Rowley, William · published 1633 · first performed or written 1619 [c.1619-1620(?)] (Annals) tragedy · Prince Charles's Men (first) · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T50 Fleets, armies and generals: war by sea · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T50: sea, honour, general, soldiers, men, ship, fight, soldier, king, vittori.
Away, away, thou dost forget her virtues Faster than I can name 'em; she's chastity itself, and when a Shrine shall be set up Unto that Saint, it shall be built upon The marble that shall cover her. Here comes the General. No more, no more, thy fears are all follies, my Iacinta I must not leave you thus. Antonio? what unplumed? you are a Soldier Sir, And Soldiers should be forward; look ye I have bright steel for the black Africans; I tell you Sir, I went not with more joy Unto my maiden Bride, that Hymen night, From whence I fetched this jewel of my heart, Then now I do unto my second nuptials. Oh 'tis a gallant Mistress, an old man Is young again at sight of her. Worthy Sir, your leading valour will centuple the hearts Of all your followers; when set you forward? Tush, we limit time to her best haste, Three days will be the most, the longer stay loses the more advantage. We shall be ready to attend your honour, Hymen, this night I vow to thee, Mars be my morrow's Saint. Here were a Saint fitting your orisons. Blasphemy, speak that no more, the beggar, (If you will so profane to speak her so) Is gold refined, compared unto this rubbish, Diamond to Marble; my noble Lord we'll leave you to hasten our attendance on you. Farewell Antonio, I'm in haste too, my preparations call me. I call too, I beseech you hear me. thouart a clog to me, methinks thou shouldst be reading o'er new fashions, Conferring with your Tirewoman for fair dressings, Your jeweller has new devices for ye, Fine labels for your ears, bracelets for wrists, Such as will illustrate your white hand; These are all Pedlars ware to me, Iacinta; I am for Corslets, Helmets, Bills, Bows, and Pikes, The thundering Guns, Trumpets tan tara, The rattling sheepskin, and the whistling Fife: What music's this to your ears? ha, farewell, Farewell, and heaven bless thee. Good heaven, how slightly You o'errun my fears, you go to meet With a full power, an armed foe abroad, And leave me single to an enemy That hath both power and will to ruin me. 'Tis treason that thou speak'st, and by the Saint Of Spain, mend it, or I'll discover thee: Wrong my dread Liege, my King, my Sovereign, To say that he should dote upon your face, Away, away, 'tis but your beauty's pride, So to belie itself thou art not fair, Thou hast no eye to attract Majesty, To look upon't; say he speak love to thee, 'Twas but to try thee, perhaps 'twas my consent, Will you inquire the hidden hearts of Kings? He would not wrong thee for his kingdom's wealth, Even for my sake, away you wanton fool. There has been ravishers, remember Tarquin. There has been chaste Ladies, remember Lucrece: I'll hear no more, my time and haste hath bar me, My blessing take, heaven and that shall guard thee.
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)
Away, away, thou dost forget her vertues Faster then I can name 'em; shee's chastity It selfe, and when a Shrine shall be set up Vnto that Saint, it shall be built upon The marble that shall cover her. Here comes the Generall. No more, no more, thy feares are all follies, my Iacinta I must not leave you thus. Antonio? what unplum'd? you are a Souldier Sir, And Souldiers should be forward; looke yee I have bright steele for the blacke Affricans; I tell you Sir, I went not with more ioy Vnto my mayden Bride, that Hymen night, From whence I fetcht this iewell of my heart, Then now I doe unto my second nuptials. Oh 'tis a gallant Mistresse, an old man Is young agen at sight of her. Worthy Sir, your leading vallor wil centuple the harts Of all your followers; when set you forward? Tush, we limit time to her best haste, Three dayes will be the most, the longer stay Looses the more advantage. We shall be ready to attend your honour, Hymen, this night I vow to thee, Mars be my Morrowes Saint. Here were a Saint fitting your orisons. Blasphemy, speake that no more, the begger, (If you will so prophane to speake her so) Is gold refinde, compar'd unto this rubbish, Diamond to Marble; my noble Lord Wee'le leave you to hasten our attendance on you. Farewell Antonio, I'me in haste too, my preparations call me. I call too, I beseech you heare me. Th'art a clog to me, Me thinkes thou shouldst be reading o're new fashions, Conferring with your Tire-woman for faire dressings, Your Ieweller has new devices for yee, Fine labels for your eares, bracelets for wrists, Such as will illustrate your white hand; These are all Pedlars ware to me, Iacinta; I am for Corslets, Helmets, Bils, Bowes, and Pikes, The thundring Guns, Trumpets tan tara, The ratling sheepeskin, and the whistling Fife: What Musicke's this to your eares? ha, farewell, Farewell, and heaven blesse thee. Good heaven, how slightly You o're-run my feares, you goe to meete With a full power, an armed foe abroad, And leave me single to an enemy That hath both power and will to ruine me. 'Tis treason that thou speak'st, and by the Saint Of Spaine, mend it, or I'le discover thee: Wrong my dread Liege, my King, my Soveraigne, To say that he should doate upon your face, Away, away, 'tis but your beauties pride, So to belye it selfe thou art not faire, Thou hast no eye to attract Maiestie, To looke upon't; say he speake love to thee, 'Twas but to try thee, perhaps 'twas my consent, Will you enquire the hidden hearts of Kings? He would not wrong thee for his kingdomes wealth, Even for my sake, away you wanton foole. There has bin ravishers, remember Tarquin. There has bin chast Ladies, remember Lucres: I'le heare no more, my time and haste hath bard me, My blessing take, heaven and that shall guard thee.