Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1629 [licensed for stage, Jan 19] (Annals) comedy · King's Men T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti typicality 0.87 · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
No, I will tell him, as it is, indeed; I come from the fine, froward, frampold Lady, One was run mad with pride, wild with self-love, But late encountering a wise man, who scorned her, And knew the way to his own bed, without Borrowing her warming pan, she hath recovered Part of her wits: so much as to consider How far she hath trespassed, upon whom, and how. And now sits penitent and solitary, Like the forsaken Turtle, in the volary Of the light Heart, the cage, she hath abused, Mourning her folly, weeping at the height She measures with her eye, from whence she is fall'n, Since she did branch it, on the top o'the wood. I pray thee Pru, abuse me enough, that's use me As thou thinkest fit, any course way, to humble me, Or bring me home again, or Lovel on: Thou dost not know my sufferings, what I feel, y fires, and feares, are met: I burne, and freeze, My liver's one great coal, my heart shrunk up With all the fevers, and the mass of blood Within me, is a standing lake of fire, Curled with the cold wind of my gelid sighs, That drive a drift of sleet through all my body, And shoot a February through my veins. until I see him, I am drunk with thirst, And surfeited with hunger of his presence. I know not where I am, or no, or speak, Or whether thou dost hear me. Spare expressions. I'll once more venture for your Ladyship, So you will use your fortunes reverent. Religiously, dear Pru, Love and his Mother, I'll build them several Churches, Shrines, and Altars, And over head, I'll have, in the glass windows, The story of this day be painted, round, For the poor Laity of love to read, I'll make myself their book, nay their example, To bid them take occasion by the forelock, And play no after-games of Love, hereafter. And here your Host, and's Fly, witness your vows. And like two lucky birds, bring the presage Of a loud jest: Lord Beaufort married is. H! All to be married. To whom, not your son? The same If her Ladyship could take truce A little with her passion, and give way To their mirth now running. Runn's it mirth, let't come, It shall be well received, and much made of it. We must of this, It was our own conception. Room for green rushes, raise the Fiddlers, Chamberlain, Call up the house in arms. This will rouse Lovel. And bring him on too. Shelee-neen. Runs like a heifer, bitten with the breeze, About the court, crying on Fly, and cursing. For what, my Lord? Youwere best hear that from her, It is no office, Fly, fits my relation. Here come the happy couple! joy, Lord Beaufort. And my young Lady too. Much joy, my Lord! I thank you all, I thank thee, Father Fly. Madam, my cousin, you look discomposed, I have been bold with a salad, after supper, O' your own lettuce, here:
seed 43: T31 · seed 44: T44 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
No, I will tell him, as it is, indeed; I come from the fine, froward, srampull Lady, One was runne mad with pride, wild with selfe-loue, But late encountring a wise man, who scorn'd her, And knew the way to his owne bed, without Borrowing her warming pan, she hathrecouerd Par of her wits: so much as to consider How farre she hath trespast'd, vpon whom, and how. And now sits penitent and solitary, Like the forsaken Turtle, in the volary Of the light Heart, the cage, she hah abus'd, Mourning her folly, weeping at the height She measures with her eye, from whence she is falne, Since she did branch it, on the top o'the wood. I pr'y thee Pru, abuse me enough, that's vse me As thou thinkest fit, any course way, to humble me, Or bring me home againe, or Lovel on: Thou doest not know my suffrings, what I fele, y fires, and feares, are met: I burne, and freeze, My liuer's one great coale, my heart shrunke vp With all the fiuers, and the masse of blood Within me, is a standing lake of fire, Curl'd with the cold wind of my gelid sighs, Tat dine a drift of sleete through all my body, And shoo a February through my veines. I see him, I am drunke with thirst, And surfeted with hunger of his presence. I know not wher I am, or no, or speake, Or whether thou doest heare me. Spare expressins. Ile once more venture for your Ladiship, So you will vse your fortunes reuerendly. Religiously, deare Pru, Lou and his Mother, Ile build them seuerall Churches, Shrines, and Altrs, And ouer head, Ile haue, in the glasse windowes, The story of this day be painted, round, For the poore Layety of loue to read, Ile make my selfe their booke, nay their example, To bid them take occasion by the forelock, And play no after-games of Loue, hereafter. And here your Host, and's Fly, witnes your vowes. And like two lucky birds, bring the presage Of a loud iest: Lord Beaufort married is. H! All to be married. To whom, not your sonn? The same If her Ladiship could take truce A little with her passion, and giue way To their mirth now running. Runn's it mirth, let't come, It shall be well receiu'd, and much made of it. We must of this, It was our owne conception. Roome for green rushes, raise the Fidlers, Chamberlain, Call vp the house in armes. This will rouze Lovel. And bring him on too. Shelee-neen. Runns like a Heyfar, bitten with the Brieze, About the court, crying on Fly, and cursing. For what, my Lord? Yo'were best heare that from her, It is no office, Fly, fits my relation. Here come the happy couple! Ioy, Lord Beaufort. And my yong Lady too. Much ioy, my Lord! I thanke you all, I thanke thee, Father Fly. Madam, my Cossen, you looke discompos'd, I haue beene bold with a sallad, after supper, O' your owne lettice, here: