Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip · published 1632 · first performed or written 1619 [1617-1619] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T16 Gallantry: ladies, lordships and complim · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T16: lady, madam, gentleman, lordship, ladies, honour, mistress, sweet, court, servant.
This is a three-legged Lord, there's a fresh assault, oh that men should spend time thus! See see, how her blood drives to her heart, and straight vaults to her cheeks again. What are these? One of 'em there the lower is a good, foolish, knavish, sociable gallimaufry of a man, and has much taught my Lord with singing, he is master of a music house: the other is his dressing block, upon whom my Lord lays all his clothes, and fashions, ere he vouchsafes 'em his own person; you shall see him i'th' morning in the Galley-foist, at noon in the Bullion, i'th' evening in Quirpo, and all night in— A bawdy-house. If my Lord deny, they deny, if he affirm, they affirm: they skip into my Lords cast skins some twice a year, and thus they live to eat, eat to live, and live to praise my Lord. Good sir, tell me one thing. What's that? Dare these men ever fight, on any cause? Oh no, 't would spoil their clothes, and put their bands out of order. Mrs, you hear the news: your father has resigned his Presidentship to my Lord my father. And Lord Charolois undone forever. Troth, 'tis pity, sir. A braver hope of so assured a father Did never comfort France. A good dumb mourner. A silent black. O fi vpon him, how he weares his cloathes! As if he had come this Christmas from St. Omers, To see his friends, and returned after twelftide. His Colonel looks fienely like a drover, That had a winter lain perdieu i'th' rain. What, he that wears a clout about his neck, His cuffs in's pocket, and his heart in's mouth? Now out upon him! Servant, tie my hand. How your lips blush, in scorn that they should pay Tribute to hands, when lips are in the way! I thus recant, yet now your hand looks white, Because your lips robbed it of such a right. I prithee sing the song Deuoted to my M. Romont will come, sir, straight. 'Tis well. My Father. My honourable Lord. My Lord Novall, this is a virtue in you, So early up and ready before noon, That are the map of dressing through all France. I rise to say my prayers, sir, here's my Saint. 'tis well and courtly; you must give me leave, I have some private conference with my daughter, Pray use my garden, you shall dine with me. we'll wait on you. Good morn unto your Lordship, Remember what you have vowed— to his Mrs. Perform I must. Why how now Beaumelle, thou look'st not well. thouart sad of late, come cheer thee, I have found A wholesome remedy for these maiden fits, A goodly Oak whereon to twist my vine, Till her fair branches grow up to the stars. Be near at hand, success crown my intent, My business fills my little time so full, I cannot stand to talk: I know, thy duty Is handmaid to my will, especially When it presents nothing but good and fit.
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)
This is a three-leg'd Lord, ther's a fresh assault, oh that men should spend time thus! See see, how her blood driues to her heart, and straight vaults to her cheekes againe. What are these? One of 'em there the lower is a good, foolish, kn uish, sociable gallimaufry of a man, and has much taught my Lord with singing, hee is master of a musicke house: the other is his dressing blocke, vpon whom my Lord layes all his cloathes, and fashions, ere he vouchsafes 'em his owne person; you shall see him i'th morning in the Gally-foyst, at noone in the Bullion, i'th euening in Quirpo, and all night in — A Bawdyhouse. If my Lord deny, they deny, if hee affirme, they affirme: they skip into my Lords cast skins some twice a yeere, and thus they liue to eate, eate to liue, and liue to prayse my Lord. Good sir, tell me one thing. What's that? Dare thse men euer fight, on any cause? Oh no, 't would spoyle their cloathes, and put their bands out of order. Mrs, you heare the news: your father has resign'd his Presidentship to my Lord my father. And Lord Charolois vndone foreuer. Toth, 'tis pity, sir. A brauer hope of so assur'd a father Did neuer comfort France. A good dumbe mourner. A silent blacke. O fi vpon him, how he weares his cloathes! As i he had come this Christmas from St. Omers, To see his friends, and return'd after Twelfetyde. His Colonell lookes fienely like a drouer, That had a winter ly'n perdieu i'th rayne. What, he that weares a clout about his necke, His cuffes in's pocket, and his heart in's mouth? Now out vpon him! Srant, tye my hand. How your lips blush, in scorne that they should pay Trit to hands, when lips are in the way! I thus recant, yet now your hand looks white, Because your lips robd it of such a right. I prethy sing the song Deuoted to my M. Romnt will come, sir, straight. 'Tis well. My Father. My honorable Lord. My Lord Nouall, this is a vertue in you, So early vp and ready before noone, That are the map of dressing through all France. I rise to say my prayers, sir, here's my Saint. Tis well and courtly; you must giue me leaue, I haue some priuate conference with my daughter, Pray vse my garden, you shall dine with me. Wee'l waite on you. Good morne vnto your Lordship, Remember what you haue vow'd—to his Mrs. Performe I must. Why how now Beaumelle, thou look'st not well. Th'art sad of late, come cheere thee, I haue found A wholesome remedy for these mayden fits, A goodly Oake whereon to twist my vine, Till her faire branches grow vp to the starres. Be neere at hand, successe crowne my intent, My businesse fills my little time so full, I canno stand to talke: I know, thy duty Is handmayd to my will, especially When it presents nothing but good and fit.