Randolph, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1632 [Mar 20] (Annals) comedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T28 Marriage-making: weddings, brides and ma · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T28: married, marriage, wedding, day, bride, father, wife, luce, love, husband.
GOod morrow boy: how flows thy blood, Asotus, Upon thy wedding day? is it springtide? Find'st thou an active courage in thy bones? Wilt thou at night create me Grandsire? ha? O, I remember with what sprightly courage I bedded thy old mother, and that night Bid fair for thee boy: how I cursed the ceremonies, And thought the youngsters scrambled for my points Too slowly: 'Twas a happy night, Asotus. How sad a day is this! methinks the sun Affrighted with our sorrows, should run back Into his Eastern palace, and for ever Sleep in the lap of Thetis. Can he show A glorious beam when Tyndarus is dead, And fair Techmessa? I will weep a flood Deep as Deucalion's; and again the Chaos Shall muffle up the lamentable world In sable cloaks of grief and black confusion! What ails my boy? unseasonable grief Shall not disturb thy nuptials.— Good Asotus, Be not so passionate. What incomparable mirth Would such a dotard and his humorous son Make in a Comedy, if a learned pen Had the expression! Now the other cloak. In what a verdant weed the spring arrays Fresh Tellus in! how Flora decks the fields With all her tapestry! and the Choristers Of every grove chant carols! Mirth is come To visit mortals. Every thing is blithe, Jocund, and jovial. All the gods arrive To grace our nuptials. Let us sing and dance, That heaven may see our revels, and send down The planets in a Masque, the more to grace This day's solemnity. ay, this Asotus, There's music boy in this. Now this cloak again. You Gods, you overload mortality, And press our shoulders with too great a weight Of dismal miseries. All content is fled With Tyndarus and Techmessa. Ravens croak About my house ill-boding screech-owls sing Epithalamiums to my spouse and me. Can I dream pleasures, or expect to taste The comforts of the married bed, when Tyndarus And fair Techmessa from the world are gone! No, pardon me you gentle ghosts; I vow To cloister up my grief in some dark cell: And there till grief shall close my blubbered eyes, Weep forth repentance. Sure he is distracted! Asotus, do not grieve so, all thy sorrows Are doubled in thy father: Pity me, If not thyself; O pity these grey hairs, Pity my age, Asotus. What a silly fellow My father is, that knows not which cloak speaks? Father, you do forget this is our nuptial. Cast off those trophies of your wealthy beggary, And clad yourself in rich and splendent weeds, Such as become my father: Do not blemish Our dignity with rags. Appear today As glorious as the sun. Set forth yourself In your bright lustre. So I will, my boy: Was there ever father so fortunate in a child? Do not I vary with decorum, Ballio? I do not think but Proteus, Sir, begot you On a Chamaeleon.
seed 43: T6 · seed 44: T7 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
GOod morrow boy: how flows thy bloud, Asotus, Upon thy wedding day? is it spring-tide? Find'st thou an active courage in thy bones? Wilt thou at night create me Grandfire? ha? O, I remember with what sprightly courage I bedded thy old mother, and that night Bid fair for thee boy: how I curst the ceremonies, And thought the yongsters scrambled for my points Too slowly: 'Twas a happy night, Asotus. How sad a day is this! methinks the sunne Affrighted with our sorrows, should run back Into his Eastern palace, and for ever Sleep in the lap of Thetis. Can he show A glorious beam when Tyndarus is dead, And fair Techmessa? I will weep a floud Deep as Deucalions; and again the Chaos Shall musle up the lamentable world In sable clokes of grief and black confusion! What ailes my boy? unseasonable grief Shall not disturb thy nuptialls.—Good Asotus, Be not so passionate. What incomparable mirth Would such a dotard and his humorous sonne Make in a Comedie, if a learned pen Had the expression! Now the tother cloke. In what a verdant weed the spring arayes Fresh Tellus in! how Flora decks the fields With all her tapestry! and the Choristers Of every grove chaunt Carrolls! Mirth is come To visit mortalls. Every thing is blithe, Jocund, and joviall. All the gods arrive To grace our nuptialls. Let us sing and dance, That heaven may see our revells, and send down The planets in a Masque, the more to grace This dayes solemnitie. I, this Asotus, There's musick boy in this. Now this cloke again. You Gods, you overload mortalitie, And presse our shoulders with too great a weight Of dismall miseries. All content is sled With Tyndarus and Techmessa. Ravens croak About my house ill-boding schreech-owls sing Epithalamiums to my spouse and me. Can I dream pleasures, or expect to taste The comforts of the married bed, when Tyndarus And fair Techmessa from the world are gone! No, pardon me you gentle ghosts; I vow To cloister up my grief in some dark cell: And there till grief shall close my blubber'd eyes, Weep forth repentance. Sure he is distracted! Asotus, do not grieve so, all thy sorrows Are doubled in thy father: Pity me, If not thy self; O pity these gray hairs, Pity my age, Asotus. What a silly fellow My father is, that knows not which cloke speaks? Father, you do forget this is our nuptiall. Cast off those trophies of your wealthy beggerie, And clad your self in rich and splendent weeds, Such as become my father: Do not blemish Our dignity with rags. Appeare to day As glorious as the sunne. Set forth your self In your bright lustre. So I will, my boy: Was there ever father so fortunate in a childe? Do not I vary with decorum, Ballio? I do not think but Proteus, Sir, begot you On a Chamaeleon.