Dekker, Thomas · published 1636 · first performed or written 1631 [1619-1631] (Annals) comedy · Prince Charles's Men (first) (?) unassigned nearest T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation · 535 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
My gates fill up the number of seven days, At which, of guests, seven several sorts I'll welcome: On Monday, Knights whose fortunes are sunk low; On Tuesday, those that all their life-long read The huge voluminous wonders of the deep, Seamen (I mean) and so on other days, Others shall take their turns. Why have you then built twelve such vast rooms. For the years twelve moons; In each of which, twelve Tables shall be spread; At them, such whom the world scorns, shall be fed, The windows of my building, which each morn, Are Porters, to let in man's comfort (light) Are numbered just three hundred sixty five, And in so many days the sun does drive His chariot stuck with beams of Burnished gold, My Alms shall such diurnal progress make As does the sun in his bright-Zodiack. You differ from the guise of other lands, Where Lords lay all their livings on the rack, Not spending it in bread, but on the back. Such Lords eat men, but men shall eat up me, My uncle the Lord Abbot had a soul Subtle and quick, and searching as the fire, By Magic-stayers he went as deep as hell, And if in devil's possession gold be kept, He brought some sure from thence, 'tis hid in caves Known (save to me) to none, and like a spring The more 'tis drawn, the more it still doth rise, The more my heap wastes, more it multiplies. Now whither (as most richmen do) he pawned His soul for that dear purchase none can tell, But by his bedside when he saw death stand Fetching a deep groan, me he catch't-by'th hand Called me his heir, and charged me well to spend What he had got ill, deal (quoth he) a dole which round (with good men's prayers) may guard my soul Now at her setting forth: let none feel want That knock but at thy gates: do wrong to none, And what request to thee so ear is made, If honest, see it never be denied. And you'll perform all this? Fair & upright, As are the strict vows of an Anchorite: A benefit given by a Niggard's hand Is stale and gravelly bread, the hunger-starved Takes it, but cannot eat it; I'll give none such. Who with free heart shakes out but crumbs, gives much. In such a ship of worldly cares my Lord As you must sail now in, you'll need more Pilots Than your own self to sit and steer the Helm. You might do therefore well to take a wife; A wife? when I shall have one hand in heaven, To write my happiness in leaves of stars; A wife would pluck me by the other down: This Bark hath thus long sailed about the world, My soul the Pilot, and yet never listened To such a mermaid's song: a wife, oh fetters, To man's blessed liberty! All this world's a prison, Heaven the high wall about it, sin the jailer, But the iron-shackles weighing down our heels, Are only women, those light Angels turn us, To fleshly devils, I that Sex admire, But never will sit near their wanton fire.
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)
My gates fill up the number of seuen dayes, At which, of guests, seven severall sorts Ile welcome: On Munday, Knights whose fortunes are sunke low; On Tuesday, those that all their life-long read The huge voluminous wonders of the deepe, Sea-men (I meane) and so on other dayes, Others shall take their turnes. Why have you then built twelue such vaste roomes. For the yeares twelve moones; In each of which, twelue Tables shall be spread; At them, such whom the world scornes, shall be fed, The windowes of my building, which each morne, Are Porters, to let in mans comfort (light) Are numbred just three hundred sixtie five, And in so many daies the sunne does drive His chariot stuck with beames of Burnish't gold, My Almes shall such diurnall progresse make As doe's the sunne in his bright-Zodiack. You differ from the guise of other lands, Where Lords lay all their livings on the racke, Not spending it in bread, but on the backe. Such Lords eate men, but men shall eate up me, My uncle the Lord Abbot had a soule Subtile and quick, and searching as the fier, By Magicke-stayers he went as deepe as hell, And if in devills possession gold be kept, He brought some sure from thence, 'tis hid in caves Knowne (save to me) to none, and like a spring The more 'tis drawne, the more it still doth rise, The more my heape wastes, more it multiplies. Now whither (as most rich-men doe) he pawn'd His soule for that deare purchase none can tell, But by his bed-side when he saw death stand Fetching a deepe groane, me he catch't-by'th hand Cal'd me his heire, and charg'd me well to spend What he had got ill, deale (quoth he) a doale which round (with good mens prayers) may guard my soule Now at her setting forth: let none feele want That knock but at thy gates: do wrong to none, And what request to thee so ear is made, If honest, see it never be denay'd. And yow'le performe all this? Faire & upright, As are the strict vowes of an Anchorite: A benefit given by a Niggards hand Is and gravily bread, the hunger-sterv'd Takes it, but cannot eate it; Ile give none such. Who with free heart shakes out but crums, gives much. In such a ship of worldly cares my Lord As you must saile now in, yow'le need more Pilots Then your owne selfe to sit and steare the Helme. You might doe therefore well to take a wife; A wife? when I shall have one hand in heaven, To write my happinesse in leaves of starres; A wife wo'd plucke me by the other downe: This Barke hath thus long sail'd about the world, My soule the Pilot, and yet never listen'd To such a Mare-maids song: a wife, oh fetters, To mans blest liberty! All this world's a prison, Heaven the high wall about it, sin the jalour, But the iron-shackles waying downe our heeles, Are onely women, those light Angells turne us, To fleshly devills, I that Sex admire, But never will sit neere their wanton fier.