Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T16: lady, madam, gentleman, lordship, ladies, honour, mistress, sweet, court, servant.
Why do you so my Guardian? I not bid you, Cannot my Grace be gotten, and held too, Without your selfe-tormentings, and your watches, Your macerating of your body thus With cares, and scant of your diet, and rest? O, no, your services, my Princely Lady, Cannot with too much zeal of rites be done, They are so sacred. But my Reputation. May suffer, and the worship of my family, When by so servile means they both are sought. You are a noble, young, free, gracious Lady, And would be every body, in your bounty, But you must not be so. They are a few That know your merit, Lady, and can value't. Yourself scarce understands your proper powers. They are almighty, and that we your servants, That have the honour here to stand so near you, Know; and can use too. All this Nether-world Is yours, you command it, and do sway it, The honour of it, and the honesty, The reputation, I, and the religion, (I was about to say, and had not erred) Is Queen Pecunia's. For that stile is yours, If mortals knew your Grace, or their own good. Please your Grace to retire. I fear your Grace Hath ta'en too much of the sharp air. O no! I could endure to take a great deal more (And with my constitution, were it left) Unto my choice, what think you of it, Statute? A little now and than does well, and keeps Your Grace in your complexion. And true temper. But too much Madam, may increase cold rheums, Nourish catarrhs, green sicknesses, and agues, And put you in consumption. Best to take Advice of your grave women, Noble Madam, They know the state o'your body, and ha'studied Your Grace's health. And honour. Here'll be visitants, Or Suitors by and by; and 'tis not fit They found you here. 'Twill make your Grace too cheap To give them audience presently. Leave your Secretary, To answer them. Wait you here, Broker. I shall Madam. And do your Graces trusts with diligence. WHat luck's this? I am come an inch too late, Do you hear Sir? Is your worship o'the family Unto the Lady Pecunia? I serve her Grace, Sir, Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta. Has she all those Titles, and her Grace besides, I must correct that ignorance and oversight, Before I do present. Sir, I have drawn A Pedigree for her Grace, though yet a Novice In that so noble study. A Herald at Arms? No Sir, a Pursuivant, my name is Pied-mantle. Good Master Pied-mantle. I have deduced her.— From all the Spanish Mines in the West-indieses, I hope: for she comes that way by her mother, But, by her Grandmother, she's Duchess of Mines. From man's creation I have brought her. Not further? Before Sr, long before, you have done nothing else, Your Mines were before Adam, search your Office, Rowel five and twenty, you will find it so, I see you are but a Novice, Master Pied-mantle. If you had not told me so.
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)
Why do you ſo my Guardian? I not bid you, Cannot my Grace be gotten, and held too, Without your ſelfe-tormentings, and your watches, Your macerating of your body thus With cares, and ſcantings of your dyet, and reſt? O, no, your ſeruices, my Princely Lady, Cannot with too much zeale of rites be done, They are ſo ſacred. But my Reputation. May ſuffer, and the worſhip of my family, When by ſo ſeruile meanes they both are ſought. You are a noble, young, free, gracious Lady, And would be euery bodie, in your bounty, But you muſt not be ſo. They are a few That know your merit, Lady, and can valew't. Your ſelfe ſcarce vnderſtands your proper powers. They are all-mighty, and that wee your ſeruants, That haue the honour here to ſtand ſo neere you, Know; and can vſe too. All this Nether-world Is yours, you command it, and doe ſway it, The honour of it, and the honeſty, The reputation, I, and the religion, (I was about to ſay, and had not err'd) Is Queene Pecunia's. For that ſtile is yours, If mortals knew your Grace, or their owne good. Pleaſe your Grace to retire. I feare your Grace Hath ta'ne too much of the ſharpe ayre. O no! I could endure to take a great deale more (And with my conſtitution, were it left) Vnto my choice, what thinke you of it, Statute? A little now and then does well, and keepes Your Grace in your complexion. And true temper. But too much Madame, may encreaſe cold rheumes, Nouriſh catarrhes, greene ſickneſſes, and agues, And put you in conſumption. Beſt to take Aduice of your graue women, Noble Madame, They know the ſtate o'your body, and ha'ſtudied Your Graces health. And honour. Here'll be viſitants, Or Suitors by and by; and 'tis not fit They find you here. 'Twill make your Grace too cheape To giue them audience preſently. Leaue your Secretary, To anſwer them. Waite you here, Broker. I ſhal Madame. And doe your Graces truſts with diligence. WHat luck's this? I am come an inch too late, Doe you heare Sir? Is your worſhip o'the family Vnto the Lady Pecunia? I ſerue her Grace, Sir, Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta. Has ſhe all thoſe Titles, and her Grace beſides, I muſt correct that ignorance and ouer-ſight, Before I doe preſent. Sir, I haue drawne A Pedigree for her Grace, though yet a Nouice In that ſo noble ſtudy. A Herald at Armes? No Sir, a Purſiuant, my name is Pyed-mantle. Good Maſter Pyed-mantle. I haue deduc'd her.— From all the Spaniſh Mines in the Weſt-Indi'es, I hope: for ſhe comes that way by her mother, But, by her Grand-mother, ſhe's Dutches of Mines. From mans creation I haue brought her. No further? Before Sr, long before, you haue done nothing elſe, Your Mines were before Adam, ſearch your Office, Rowle fiue and twenty, you will finde it ſo, I ſee you are but a Nouice, Maſter Pyed-mantle. If you had not told mee ſo.