Randolph, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1632 [Mar 20] (Annals) comedy · before the Court T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig typicality 0.86 · 516 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
I would not have my son so loathed a thing: No, let him live and spend, and buy his pleasures At any rate. read to him, gentle Ballio, Where are the daintiest meats, the briskest wines, The costliest garments. Let him dice and wench; But with the fairest, be she wife or daughter To our best Burgess: and if Thebes be scarce, Buy me all Corinth for him:— When I sleep Within my quiet grave, I shall have dreams, Fine pleasant dreams, to think with how much pleasure Asotus spends what I with care have got. Sure I were a most ungracious child now, If I should spoil the dreams of a dead Father. Sleep when thou wilt within thy quiet urn, And thou shalt dream thou seest me drink Sack plenty, Encircled round with Doxies plump— and dainty. How thrives my boy?— How forward in his studies? Troth— with much industry— I have brought him now That he is grown-past drinking. How man? past drinking? I mean, he is grown perfect in that science. But will he not forget? No, I warrant you, I know I shan't forget, because i'th' morning I ne'er remember what I did o'er night. How feeds my boy? Troth well: I never met A stomach of more valour, or a tooth Of such judicious knowledge. Can he wench? ha? To say the truth— but rawly. Rawly?— I'm sure I have already made my Dad a Grandsire To five and twenty— and if I do not Out of mere charity people all the Hospitals With my stray babes, then geld me— Woe to the Parish That bribes me not to spare it. Then for the Die, He throws it with such art, so poised a hand, That had you left him nothing, that one mystery Were a sufficient portion. Will you see me? Set me a bag. These were an usurer's bones. In this behold what frailty lives in man: He that rubbed out a life to gather trash, Is after death turned prodigal. Throw, Asotus. Then have at all,— and 'twere a million.— All! Fortune was kind, the precious dirt is mine. And take it boy, and this— and this beside. And 'cause desert may challenge a reward. This for your pains, dear Ballio. My endeavours, Although to my best power,— alas— come short Of any merit; Sir you make me blush, And this reward but chides my insufficiency. Pray urge it not. A modest— honest— honest man: I'll double it— in faith I will— I am The joyfull'st father! See how the goodman weeps! So he will weep his gold away, no matter. Come hither dear, come, let me kiss my son. There's a sweet kiss indeed, this 'tis to want A Tutor; had you had my education, You would have ta'en me by the lily hand, Then gazed a while upon my flaming eyes, As wondering at the lustre of their orbs; Then humbly beg in language strowed with flowers, To taste the cherries of my ruby lip. God-a-mercy for this, Tutor. I am o'erjoyed, I am o'erjoyed.
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)
I would not have my sonne so loath'd a thing: No, let him live and spend, and buy his pleasures At any rate. Reade to him, gentle Ballio, Where are the daintiest meats, the briskest wines, The costliest garments. Let him dice and wench; But with the fairest, be she wife or daughter To our best Burgesse: and if Thebes be scarce, Buy me all Corinth for him:—When I sleep Within my quiet grave, I shall have dreams, Fine pleasant dreams, to think with how much pleasure Asotus spends what I with care have got. Sure I were a most ungracious childe now, If I should spoil the dreams of a dead Father. Sleep when thou wilt within thy quiet urn, And thou shalt dream thou seest me drink Sack plentie, Incircled round with Doxies plump—and daintie. How thrives my boy?—How forward in his studies? Troth—with much industry—I have brought him now That he is grown-past drinking. How man? past drinking? I mean, he is grown perfect in that science. But will he not forget? No, I warrant you, I know I shan't forget, because i'th morning I ne're remember what I did o're night. How feeds my boy? Troth well: I never met A stomack of more valour, or a tooth Of such judicious knowledge. Can he wench? ha? To say the truth—but rawly. Rawly?—I'me sure I have already made my Dad a Grandfire To five and twenty—and if I do not Out of meere charity people all the Hospitalls With my stray babes, then geld me—Wo to the Parish That bribes me not to spare it. Then for the Die, He throws it with such art, so poys'd a hand, That had you left him nothing, that one mysterie Were a sufficient portion. Will you see me? Set me a bag. These were an Usurers bones. In this behold what frailty lives in man: He that rub'd out a life to gather trash, Is after death turn'd prodigall. Throw, Asotus. Then have at all,—and 'twere a million. —All! Fortune was kinde, the precious dirt is mine. And take it boy, and this—and this beside. And 'cause desert may challenge a reward. This for your pains, deare Ballio. My endeavours, Although to my best power,—alas—come short Of any merit; Sir you make me blush, And this reward but chides my insufficiency. Pray urge it not. A modest—honest—honest man: I'le double it—in faith I will—I am The joyfull'st father! See how the goodman weeps! So he will weep his gold away, no matter. Come hither deare, come, let me kisse my sonne. There's a sweet kisse indeed, this 'tis to want A Tutour; had you had my education, You would have ta'ne me by the lilie hand, Then gaz'd a while upon my flaming eyes, As wondring at the lustre of their orbes; Then humbly beg in language strow'd with flowers, To taste the cherries of my ruby lippe. God-a-mercy for this, Tutour. I am orejoy'd, I am orejoy'd.