Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1629 [licensed for stage, Jan 19] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
This was a pretty riddling way of wooing! I oft have been, too, in her company; And looked upon her, a whole day; admired her; Loved her, and did not tell her so; loved still, Looked still, and loved: and loved, and looked, and sighed; But, as a man neglected, I came of, And unregarded— Could you blame her, Sir, When you were silent, and not said a word? O but I loved the more; and she might read it Best, in my silence, had she been— As melancholic As you are. Pray you, why would you stand mute, Sir? O thereon hangs a history, mine host. Did you ever know, or hear, of the Lord Beaufort, Who served so bravely in France? I was his page, And, ere he died, his friend! I followed him, First, i'the wars; and i'the times of peace, I waited on his studies: which were right. He had no Arthur's, nor no Rosicleer's, No Knights o'the Sun, nor Amadis de Gaule's, Primaleon's, and Pantagruel's, public Nothings; Abortives of the fabulous, dark cloister, Sent out to poison courts, and infest manners: But great Achilles, Agamemnon's acts, Sage Nestor's counsels, and Ulysses' slights, Tydides' fortitude, as Homer wrought them In his immortal fantasy, for examples Of the Heroic virtue. Or, as Virgil, That master of the Epic poem, limned Pious Aeneas, his religious Prince, Bearing his aged Parent on his shoulders, Rapt from the flames of Troy, with his young son. And these he brought to practise, and to use. He gave me first my breeding, I acknowledge, Then showered his bounties on me, like the Hours, That openhanded sit upon the Clouds, And press the liberality of heaven Down to the laps of thankful men! But then! The trust committed to me, at his death, Was above all! and left so strong a tie On all my powers! as time shall not dissolve! Till it dissolve itself, and bury all! The care of his brave heir, and only son! Who being a virtuous, sweet, young, hopeful Lord, Hath cast his first affections on this Lady. And though I know, and may presume her such, As, out of humour, will return no love; And therefore might indifferently be made The courting-stock, for all to practise on. As she doth practise on all us, to scorn: Yet, out of a religion to my charge, And debt professed, I ha'made a self-decree, ne'er to express my person; though my passion Burn me to cinders. Then yo'are not so subtle, Or half so read in love-craft, as I took you. Come, come, you are no Phoenix, an' you were, I should expect no miracle from your ashes. Take some advice. Be still that rag of love, You are. Burn on till you turn tinder. This Chambermaid may hap to prove the steel, To strike a sparkle out o'the flint, your mistress May beget bonfires yet, you do not know, What light may be forced out, and from what darkness.
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)
This was a pretty ridling way of wooing! I oft haue bene, too, in her company; And look'd vpon her, a whole day; admird her; Lou'd her, and did not tell her so; lou'd still, Look'd still, and lou'd: and lou'd, and look'd, and sigh'd; But, as a man neglected, I came of, And vnregarded— Could you blame her, Sir, When you were silent, and not said a word? O but Ilou'd the more; and she might read it Best, in my silence, had she bin— As melancholique As you are. 'Pray you, why would you stand mute, Sir? O thereon hangs a history, mine host. Did you euer know, or heare, of the Lord Beaufort, Who seru'd so brauely in France? I was his page, And, ere he dy'd, his friend! I follow'd him, First, i'the warres; and i'the times of peace, I waited on his studies: which were right. He had no Arthurs, nor no Rosicleer's, No Knights o'the Sunne, nor Amadis de Gaule's, Primalions, and Pantagruel's, publique Nothings; Abortiues of the fabulous, darke cloyster, Sent out to poison courts, and infest manners: But great Achilles, Agamemnons acts, Sage Nestors counsels, and Vlysses slights, Tydides fortitude, as Homer wrought them In his immortall phant'sie, for examples Of the Heroick vertue. Or, as Virgil, That master of the Epick poeme, limn'd Pious Aeneas, his religious Prince, Bearing his aged Parent on his shoulders, Rapt from the flames of Try, with his yong sonne. And these he brought to practise, and to vse. He gaue me first my breeding, I acknowledge, Then showr'd his bounties on me, like the Howres, That open-handed sit vpon the Clouds, And presse the liberality of heauen Downe to the laps of thankfull men! But then! The trust committed to me, at his death, Was aboue all! and left so strong a tye On all my powers! as time shall not dissolue! Till it dissolue it selfe, and bury all! The care of his braue heire, and only sonne! Who being a vertuous, sweet, yong, hopefull Lord, Hath cast his first affections on this Lady. And though I know, and may presume her such, As, out of humor, will returne no loue; And therefore might indifferently be made The courting-stock, for all to practise on. As she doth practise on all vs, to scorne: Yet, out of a religion to my charge, And debt profess'd, I ha'made a selfe-decree, Nere to expresse my person; though my passion Burne me to cinders. Then yo'are not so subtle, Or halfe so read in loue-craft, as I tooke you. Come, come, you are no Phoenix, an' you were, I should expect no miracle from your ashes. Take some aduice. Be still that rag of loue, You are. Burne on till you turne tinder. This Chambermaid may hap to proue the steele, To strike a sparkle out o'the flint, your mistresse May beget bonfires yet, you doe not know, What light may be forc'd out, and from what darknes.