Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1629 [licensed for stage, Jan 19] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T28 Marriage-making: weddings, brides and ma · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T28: married, marriage, wedding, day, bride, father, wife, luce, love, husband.
I do think, I did, And heard the words, Philip, I take thee, Latice, I gave her too, was then the father Fly, And heard the Priest do his part, far as five nobles Would lead him i'the lines of matrimony. Where were they married? I'th' new stable, Omin! I ha' known many a church been made a stable, But not a stable made a church till now I wish 'em joy. Fly, was he a full priest? He bellied for it, had his velvet sleeves, And his branched cassock, a side sweeping gown, All his formalities, a good crammed divine! I went not far to fetch him, the next Inn, Where he was lodged, for the action. Had they a licence? Licence of love, I saw no other, and purse, To pay the duties both of Church, and house, The angels flew about. Those birds send luck: And mirth will follow. I had thought to ha' sacrificed, To merriment tonight, i'my light Heart, Fly, And like a noble Poet, to have had My last act best: but all fails i'the plot. Lovel is gone to bed; the Lady Frampul And Sovereign Pru fall'n out: Tipto, and his Regiment Of mine-men, all drunk dumb, from his whop Barnaby, To his hoop Trundle: they are his two Tropicks. No project to rear laughter on, but this, The marriage of Lord Beaufort, with Laetitia. Stay! what's here! The satin gown redeemed! And Pru restored in't, to her Lady's grace! She is set forth in't! rigged for some employment! An Embassy at least! Some treaty of state! 'Tis a fine tack about! and worth the observing. Sweet Pru, ay, now thou art a Queen indeed! These robes do royally! and thou becomest 'em! So they do thee! rich garments only fit The parties they are made for! they shame others. How did they show on goody Tailors back! Like a Caparison for a Sow, God save us! Thy putting hem on hath purged, and hallowed 'em From all pollution, meant by the Mechanics. Hang him poor snip, a secular shop-wit! H' hath nought but his shears to claim by, & his measures, His prentice may as well put in, for his needle, And plead a stitch. They have no taint in 'em, Now o'the tailor. Yes, of his wife's haunches, Thus thick of fat; I smell 'em, o'the say. It is restorative, Pru! with thy but chafing it, A barren Hind's grease may work miracles. Find but his chamber door, and he will rise To thee! or if thou pleasest, fain to be The wretched party herself, and com'st unto him In forma pauperis, to crave the aid Of his Knight errant valour, to the rescue Of thy distressed robes! name but thy gown, And he will rise to that! Pru. I'll fire the charm first, I had rather die in a ditch, with Mistress Shore, Without a smock, as the pitiful matter has it, Then owe my wit to clothes, or ha' it beholden. Still spirit of Pru! And smelling o'the Sovereign!
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 doe thinke, I did, And heard the words, Philip, I take thee, Ltice, I gaue her too, was then the father Flie, And heard the Priest do his part, far as fiue nobles Would lead him i'the lines of matrimonie. Where were they married? 'th ne stable, Omin! I ha' knowne many a church beene made a stable, But not a stable made a church till now I wish 'hem ioy. Fly, was he a full priest? He belly'd for it, had his veluet sleeues, And his branch'd cassock, a side sweeping gowne, All his for malities, a good cramm'd diuine! I went not farre to fetch him, the next Inne, Where he was lodg'd, for the action. Had they a licence? Licence of loue, I saw no other, and purse, To pay the duties both of Church, and house, The angels flew about. Those birds send luck: And mirth will follow. I had thought to ha' sacrific'd, To mrriment to night, i'my light Heart, Fly, And like a noble Poet, to haue had My last act best: but all failes i'the plot. Lovel is gone to bed; the Lady Frampull And Soueraigne Pru falne out: Tipto, and his Regiment Of mine-men, al drunk dumbe, from his whop Barnaby, To his hoope Trundle: they are his two Tropick. No proiect to reare laughter on, but this, The marriage of Lord Beaufort, with Laetitia. Stay! what's here! The sattin gowne redeem'd! And Pru restor'd in't, to her Ladyes grace! She is set forth in't! rig'd for some imployment! An Embassy at least! Some treaty of state! 'Tis a fine tack about! and worth the obseruing. Sweet Pru, I, now thou art a Queene indeed! These robes doe royally! and thou becom'st 'hem! So they doe thee! rich garments only fit The partyes they are made for! they shame others. How did they shew on good'y Taylors back! Like a Caparison for a Sow, God saue vs! Thy putting hem on hath purg'd, and hallow'd 'hem From all pollution, meant by the Mechanicks. Hang him poore snip, a secular shop-wit! H' hath nought but his sheeres to claime by, & his measures, His prentise may as well put in, for his needle, And plead a stitch. They haue no taint in 'hem, Now o'the Taylor. Yes, of his wiues hanches, Thus thick of fat; I smell 'hem, o'the say. It is restoratiue, Pru! with thy but chafing it, A barren Hindes grease may worke miracles. Finde but his chamber doore, and he will rise To thee! or if thou pleasest, faine to be The wretched party her sele, and com'st vnto him In forma pauperis, to craue the aide Of his Knight errant valour, to the rescue Of thy distressed robes! name but thy gowne, And he will rise to that! Pru. Ile fire the charme first, I had rather dye in a ditch, with Mistresse Shore, Without a smock, as the pitiull matter has it, Then owe my wit to cloaths, or ha' it beholden. Still spirit of Pru! And smelling o'the Soueraigne!