Davenant, William · published 1630 · first performed or written 1627 [licensed for stage, Jan 12] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy typicality 0.83 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
I hope your Grace hath thoughts more merciful. I know this match was made in Heaven; and not Provoked by any sinful art in me. How I have used him in this little time That he hath been my Lord: let him declare. My duty is so strict, I need not blush To hear the story told. No! look, look there. His Eyes for very shame Their lustre's lost are crept into his head: Encircled with the weakly colour blue. The Roses in his Cheeks are withered quite His clear and brisk aspect is muddy now And dull: His voice (that was so shrill; and could Even Trumpetlike, outscold the echo) Is hollow grown, and hoarse. Have you then used him well? Alas (most gracious sir) go not about To make my Lord suspect my Loyalty. If Nature sicken in his faculties; Which (heaven be thanked) I perceived not yet, It cannot prove a guiltiness in me. believe't (young wife) I am no Proselyte, I still aver, you are that greedy Nymph, That hath devoured the rich complexion of my Boy. See how his feature's shrunk? his beauty stained? The Scythian Dame (whose cruelty is such, Whose lust so prodigal, that she doth strive To kill the able Lecher in the act; Making her womb his Sepulchre) would yet Have spared that wanton handsomeness; to show As pattern of her Lenity. I hope, your Grace will pardon Ignorance, That so ill mannered is, as not to know Your meaning. No matter Lady. My accusation shall withdraw itself. Pretty innocence! Lucio, prepare. 'tis our will to make thy Wife a Courtier; She shall be high in favour; if she'll leave Her modesty; that's out of fashion now: In Neighbour Courts, the ladies so prevail With masculine behaviour: they grow In factions able to depose their Husbands From the charter of their Sex. 'tis strange that his dislike is fled so soon. Your Marriage we will solemnize with masques, And Revels. If Invention ever mean, To get reward for subtlety; 'tis now. We take notice (Lucio) She is thy wife, And thy sister our Foreste. We your grace's humblest Creatures. Affection is become a Parasite; Strives to please, whom it cannot benefit. Known, by whom by City wits! Or my lady's workmen. Who ne'er saw verse, but what their Suitors writ, Which they read like Prose too. I'll not discredit my patience, talk on. They say you are particular with a Great Lady. Yes, and her Pensioner. Some loose thing (belike) yet will be at charge, To secure her fame from noise. For thou pray'st Against all lechery but thine own. And she hath wished in witty-penitence, Thou hadst been single in the world, ay, for then she had lived chaste. He grows angry, His eyes look red. No Sir. They blush to see a Fool. 'twere fit they would employ their modesty At home. For thou art a fool in print.
nodes 953–1022 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 15 of 35 in this edition
Length
490 words · 686 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T23 — Husbands, wives and jealousycross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.826 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T26 · seed 44: T28 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I hope your Grace hath thoughts more mecifull. I know this match was made in Heauen; and not Prouok'd by any ſinfull art in me. How I haue v'd him in this little time That he hath bin my Lord: let him declare. My duty is ſo ſtrict, I need not bluſh To heare the ſtory told. No! looke, looke there. His Eies for very ſhame Their luſter's loſt are crep't into his head: Encircled with the weakely cullor blew. The Roſes in his Cheekes are withered quite His cleere and briske aſpect is muddy now And dull: His voyce (that was ſo ſhrill; and could Euen Trumpet-like, outſcolde the Ecchoe) Is hollow growne, and horce. Haue you then vs'd him well? Alas (moſt gracious ſir) goe not about To make my Lord ſuſpect my Loyalty. If Nature ſickne in his faculties; Which (heauen be thanked) I perceiued not yet, It cannot prooue a guiltineſſe in me. Beleeu't (young wife) I am no Proſelyte, I ſtill auerr, you are that greedy Nimph, That hath deuour'd the rich complexion of my Boy. See how his feature's ſhrunke? his beauty ſtain'd? The Scythian Dame (whoſe cruelty is ſuch, Whoſe luſt ſo prodigall, that ſhe doth ſtriue To kill the able Lecher in the act; Making her wombe his Sepulchre) would yet Haue ſpard that wanton handſomeneſſe; to ſhew As patterne of her Lenitie. I hope, your Grace will pardon Ignorance, That ſo ill mannerd is, as not to know Your meaning. No matter Lady. My accuſation ſhall withdraw it ſelfe. Pretty innocence! Lucio, prepare. Tis our will to make thy Wife a Courtier; She ſhall be high in fauour; if ſhe'll leaue Her modeſty; that's out of faſhion now: In Neighbour Courts, the Ladys ſo preuaile With maſculine behauiour: they grow In factions able to depoſe their Husbands From the charter of their Sex. T'is ſtrange that his diſlike is fled ſo ſoone. Your Mariage we wil ſolemnize with maſques, And Reuels. If Inuention uer meane, To get reward for ſubtiltie; tis now. We take notice (Lucio) She is thy wife, And thy ſiſter our Foreſte. We your Graces humbleſt Creatures. Affection is become a Paraſite; Striues to pleaſe, whom it cannot benifit. Knowne, by whom by Citty witts! Or my Ladys workemen. Who ne're ſaw verſe, but what their Sutors writ, Which they read like Proſe too. I'le not diſcredit my patience, talke on. They ſay you are particular with a Great Lady. Yes, and her Penſioner. Some looſe thing (belike) yet will be at charge, To ſecure her fame from noyſe. For thou prayſt Againſt all lechery but thine owne. And ſhe hath wiſh'd in witty-penitence, Thou had'ſt beene ſingle in the world, I, for then ſhe had liu'd chaſte. He growes angry, His eies looke red. No Sir. They bluſh to ſee a Foole. T'were fit they would imploy their modeſty At home. For thou art a foole in print.