Middleton, Thomas · published 1630 · first performed or written 1613 (Annals) comedy · Lady Elizabeth's Men · Swan unassigned nearest T26 Devils, hell and fiends · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
Touch me not Villain, my wound aches at thee, Thou poison to my Heart. He raves already, His senses are quite gone, he knows me not, Look up an't like your Worship, heave those Eyes, Call me to mind, is your remembrance lost? Look in my face, who am I an't like your Worship? If any thing be worse than Slave or Villain, Thou art the Man. Alas his poor worship's weakness, He will begin to know me by little and little. No Devil can be like thee. Ah poor Gentleman, methinks the pain that thou endurest. Thou know'st me to be wicked for thy baseness Kept the Eyes open still on all my sins, None knew the dear account my soul stood charged with So well as thou, yet like hell's flattering Angel, Wouldst never tell me an't, let'st me go on, And join with Death in sleep, that if I had not waked Now by chance, even by a stranger's pity, I had everlastingly slept out all hope Of grace and mercy. Now he is worse and worse, Wife, to him wife, thou wast wont to do good on him. How is't with you Sir? Not as with you, Thou loathsome strumpet: some good pitying Man Remove my sins out of my sight a little, I tremble to behold her, she keeps back All comfort while she stays, is this a time, Unconscionable Woman, to see thee, Art thou so cruel to the peace of Man, Not to give liberty now, the Devil himself Shows a far fairer reverence and respect To goodness than thyself, he dares not do this, But part in time of penitence, hides his Face, When Man withdraws from him, he leaves the place, Hast thou less manners, and more impudence, Than thy instructor, prithee show thy modesty, If the least grain be left, and get thee from me, Thou shouldst be rather locked many Rooms hence, From the poor miserable sight of me, If either love or grace had part in thee. He is lost for ever. Run sweet Davy quickly, And fetch the Children hither, sight of them, Will make him cheerful straight. O Death! Is this A place for you to weep? What tears are those? Get you away with them, I shall fare the worse, As long as they are a weeping, they work against me, There's nothing but thy appetite in that sorrow, Thou weep'st for Lust, I feel it in the slackness Of comforts coming towards me, I was well till thou began'st to undo me, This shows like the fruitless sorrow of a careless mother That brings her Son with dalliance to the Gallows, And then stands by, and weeps to see him suffer. There are the children Sir, an't like your worship, Your last fine Girl, in troth she smiles, Look, look, in faith Sir.
seed 43: T23 · seed 44: T23 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Touch me not Villaine, my wound akes at thee, Thou poyſon to my Heart. He raues already, His ſences are quite gone, he knowes me not, Looke vp an't like your Worſhip, heaue thoſe Eyes, Call me to mind, is your remembrance loſt? Looke in my face, who am I an't like your Worſhip? If any thing be worſe then Slaue or Villaine, Thou art the Man. Alas his poore Worſhips weakeneſſe, He will begin to know me by little and little. No Diuell can be like thee. Ah poore Gentleman, Me thinkes the paine that thou endureſt. Thou know'ſt me to be wicked for thy baſeneſſe Kept the Eyes open ſtill on all my ſinnes, None knew the deere account my ſoule ſtood charg'd with So well as thou, yet like Hels flattering Angel, Would'ſt neuer tell me an't, let'ſt me goe on, And ioyne with Death in ſleepe, that if I had not wak't Now by chance, euen by a ſtrangers pittie, I had euerlaſtingly ſlept out all hope Of grace and mercie. Now he is worſe and worſe, Wife, to him wife, thou waſt wont to doe good on him. How iſt with you Sir? Not as with you, Thou loathſome ſtrumpet: ſome good pittying Man Remoue my ſinnes out of my ſight a little, I tremble to behold her, ſhe keepes backe All comfort while ſhe ſtayes, is this a time, Vnconſcionable Woman, to ſee thee, Art thou ſo cruell to the peace of Man, Not to giue libertie now, the Diuell himſelfe Shewes a farre fairer reuerence and reſpect To goodneſſe then thy ſelfe, he dares not doe this, But part in time of penitence, hides his Face, When Man with-drawes from him, he leaues the place, Haſt thou leſſe manners, and more impudence, Then thy inſtructer, prethee ſhew thy modeſtie, If the leaſt graine be left, and get thee from me, Thou ſhould'ſt be rather lock't many Roomes hence, From the poore miſerable ſight of me▪ If either loue or grace had part in thee. He is loſt for euer. Run ſweet Dauy quickly, And fetch the Children hither, ſight of them, Will make him cheerefull ſtraight. O Death! Is this A place for you to weepe? What teares are thoſe? Get you away with them, I ſhall fare the worſe, As long as they are a weeping, they worke againſt me, There's nothing but thy appetite in that ſorrow, Thou weep'ſt for Luſt, I feele it in the ſlackneſſe Of comforts comming towards me, I was well till thou began'ſt to vndoe me, This ſhewes like the fruitleſſe ſorrow of a careleſſe mother That brings her Sonne with dalliance to the Gallowes, And then ſtands by, and weepes to ſee him ſuffer. There are the children Sir, an't like your worſhip, Your laſt fine Girle, in troth ſhe ſmiles, Looke, looke, in faith Sir.