Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1629 [licensed for stage, Jan 19] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Er grae Chreest. Wake her not. Tower een Cuppan D'vsque bagh done. Vsquebagh's her drink. But 'twill not make the time drunk. As't hath her, Away with her, my Lord, but marry her first. Pru, ay, that 'll be sport anon too, for my Lady. But she hath other game to fly at yet: The hour is come, your kiss. My servant's song, first. I say the kiss, first; and I so enjoined it: At your own peril, do, make the contempt. Well Sir, you must be paid, and legally. Nay nothing, Sir, beyond. One more I— except. This was but half a kiss, and I would change it. The Court's dissolved, removed, and the play ended. No sound, or air of Love more, I decree it. From what a happiness hath that one word Thrown me, into the gulf of misery? To what a bottomless despair? how like A Court removing, or an ended Play Shows, my abrupt precipitate estate, By how much more my vain hopes were increased By these false hours of conversation? Did not I prophesy this, of myself, And gave the true prognostics? o my brain! How art thou turned! and my blood congealed! My sinews slackened! and my marrow melted! That I remember not where I have been, Or what I am? Only my tongue's on fire; And burning downward, hurls forth coals, & cinders, To tell, this temple of love, will soon be ashes! Come Indignation, now, and be my mistress, No more of love's ingrateful tyranny. His wheel of torture, and his pits of birdlime, His nets of nooses, whirlpools of vexation, His mills, to grind his servants into powder— I will go catch the wind first in a sieve, Weigh smoak, and measure shadowes, plough the wa, And sow my hopes there, ere I stay in Love. My jealousy is off, I am now secure. Farewell the craft of crocodiles, women's piety, And practice of it, in this art of flattering, And fooling men. I ha' not lost my reason, Though I have lent myself out, for two hours, Thus to be baffled by a Chambermaid, And the good Actor, her Lady, afore mine Host, Of the light Heart, here, that hath laughed at all—, Who I? Laugh on, Sir, I'll to bed, and sleep, And dream away the vapour of Love, if th'house And your leer drunkards let me. Lad. Pru. Sweet madam. Why would you let him go thus? In whose power Was it to stay him, properer than my Ladies! Why, in her Ladies? Are not you the Sovereign? Would you, in conscience, madam, ha' me vex His patience more? Not but apply the cure, Now it is vexed. That's but one bodies work. Two cannot do the same thing handsomely. But had not you the authority, absolute? And were not you i'rebellion, Lady Frampul, From the beginning?
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)
Er grae Chreest. Wake her not. Tower een Cuppan D'vsque bagh doone. Vsque bagh's her drinke. But'twi' not make the time drunke. As't hath her, Away with her, my Lord, but marry her first. Pru, I, that 'll be sport anone too, for my Lady. But she hath other game to fly at yet: The houre is come, your kisse. My seruants song, first. I ay the kisse, first; and I so enioyn'd it: At your owne perill, doe, make the contempt. Well Sir, you must be pay'd, and legally. Nay nothing, Sir, beyond. One more-I except. This was but halfe a kisse, and I would change it. The Court's dissolu'd, remou'd, and the play ended. No sound, or aire of Loue more, I decree it. From what a happinesse hath that one word Throwne me, into the gulfe of misery? To what a bottomlesse despaire? how like A Court remoouing, or an ended Play Shewes, my abrupt precipitate estate, By how much more my vaine hopes were encreas'd By these false houres of conuersaion? Did not I prophesie this, of my selfe, And gaue the true prognosticks? o my braine! How art thou turned! and my blood congeald! My sinewes slackned! and my marrow melted! That I remember not where I haue bin, Or what I am? Only my tongue's on fire; And burning downward, hurles forth coales, & cinders, To tell, this temple of loue, will soone be ashes! Come Indignation, now, and be my mistresse, No more of Loues ingratefull tyranny. His wheele of torture, and his pits of bird-lime, His nets of nooses, whirle-pooles of vexation, His mils, to grind his seruants into powder— I will goe catch the wind first in a sieue, Weigh smoak, and measure shadowes, plough the wa, And sow my hopes there, ere I stay in Loue. My iealousie is off, I am now secure. Farewell the craft of crocodiles, womens piety, And practise of it, in this art of flattering, And fooling men. I ha' not lost my reason, Though I haue lent my selfe out, for two howres, Thus to be baffld by a Chambermaid, And the good Actor, her Lady, afore mine Host, Of the light Heart, here, that hath laught at all—, Who I? Laugh on, Sir, Ile to bed, and sleepe, And dreame away the vapour of Loue, if th'house And your leere drunkards let me. Lad. ru. Sweet Madame. Why would you let him goe thus? In whose power Was it to stay him, prop'rer then my Ladies! Why, in her Ladies? Are not you the Soueraigne? Would you, in conscience, Madame, ha me vexe His patience more? Not but apply the cure, Now it is vex't. That's but one bodies worke. Two cannot doe the same thing handsomely. But had not you the authority, absolute? And were not you i'rebellion, Lady Frampal, From the beginning?