Dekker, Thomas · published 1636 · first performed or written 1631 [1619-1631] (Annals) comedy · Prince Charles's Men (first) (?) unassigned nearest T6 Money, debt and credit · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T6: money, master, pound, law, lawyer, chain, gentleman, gold, pay, pray.
Come near, one at once, keep back pray. A sorry man, a very sorry man. What makes thee sorry? All I had is burnt, and that which touches me to the quick, a box of my sweet evidence my Lord. Show me some proof of this. Alas too good proof, all burnt, nor stick, nor stone, left. What Wouldst have me do? Bestow but a bare 100. l. on me, to set me up. Steward deliver him a 100. l. Now all the— Nay kneel not Sir, but hear me. Oh my honey Lord! Faces are speaking pictures, thine's a book, Which if the leaf be truly printed shows A page of close dissembling. Oh my Lord! But say thou art such, yet the money's thine, Which I to Charity give, not to her shrine; If thou cheatest me, thou art cheated? how? thouhast got (Being liquorish) ratsbane from a galley-pot, Taking it for sugar; thou art now my debtor, I am not hurt, nor thou I fear, much better; farewell. Cannons defend me, Gunpowder of hell, Whom dost thou blow up here? Some honest scullar, row this lame dog to hanging. What noise is that? My Lord calls to you. Was there ever called A devil by name from hell? than this is one. My friend, what is he? A City pestilence, A moth that eats up gowns, doublets and hose, One that with Bills, leads smocks and shirts together To linen close adultery, and upon them Strews lavender, so strongly, that the owners Dare never smell them after; he's a broker. Suppose all this, what hurt hath he done thee? More than my limbs loss; in one week he eat My wife up, and three children, this christian Iew did; Has a long lane of hellish Tenements, Built all with pawns. All that he had is burnt. He keeps a whore indeed, this is the Raven, Cried knock before you call, he may be fired, His lousy wardrobes are not; to this hellhound I pawned my weapons to buy brown bread To seed my brats and me; (they forfeited) Twice so much as his money him I gave, To have my Arms redeemed, the griping slave Swore (not to save my soul) unless that I Laid down my stump here, for the Interest, And so hop home. Unheard of villain! Broker, is this true? 'Twere sin my Lord, to lie. Soldier, what is't thou now cravest at my hands? This my petition was, which now I tear, My suit here was, When the next place did fall, To be a Beadsman in your Hospital: But now I come most piteously complaining Against this three-pile rascal, widow's decayer, The orphan's beggerer, and the poors betrayer; Give him the Russian law for all these sins. How? But one hundred blows on his bare shins Come home and take thine Arms. I'll have those legs
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)
Come neere, one at once, keep back pray. A sorry man, a very sorry man. What makes thee sorry? All I had is burnt, and that which touches me to the quick, a boxe of my sweete evidence my Lord. Show me some proofe of this. Alas too good proofe, all burnt, nor stick, nor stone, left. What wodst have me doe? Bestow but a bare 100. l. on me, to set me up. Steward deliver him a 100. l. Now all the— Nay kneele not Sir, but heare me. Oh my hony Lord! Faces are speaking pictures, thine's a booke, Which if the leafe be truly printed shews A page of close dissembling. Oh my Lord! But say thou art such, yet the monie's thine, Which I to Charitie give, not to her shrine; If thou cheat'st me, thou art cheated? how? th'hast got (Being licorish) rats-bane from a gally-pot, Taking it for sugar; thou art now my debtor, I am not hurt, nor thou I feare, much better; farewell. Cannons defend me, Gun-powder of hell, Whom doest thou blow up heere? Some honest scullar, row this lame dog to hanging. What noise is that? My Lord calls to you. Was there ever call'd A devill by name from hell? then this is one. My friend, what is hee? A Citie pestilence, A moath that eates up gownes, doublets and hose, One that with Bills, leades smocks and shirts together To linnen close adultery, and upon them Strowes lavender, so strongly, that the owners Dare never smell them after; hee's a broaker. Suppose all this, what hurt hath hee done thee? More then my limbs losse; in one weeke he eate My wife up, and three children, this christian Iew did; Ha's a long lane of hellish Tenements, Built all with pawnes. All that he had is burnt. He keepes a whore indeede, this is the Raven, Cryed knocke before you call, he may be fir'd, His lowsie wardropes are not; to this hell-hound I pawn'd my weapons to buy browne bread To seede my brats and me; (they forfited) Twice so much as his money him I gave, To have my Armes redeem'd, the griping slave Swore (not to save my soule) vnlesse that I Laid downe my stumpe heere, for the Interest, And so hop home. Vnheard of villain! Broker, is this true? 'Twere sinne my Lord, to lie. Souldier, what is't thou now crau'st at my hands? This my Pitition was, which now I teare, My suite here was, When the next place did fall, To be a Beades-man in your Hospitall: But now I come most pitiously complaining Against this three-pile rascall, widowes decayer, The Orphans beggerer, and the poores betrayer; Give him the Russian law for all these sinnes. How? But one hundred blowes on his bare shins Come home and take thine Arms. Ile have those leggs