W., J. · published 1637 · first performed or written 1626 [1625-1626] (Annals) history · Unknown unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Not a word of Latin, neither Justice, nor clerk. Peace Bolt in the king's name, I charge thee, if you will eat bread earn bread, take up this luggage, sirrah, follow me home to my house, thou shalt have good bread, good drink, and good fire, up I command thee. I am necessity's slave, and now must bear. Must! nay, shall: are not the English your good Lords and Masters? Well they are. Do you grumble sir, on sir Jeffrey. Have an eye to him Bolt, lest he give us the slip, And were you in this terrible storm at Sea say you? Over head and ears, sir. If th'execution had been upon the land Sir Ieffrey, as 'twas upon the Sea, your worship had been in a worse pickle than he. Why Knave? why? Because he that has a bad name is half-hanged, And your worship knows, ye have but an ill name. Thou Varlet is not wise good? Yes, come along porter, wise is good. And is not acre good? Yes passing good. Why should Wiseacre being put together be nought then? Is not Plumb-porridge good, Sir Ieffrey? Yes. Would I had this trunk full of 'em. Peace Greedy-gut, plumporridge is good, and Bag-pudding is good, but put them together, and they are filthy meat. Well, that's true. Right sir. How now? Hunger is good, and two Woodcocks are good, But the feathers of those two Woodcocks must be plucked first. Hold I charge thee. youare a scurvy justice, yare man's an Ass, and you another with a velvet foot-cloth on your back, I ken ye vary we'll, and I'll knock ye vary we'll, if any thing be worth victuals, it goes down here. The Devil choke you, if you be a man of your word. Wiseacres, if you would fain know who has got this trash from ye, 'tis I, Wallace the Scot. Wallace. Fly sir Ieffrey, He calls us Woodcocks, let's fly and raise the Country. D'ye ye grumble? raise the Devil and spare not. Wert thou a chest of gold, I'd give thee all for victuals, Hunger, they say, will break stone walls, Your chops are not so hard, Ye shall burst tho with iron ribs ye were barred, victuals— wine too,— few justices do feed the hungry thus, o these Wiseacres are the bravest fellows, specially English Wiseacres. I'll now be my own carver, misery and age Want and despair have brought me to death's door, And shall I not enter? yes I will, this key Shall do't, is death so surly, may a poor man Speak sooner with a King then speak with him When he has most need of him, ugly lean slave, So I may see him, no matter for a grave. How now, what dost look for? For that which a quarter of the world Wants, a tree to be hanged upon. Art weary of thy life?
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)
Not a word of Latine, neither Juſtice, nor Clarke. Peace Bolt in the Kings name, I charge thee, if you will eat bread earn bread, take up this luggage, ſirra, follow me home to my houſe, thou ſhalt have good bread, good drink, and good fire, up I command thee. I am neceſſities ſlave, and now muſt beare. Muſt! nay, ſhall: are not the Engliſh your good Lords and Maſters? Well they are. Do you grumble ſir, on ſir Jeffrey. Have an eye to him Bolt, leſt he give us the ſlip, And were you in this terrible ſtorm at Sea ſay you? Over head and eares, ſir. If th'execution had been upon the land Sir Ieffrey, as 'twas upon the Sea, your worſhip had been in a worſe pickle then he. Why Knave? why? Becauſe he that ha's a bad name is half-hang'd, And your worſhip knowes, ye have but an ill name. Thou Varlet is not wiſe good? Yes, come along porter, wiſe is good. And is not acre good? Yes paſſing good. Why ſhould Wiſeacre being put together be nought then? Is not Plumb-porridge good, Sir Ieffrey? Yes. Would I had this trunk full of 'em. Peace Greedi-gut, Plum-porridge is good, and Bag-pudding is good, but put them together, and they are filthy meat. Well, that's true. Right ſir. How now? Hunger is good, and two Woodcocks are good, But the feathers of thoſe two Woodcocks muſt be pluck'd firſt. Hold I charge thee. Y are a ſcurvy Iuſtice, yare man's an Aſſe, and you another with a velvet foot-cloth on your back, I ken ye vary weel, and Iſe knock ye vary weele, if any thing be worth victales, it goes down here. The Devill choake you, if you be a man of your word. Wiſeacres, if you would fain know who ha's got this traſh from yee, 'tis I, Wallace the Scot. Wallace. Flie ſir Ieffrey, He calls us Woodcocks, let's flie and raiſe the Country. D'e ye grumble? raiſe the Devill and ſpare not. Wert thou a cheſt of gold, I'de give thee all for victuals, Hunger, they ſay, will break ſtone wals, Your chops are not ſo hard, Ye ſhall burſt tho with iron ribs ye were bar'd, —victuals—wine too,—few juſtices doe feed the hungry thus, o theſe VViſeacres are the braveſt fellowes, ſpecially Engliſh VViſeacres. I'le now be my own carver, miſery and age Want and deſpaire have brought me to deaths doore, And ſhall I not enter? yes I will, this key Shall doo't, is death ſo ſurly, may a poore man Speake ſooner with a King then ſpeake with him When he has moſt need of him, ugly leane ſlave, So I may ſee him, no matter for a grave. How now, what do'ſt looke for? For that which a quarter of the world Wants, a tree to be hang'd upon. Art weary of thy life?