A New Wonder, A Woman Never Vexed · chunk 39 of 45
Heywood, Thomas / Rowley, William · published 1632 · first performed or written 1611 [1611-1614] (Annals) comedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 465 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Stay. Good troth Sir, I'll have none on't back, Could but one penny of it save my life. Yet stay and hear him; Oh unnatural strife, In a hard father's bosom. I see mine error now: oh can there grow A Rose upon a Bramble? did there e'er flow Poison and health together in one tide? I'm borne a man; reason may step aside. And lead a father's love out of the way: Forgive me, my good Boy, I went astray; Look, on my knees I beg it; not for joy Thou bringst this golden rubbish, which I spurn But glad in this, the heaven's mine eye balls turn, And fix them right to look upon that face Where love remains with pity, duty, grace. Oh my dear wronged boy! Gladness o'erwhelms my heart with joy I cannot speak Crosses of this foolish world. Did never grieve my heart with torments more Than it is now grown light, With joy and comfort of this happy sight. Yet wife, I disinherited this boy. Your blessings all I crave. And that enjoy for ever, evermore; my Blessings fly, to pay thy virtues, love and charity. Here comes your brother's wife, Welcome dear sister. I thank you; how fare you brother? Better than your husband's hate could wish me, That laughs to see my back with sorrow's bow: But I am rid of half my ague now. Had you an ague then? Yes, and my heart had every hour a fit. But now 'tas left me well, and I left it. O, 'tis well cousin, what make you hear I pray? To support a weak house falling to decay. 'Tis well, if you can do't, and that the timber You underprop it with be all your own. Hark coz, where's your Uncle's money? Faith Aunt 'tis gone, but not at dice, Nor drabbing. Sir, I believe with your Uncle's gold your father You relieve. You are saved believing so, your belief's true. You cut large thongs of that's another's due And you will answer't ill: now in good troth I laugh at this jest, much good do them both: My wager I had won, had I but laid. What has my poor boy done, that you have Made so much blood rise in's cheeks? Nothing dear brother, indeed all's well: The course that he has run I like and love, Let him hold on the same; A sons love to a father none can blame; I will not leave your brother's iron heart Till I have beat it soft with my entreats. 'Twill ne'er be music 'tis so full of frets. Frets make best music: strings the higher Racked sound sweetest. And sound nothing when they are cracked, As is his love to me, and mine to him.
seed 43: T48 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Stay. Good troth Sir, I'l have none on't back, Could but one penny of it save my life. Yet stay and heare him; Oh unnaturall strife, In a hard fathers bosome. I see mine error now: oh can there grow A Rose upon a Bramble? did theree'r flow Poyson and health together in one tide? I'm borne a man; reason may step aside. And leade a father's love out of the way: Forgive me, my good Boy, I went astray; Looke, on my knees I beg it; not for joy Thou bringst this golden rubbish, which I spurne But glad in this, the heaven's mine eye balls turne, And fixe them right to looke upon that face Where love remaines with pitty, duty, grace. Oh my deare wronged boy! Gladnesse o'rwhelmes my heart with joy I cannot speak Crosses of this foolish world. Did never grieve my heart with ments more Than it is now growne light, With joy and comfort of this happy sight. Yet wife, I disinherited this boy. Your blessings all I crave. And that enjoy for ever, evermore; my Blessings fly, to pay thy vertues, love and charity. Here comes your brothers wife, Welcome deare sister. I thanke you; how fare you brother? Better than your husband's hate could wish me, That laughes to see my backe with sorrowes bow: But I am rid of halfe my ague now. Had you an ague then? Yes, and my heart had every houre a fit. But now 'tas left me well, and I left it. O, 'tis well Cozin, what make you heare I pray? To support a weake house falling to decay. 'Tis well, if you can doe't, and that the timber You under-prop it with be all your owne. Hearke Cuz, where's your Vncles mony? Faith Aunt 'tis gone, but not at dice, Nor drabbing. Sir, I believe with your Vncles gold your father You relieve. You are sav'd believing so, your beliefe's true. You cut large thongs of that's another's due And you will answer't ill: now in good troth I laugh at this jest, much good doe them both: My wager I had won, had I but layd. What has my poore boy done, that you have Made so much blood rise in's cheekes? Nothing deare brother, indeed all's well: The course that he has runne I like and love, Let him hold on the same; A sons love to a father none can blame; I will not leave your brother's on heart Till I have beate it soft with my intreates. 'Twill ne'r be musick 'tis so full of frets. Frets make best musike: strings the higher Rack'd sound sweetest. And sound nothing when they are crackt, As is his love to me, and mine to him.