Massinger, Philip · published 1633 · first performed or written 1625 (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T33 Fathers, daughters and marriage negotiat · 468 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T33: daughter, marriage, father, love, davus, matter, son, chremes, wife, mother.
Forbear it, While I give you good counsel. I am bound to it; Thy father was my friend, and that affection I bore to him, in right descends to thee; Thou art a handsome, and a hopeful youth, Nor will I have the least affront stick on thee, If I with any danger can prevent it. I thank your noble care, but pray you in what? Do I run the hazard? Art thou not in love? Put it not off with wonder. In love at my years? You think you walk in clouds, but are transrent, I have heard all, and the choice that you have made; And with my finger can point out the North star, By which the loadstone of your folly's guided. And to confirm this true, what think you of Fair Margaret the only child, and heir Of Cormorant Overreach? does it blush? and start, To hear her only named? blush at your want Of wit, and reason. You are too bitter Sir. Wounds of this nature are not to be cured With balms, but corrosives. I must be plain: Art thou scarce manumised from the porters lodge, And yet sworn servant to the pantofle, And dar'st thou dream of marriage? I fear 'Twill be concluded for impossible, That there is now, nor ere shall be hereafter, A handsome page, or player's boy of fourteen, But either loves a Wench, or drabs love him; Court-waiters not exempted. This is madness. howe'er you have discovered my intents, You know my aims are lawful, and if ever The Queen of flowers, the glory of the spring, The sweetest comfort to our smell, the rose Sprang from an envious brier, I may infer There's such disparity in their conditions, Between the goddess of my soul, the daughter, And the base churl her father. Grant this true As I believe it; canst thou ever hope To enjoy a quiet bed with her, whose father Ruined thy state? And yours too. I confess it. True I must tell you as a friend, and freely, That where impossibilities are apparent, 'Tis indiscretion to nourish hopes. Canst thou imagine, (let not self-love blind thee) That Sir Giles Overreach, that to make her great In swelling titles, without touch of conscience, Will cut his neighbour's throat, and I hope his own too; Will ere consent to make her thine? Give o'er And think of some course suitable to thy rank, And prosper in it. You have well advised me. But in the mean time, you that are so studious Of my affairs, wholly neglect your own. Remember yourself, and in what plight you are. No matter, no matter. Yes, 'tis much material: You know my fortune, and my means, yet something, I can spare from myself, to help your wants. How's this?
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)
Forbeare it, While I giue you good counsaile. I am bound to it; Thy father was my friend, and that affection I bore to him, in right descends to thee; Thou art a handsome, and a hopefull youth, Nor will I haue the least affront sticke on thee, If I with any danger can preuent it. I thanke your noble care, but pray you in what? Doe I run the hazard? Art thou not in loue? Put it not off with wonder. In loue at my yeares? You thinke you walke in clouds, but are transrent, I haue heard all, and the choice that you haue made; And with my finger can point out the North starre, By which the loadstone of your follie's guided. And to confirme this true, what thinke you of Faire Margaret the only child, and heyre Of Cormorant Ouerreach? does it blush? and start, To heare her only nam'd? blush at your want Of wit, and reason. You are too bitter Sir. Wounds of this nature are not to bee cur'd With balmes, but corrosiues. I must bee plaine: Art thou scarce manumiz'd from the porters lodge, And yet sworne seruant to the pantophle, And dar'st thou dreame of marriage? I feare 'Twill bee concluded for impossible, That there is now, nor ere shall bee hereafter, A handsome page, or players boy of fourteene, But either loues a Wench, or drabs loue him; Court-waiters not exempted. This is madnesse. How ere you haue discouer'd my intents, You know my aimes are lawfull, and ifeuer The Queene of flowers, the glory of the spring, The sweetest comfort to our smell, the rose Sprang from an enuious brier, I may inferre There's such disparitie in their conditions, Betweene the goddesse of my soule, the daughter, And the base churle her father. Grant this true As I beleeue it; canst thou euer hope To enioy a quiet bed with her, whose father Ruin'd thy state? And yours too. I confesse it. True I must tell you as a friend, and freely, That where impossibilities are apparent, 'Tis indiscretion to nourish hopes. Canst thou imagine, (let not selfe-loue blind thee) That Sir Giles Ouerreach, that to make her great In swelling titles, without touch of conscience, Will cut his neighbours throate, and I hope his owne too; Will ere consent to make herthine? Giue or'e And thinke of some course sutable to thy rancke, And prosper in it. You haue well aduis'd me. But in the meane time, you that are so studious Of my affaires, wholly neglect your owne. Remember your selfe, and in what plight you are. No matter, no matter. Yes, 'tis much materiall: You know my fortune, and my meanes, yet something, I can spare from my selfe, to helpe your wants. How's this?