Randolph, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1632 [Mar 20] (Annals) comedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Want of a Tutor makes unbridled youth Run wildly into passions. You have got A skilful Pilot (though I say it, Pupil) One that will steer both you, and your estate Into safe harbour.— Pray, observe his humour. Away foul sin.— 'Tis Atheism to suspect A devil lodged in such divinity. Call snow unchaste, and say the ice is wanton, If she be so. No, my Evadne, no, I know thy soul as beauteous as thy face. That glorious outside which all eyes adore, Is but the fair shrine of a fairer saint. O pardon me thy penitent infidel: By thy fair eyes (from whom this little world Borrows that light it has) I henceforth vow, Never to think sin can be grown so bold As to assault thy soul. This fellow, Tutor, Waxes and wanes a hundred times in a minute: In my conscience he was got in the change o'th' Moon. ROt in thy grave, thou dotard, I defy thee. Cursed be our day of marriage: shall I nurse And play the mother to another's brat? And she to nose my daughter?— Take Evadne Your prety-precious-by-blow-fair Evadne, The minion of the town: go— and provide her A place i'th' Spittle. Gentle wife, have patience. Let them have patience that can have patience. For I will have no patience— 'Slid. Patience? patience? You know her daughter to our dearest friend: And should my son committed to his care Thus suffer as the poor Evadne does: The gods were just so to revenge her wrong. I will not have my house afflicted with her, She has more suitors than a pretty wench in an University, While my daughter has leisure enough to follow her needle. Wife, I must tell you y'are a peevish woman. And I must tell you y'are an arrant Coxcomb To tell me so. My daughter nosed by a slut? There will be a quarrel, Tutor: do you take The old man's part, I am o'th' woman's side. Were every vein in poor Evadne filled With blood derived from those, whose ancestors Transmitted in that blood a hate to us, A lineal hate to all our family; Yet trusted to my care she is my daughter, And shall share equal blessings with mine own. Then a perpetual noise shall fill thy house, I will not let thee sleep, nor eat, nor drink, But I will torture thee with a peal of chiding. Thou shalt confess the troubled sea more calm: That thunder with less violence cleaves the air: The ravens, screech-owls, and the mandrakes voice Shall be thy constant music— I can talk. Thy friends that come to see thee, shall grow deaf With my loud clamours. Heaven be praised for tongue, No woman in all Thebes is better weaponed: And 't shall be sharper; or were any member Not dead besides my tongue, I would employ it In thy just torment. I am vexed to think, My best revenge age hath prevented now, Else every man should read it in thy brow.
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)
Want of a Tutour makes unbridled youth Run wildely into passions. You have got A skilfull Pilot (though I say it, Pupill) One that will steer both you, and your estate Into safe harbour. —Pray, observe his humour. Away foul sin. —'Tis Atheisme to suspect A devil lodg'd in such divinity. Call snow unchaste, and say the ice is wanton, If she be so. No, my Evadne, no, I know thy soul as beauteous as thy face. That glorious outside which all eyes adore, Is but the fair shrine of a fairer saint. O pardon me thy penitent infidell: By thy fair eyes (from whom this little world Borrows that light it has) I henceforth vow, Never to think sinne can be grown so bold As to assault thy soul. This fellow, Tutour, Waxes and wanes a hundred times in a minute: In my conscience he was got in the change o'th'Moon. ROt in thy grave, thou dotard, I defie thee. Curst be our day of marriage: shall I nurse And play the mother to anothers brat? And she to nose my daughter? —Take Evadne Your prety-precious-by-blow-fair Evadne, The minion of the town: go—and provide her A place i'th' Spittle. Gentle wife, have patience. Let them have patience that can have patience. For I will have no patience—S'lid. Patience? patience? You know her daughter to our dearest friend: And should my sonne committed to his care Thus suffer as the poore Evadne does: The gods were just so to revenge her wrong. I will not have my house afflicted with her, She ha's more suitours then a prety wench in an Universitie, While my daughter ha's leisure enough to follow her needle. Wife, I must tell you y'are a peevish woman. And I must tell you y'are an arrant Coxcombe To tell me so. My daughter nos'd by a slut? There will be a quarrell, Tutour: do you take The old mans part, I am o'th' womans side. Were every vein in poore Evadne fill'd With bloud deriv'd from those, whose ancestours Transmitted in that bloud a hate to us, A lineall hate to all our family; Yet trusted to my care she is my daughter, And shall share equall blessings with mine own. Then a perpetuall noise shall fill thy house, I will not let thee sleep, nor eat, nor drink, But I will torture thee with a peal of chiding. Thou shalt confesse the troubled sea more calm: That thunder with lesse violence cleaves the aire: The ravens, schreech-owls, and the mandrakes voice Shall be thy constant musick—I can talk. Thy friends that come to see thee, shall grow deaf With my loud clamours. Heaven be prais'd for tongue, No woman in all Thebes is better weapon'd: And 't shall be sharper; or were any member Not dead besides my tongue, I would employ it In thy just torment. I am vext to think, My best revenge age hath prevented now, Else every man should read it in thy brow.