The Conceited Pedlar (The University Pedlar) · chunk 8 of 8
Randolph, Thomas · published 1630 · first performed or written 1627 [Nov 1] (Annals) entertainment; academic entertainment unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
I am a man as you are, and this naughty flesh and blood will never leave tempting: yet I protest by the sweet sole of this incomparable she, I never had any acquaintance with the pretty Libraries of flesh, but only this: This is the subject of my muse; This I adorn with costly Epigrams, and such curious Encomiums, as may deserve immortality in the Chamberpots of Helicon: and thus my Furor Poeticus doth accost her. Fair madam, thee whose every thing deserves the close-stool of a King: whose head is fair as any bone, White and smooth as Pumex stone. Whose natural baldness scorns to wear The needless excrements of bayre. Whose forehead streaks, our hearts commands, Like Dover Cliffs, or Goodwyn sands. While from those dainty glow-worm eyes, Cupid shoots plumpudding pies, While from the Arches of thy nose, A cream-pot of white Nectar flows: Fair dainty lips, so smooth, so sleek, And truly Alabaster cheek. Pure Saffron teeth, happy the meat That such pretty millstones eat. O let me hear some silent song, Tuned by the Jew's-trump of thy tongue. Oh, how that Chin becomes thee well, Where never hairy beard shall dwell: Thy Coral neck doth statelier bow, Than Io's when she turned a Cow: O let me, or I shall ne'er rest, Suck the black bottles of thy breast: Or lay my head, and rest me still On that dainty Hogmagog hill. Oh curious, and unfathomed waste, As slender as the stateliest Mast: Thy fingers too breed my delight, Each Wart a natural Margarite, Oh pitty then my dismall moue, Able to melt thy heart of stone. Thou know'st how I lament and howl, Weep, snort, condole, look sad and scowl. Each night so great, my passions be, I cannot wake for thought of thee. Thy Gown can tell how much I loved, Thy Petticoat to pity moved. Then let thy Pedlar mercy find, To kiss thee once, though it be behind. Sweet kiss, sweet lips, delicious sense, How sweet a Zephyrus blows from thence? Blessed petticoat, more blessed her Smock, That daily busseth her Buttock: For now the Prover be true I find, That the best part is still behind. Sweet dainty soul, deign but to give The poor Pedlar, this hanging Sleeve. And in thine honour, by this kiss, I'll daily wear my Pack in this, And quickly so bear thee more fame, Than Quixot the Knight Errants dame: So farewell sweet, deign but to touch, And once again rebless my Pouch. Is it not pity such ware should not be bought? Well, I perceive the fault is in the emptiness of your learned pockets: well, I'll to the Court, and see what I can sell there, and then carry the Relics to Rome. Some friend must now perforce, Make haste, and bid my Boy To saddle me my wooden Horse: For I mean to conquer Troy.
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)
I am a man as you are, and this naughty flesh and blood will neuer leaue tempting: yet I protest by the sweet sole of this incomparable shee, I neuer had any acquaintance with the pretty Libraries of flesh, but onely this: This is the subiect of my muse; This I adorne with costly Epigrams, and such curious Encomiums, as may deserue immortality in the Chamberpots of Helicon: and thus my Furor Poeticus doth accost her. Faire Madame, thee whose euery thing Deseres the Close-stoole of a King: Wose head is faire as any bone, White and smooth as Pumex stone. Whose naturall baldnesse scornes to weare The needlesse excrements of bayre. Whose fore-head streakes, our hearts commands, Like Douer Clifts, or Goodwyn sands. While from those daintie Glo-worme eyes, Cupid shoots plum-pudding pyes, While from the Arches of thy nose, A Creame-pot of white Nectar flowes: Faire dainty lips, so smooth, so sleeke, And truely Alablaster cheeke. Pure Saffron teeth, happy the meate That such pretty milnestones eate. O let mee heare some silent song, Tun'd by the Iewes-trumpe of thy tongue. Oh, how that Chin becomes thee well, Where neuer hairy beard shall dwell: Thy Corall necke doth statelier bow, Then Iös when she turn'd a Cow: O let mee, or I shall ne'r rest, Sucke the blacke bottles of thy brest: Or lay my head, and rest mee still On that dainty Hogmagog hill. Oh curious, and vnfathom'd waste, As slender as the stateliest Mast: Thy fingers too breed my delight, Each Wart a naturall Margarite, Oh pitty then my dismall moue, Able to melt thy heart of stone. Thou know'st how I lament and howle, Weepe, snort, condole, looke sad and scowle. Each night so great, my passions be, I cannot wake for thought of thee. Thy Gowne can tell how much I lou'd, Thy Petticoate to pitty moou'd. Then let thy Pedler mercy finde, To kisse theo once, though it be behinde. Sweet kisse, sweet lips, delicious sence, How sweet a Zephyrus blowes from thence? Blest Peiticoate, more blest her Smocke, That daily busseth her Buttocke: For now the Prouer be true I finde, That the best part is still behinde. Sweet dainty soule, daigne but to giue The poore Pedler, this hanging Slee. And in thine honour, by this kisse, I'le dayly weare my Packe in this, And quickly so beare thee mre fame, Then Quixot the Knight Errants dame: So farewell sweet, daign but to touch, And once againe re-blesse my Pouch. Is it not pitty such ware should not bee bought? Well, I perceiue the fault is in the emptinesse of your learned pockets: well, I'le to the Court, and see what I can sell there, and then carry the Reliques to Rome. Some friend must now peror, Make haste, and bid my Boy To saddle me my woodden Horse: For I meane to conquer Troy.