Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip · published 1632 · first performed or written 1619 [1617-1619] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
Didst thou never see me Angry, Romont? Yes, and pursue a foe Like lightning. Prithee see me so no more. I can be so again. Put up thy sword, And take thyself away, lest I draw mine. Come fright your foes with this: sir, I am your friend, And dare stand by you thus. Thou art not my friend, Or being so, thou art mad, I must not buy Thy friendship at this rate; had I just cause, Thou know'st I durst pursue such injury Through fire, air, water, earth, nay, were they all Shuffled again to Chaos, but there's none. Thy skill, Romont, consists in camps, not courts. Farewell, uncivil man, let's meet no more. Here our long web of friendship I untwist. Shall I go whine, walk pale, and lock my wife For nothing, from her births free liberty, That opened mine to me? yes; if I do The name of cuckold then, dog me with scorn. I am a Frenchman, no Italian borne. A dull Dutch rather: fall and cool (my blood) Boil not in zeal of thy friends hurt, so high, That is so low, and cold himself in't. Woman, How strong art thou, how easily beguiled? How thou dost rack us by the very horns? Now wealth I see change manners and the man: Something I must do mine own wrath to assuage, And note my friendship to an after-age. MEnd this a little pox! thou hast burnt me. oh fie upon't, O Lard, he has made me smell (for all the world) like a flax, or a red headed woman's chamber: powder, powder, powder. Oh sweet Lord! That's his Perfumer. Oh dear Lord, That's his tailor. Monsieur Liladam, Aymour, how allow you the model of these clothes? Admirably, admirably, oh sweet Lord! assuredly it's pity the worms should eat thee. Here's a fine Cell; a Lord, a tailor, a Perfumer, a Barber, and a pair of Mounsieurs: 3 to 3, as little will in the one, as honesty in the other. 'Sfoot i'll into the country again, learn to speak truth, drink Ale, and converse with my father's Tenants; here I hear nothing all day, but upon my soul as I am a Gentleman, and an honest man. I vow and affirm, your tailor must needs be an expert Geometrician, he has the Longitude, Latitude, Altitude, Profundity, every Dimension of your body, so exquisitely, here's a lace laid as directly, as if truth were a tailor. That were a miracle. With a hair breadth's error, there's a shoulder piece cut, and the base of a piccadill in puncto. You are right, monsieur his vestaments sit: as if they grew upon him, or art had wrought 'em on the same loom, as nature framed his Lordship as if your tailor were deeply read in Astrology, and had taken measure of your honourable body, with a Iacobs staff, an Ephimerides. I am bound t'ee Gentlemen.
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)
Didst thou nuer see me Angry, Romont? Yes, and pursue foe Like lightening. Prethee see me so no more. I can be so againe. Put vp thy sword, And take thy selfe away, lest I draw mine Come fright your foes with this: sir, I am your friend, And dare stand by you thus. Thou art not my friend, Or being so, thou art mad, I must not buy Thy friendship at this rate; had I iust cause, Thou knowst I durst pursue such iniury Through fire, ayre, water, earth, nay, were they all Shuffled againe to Chaos, but ther's none. Thy skill, Romont, consists in camps, not courts. Farewell, vnciuill man, let's meet no more. Heere our long web of friendship I vntwist. Shall I goe whine, walke pale, and locke my wife For nothing, from her births free liberty, That open'd mine to me? yes; if I doe The name of cuckold then, dog me with scorne. I am a Frenchman, no Italian borne. A dull Dutch rather: fall and coole (my blood) Boyle not in zeale of thy friends hurt, so high, That is so low, and cold himselfe in't. Woman, How strong art thou, how easily beguild? How thou dost racke vs by the very hornes? Now wealth I see change manners and the man: Something I must do mine owne wrath to asswage, And note my friendship to an after-age. MEnd this a little pox! thou hast burnt me. oh fie vpon't, O Lard, hee has made me smell (for all the world) like a flaxe, or a red headed womans chamber: powder, powder, powder. Oh sweet Lord! That's his Perfumer. Oh deare Lord, That's his Taylor. Monsieur Liladam, Aymour, how allow you the modell of these clothes? Admirably, admirably, oh sweet Lord! assuredly it's pitty the wormes should eate thee. Here's a fine Cell; a Lord, a Taylor, a Perfumer, a Barber, and a paire of Mounsieurs: 3 to 3, as little will in the one, as honesty in the other. S'foote ile into the country agne, learne to speake truth, drinke Ale, and conuerse with my fathers Tenants; here I heare nothing all day, but vpon my soule as I am a Gentleman, and an honest man. I vow and affirme, your Taylor must needs be an expert Geometrician, he has the Longitude, Latitude, Altitude, Profundity, euery Demension of your body, so exquisitely, here's a lace layd as directly, as if truth were a Taylor. That were a miracle. With a haire breadth's errour, ther's a shoulder piece cut, and the base of a pickdille in puncto. You are right, Mounsieur his vestaments sit: as if they grew vpon him, or art had wrought 'em on the same loome, as nature fram'd his Lordship as if your Taylor were deepely read in Astrology, and had taken measure of your honourable body, with a Iacobs staffe, an Ephimerides. I am bound t'ee Gentlemen.