Randolph, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1632 [Mar 20] (Annals) comedy · before the Court T55 Fairies, fairy queens and enchanted desi typicality 0.81 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T55: fairy, fairies, oberon, mopsus, queen, land, grace, babylon, mab, thestylis.
Good Sir, another kiss: you have a breath Composed of odours. Buy thee toys with this: I'll send thee more. How ravishing is his face? That I should have so ravishing a face, And never know it!— Miser that I was! I will go home and buy a looking glass, To be acquainted with my parts hereafter. Come, lie thee down by me; here we will sit. How comely are these silver hairs? This hand Is e'en as right to my own mind, as if I had the making of it. Let me throw My arms about thee. How the burr cleaves to him! This remnant of my age will make amends For all the time that I have spent in care. Give me thy hand. How smooth a palm he has! How with a touch it melts! The rogue abuses him With his greasy fists. Let us score kisses up On one another's lips. Thou shalt not speak, But I will suck thy words ere they have felt The open air.— That I should live so long, And ignorant of such a wealth as this! NOw am I Oberon prince of Fairy land, And Phryne shall be Mab my Empress fair: My soldiers two I'll instantly transform To Will-with-a-wisp, and Robin-goodfellow, And make my brace of Poets transmigrate Into Pigwiggin and Sir Peppercorn. It were a pretty whimsy now to counterfeit That I were jealous of my Phryne's love. The humour would be excellent, and become me Better than either Tyndarus or Techmessa. Thus will I walk as one in deadly dumps. When shall we marry? I can hardly stay Till morning. O what Fury shot A viper through my soul! Here Love with twenty bows And twenty thousand arrows lays his siege To my poor heart.— O Phryne, Phryne! I have no cause why to suspect thy love. But if all this be cunning, as who knows! Away foul sin. O eyes, what mischief do you see! O, I could burst with laughter. Here will be A pretty scene of mirth. Thou dost not love me. My boy Asotus, my young sprightly boy Has stolen thy heart away. He? a poor mushrum! Your boy? I should have guessed him for your father. He has a skin as wrinkled as a Tortoise. I have mista'ne him often for a hedgehog Crept out on's skin. Pray keep the fool at home. Patience go live with cuckolds. I defy thee. Villain, rogue, traitor, do not touch my dear So to unsanctify her tender skin, Nor cast a goatish eye upon a hair, To make that little thread of gold profaned, Or gaze but on her shoestring that springs up A real rose, from virtue of her foot, To blast the odours: grim-faced death shall hurry thee To Styx, Cocytus, and fell Phlegethon. Asotus, good Asotus, I am thy father. I no Asotusam, nor thou my fire, But angry and incensed Oberon.
seed 43: T50 · seed 44: T47 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Good Sir, another kisse: you have a breath Compos'd of odours. Buy thee toyes with this: I'le send thee more. How ravishing is his face? That I should have so ravishing a face, And never know it! —Miser that I was! I will go home and buy a looking glasse, To be acquainted with my parts hereafter. Come, lie thee down by me; here we will sit. How comely are these silver hairs? This hand Is e'ne as right to my own minde, as if I had the making of it. Let me throw My arms about thee. How the burre cleaves to him! This remnant of my age will make amends For all the time that I have spent in care. Give me thy hand. How smooth a palm he has! How with a touch it melts! The rogue abuses him With his greasie fists. Let us score kisses up On one anothers lips. Thou shalt not speak, But I will suck thy words e're they have felt The open aire.— That I should live so long, And ignorant of such a wealth as this! NOw am I Oberon prince of Fairy land, And Phryne shall be Mab my Empresse fair: My souldiers two I'le instantly transform To Will-with-a-wisp, and Robin-goodfellow, And make my brace of Poets transmigrate Into Pigwiggin and Sir Peppercorn. It were a prety whimsy now to counterfeit That I were jealous of my Phrynes love. The humour would be excellent, and become me Better then either Tyndarus or Techmessa. Thus will I walk as one in deadly dumps. When shall we marry? I can hardly stay Till morning. O what Fury shot A viper through my soul! Here Love with twenty bows And twenty thousand arrows layes his siege To my poore heart.— O Phryne, Phryne! I have no cause why to suspect thy love. But if all this be cunning, as who knows! Away foul sinne. O eyes, what mischief do you see! O, I could burst with laughter. Here will be A prety scene of mirth. Thou dost not love me. My boy Asotus, my young sprightly boy Has stoln thy heart away. He? a poore mushrum! Your boy? I should have guess'd him for your father. He has a skin as wrinckled as a Tortoyse. I have mista'ne him often for a hedge-hog Crept out on's skin. Pray keep the fool at home. Patience go live with cuckolds. I defie thee. Villain, rogue, traitour, do not touch my deare So to unsanctifie her tender skin, Nor cast a goatish eye upon a hair, To make that little threed of gold profaned, Or gaze but on her shoe-string that springs up A reall rose, from vertue of her foot, To blast the odours: grim-fac'd death shall hurry thee To Styx, Cocytus, and fell Phlegethon. Asotus, good Asotus, I am thy father. I no Asotusam, nor thou my fire, But angry and incensed Oberon.