruchio) leave thy barking. 'Twill bet treason shortly for any man, To carry ears, within three, miles of thy Tongue. Why Signior, what Faction are you of: Not of your faction (Sir) if none return Unto the prison for your libelling. You remember your Vices stripped, and whipped. Your trim Eclogues, the fulsome satire too, Written to his Grace. Wherein you flatter, Whine, and damn yourself to get a pardon For what seems there a resolute offence. Satyrs, are more useful, now then ever. Nor grieves it me to see the humour used, But thus abused. To see a Bard still reach At holy bays, Passion o'me! I'll tell thee. Thy Rhymes include not so much Brains, as would Suffice to fill a Cherry-stone. you'd fain make me angry. ay, with thyself. And than thou spend'st thy Gall, with more justice, Then when, thou rail'st against Foreste. Cry you mercy (precious Cox) Hath Foreste, So great a share in your tongue too? Sympathy Is corrupted. Behold society Amongst the wicked: whilst a virtuous man, Is left alone to resist his bad fate. Let him chide the fulsome Age, rail against The Times, aloud; though in a Vault: or 'tween Two Hills. He shall find no zealous echo, To second his bold Language. When I die, I die a Martyr to the Commonweal.
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)
Though Moeſt would ſuffer me to boaſt, Yet t'were not in the power of breath, to make My ioy ſo knowne, as i is felt. Come then (my deare Corſa) the Prieſt attends Within; the world wants Men; and Hymen is A nimble God. When all is paſt preuention The Duke ſhall know my choice. This diſgrace, makes thy Couſen boyle his heart In his owne blood. He hath writ a moſt peſtilent Libell Which muſt be ſung all about the city, By one he calls his Daw; A tall, bigg, fellow. I know him. He ſings like Phalaris Bull. I ſuppoſd at firſt, he would haue ſent him A Challenge. But that's contingent now: Foreſte Being made Secretary of State. I'haue heard o'th' new edict, which inſtitutes A miſterious toy, 'th' Htband, for thoſe Of the faction. Why about two dayes ſince: one of the ſect Sent me a Challenge. Becauſe my ſiſter Drunke his Lords health, with her Quoife on. Each houre Theſe giddy Participles doe imbarque Themſelues for Duels. The one is a kinne To my honorable Lady. Ih'other To my very good Lord. There comes my Couſen, chawing his leane heart. Good morrow to the Court Satyriſt. The world is altred Dorido, Foreſte Is ſtepp'd beyond my reach: we cannot meete In Duell: The Heralds ſtand betweene. But my ſine Thruſh, can ſing you a new Lybell. We ſhall haue your Thruſh, in a Cage ſhortly. Remember, who you deale withall. Hang him, dll, open ſlaue, His thoughts may be Diſcernd, through the ſhauing of a deale bod. I'le ſift and winnow him, in an old hat. Prethee (ſweete Caſtruchio) leaue thy barkeing. 'Twill bet treaſon ſhortly for any man, To carry eares, within three, miles of thy Tongue. Why Signior, what Faction are you of: Not of your faction (Sir) if none returne Vnto the priſon for your libelling. You remember your Vices-ſtrip'd, and whip'd. Your trimme Eclogues, the fulſome Satyr too, Written to his Grace. Wherein you flatter, Whine, and damne your ſelfe to get a pardon For what ſeemes there a reſolute offence. Satyrs, are more vſefull, now then euer. Nor grieues it me to ſee the humour vs'd, But thus abus'd. To ſee a Bard ſtill reach At ho Bayes, Paſsion o'me! I'le tell thee. Thy Rmes iclude not ſo much Braines, as would Suffice to fill a Cherry-ſtone. Yo'ld faine make me angry. I, with thy ſelfe. And then thou ſpend'ſt thy Gall, with more iuſtice, Then when, thou rayl'ſt againſt Foreſte. Cry you mercy (precious Cox) Hath Foreſte, So great a ſhare in your tongue too? Sympathy Is corupted. Behold ſociety Amongſt the wicked: whilſt a vertuous man, Is left alone to reſiſt his bad fate. Let him chide the fulſome Age, raile againſt The Times, aloude; though in a Vault: or'tweene Two Hills. He ſhall find no zealous ecchoe, To ſecond his bold Language. When I dye, I dye a Martyr to the Common-weale.