Rowley, William · published 1638 · first performed or written 1608 [1607-1609] (Annals) romance · Prince Charles's Men (first) · Red Bull unassigned nearest T13 Knights, squires and ladies · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T13: knight, raph, lady, knights, george, master, squire, rafe, pray, god.
Nothing, hang thee villain, I'll cry it at the Market Cross: I'faith, is your awl so free for smock-leather? Good Dame. By these ten fingers I'll double thy years for't: Oh that I knew the Quean, I'd slit her nose, And tear her eyes out of her head i'faith. How now, what's the matter that it thunders so? Oh, you are as good a Master too o'th' to the side: you look to your Prentices well; one of your men has been at green-goose fair; but he shall pay for the sauce I'll warrant him. What Fair? what Sauce, goody gandergoose? Nay, 'tis no matter, as he likes this, let him dance the shaking of the sheets another time. What sheets dame Guinevere? what dance I pray ye? Marry uptails all: do you smell me now? I smell an Ass head of your own: what's all this trow? Pardon me Sir. Unless you stand my friend, Alas I am but dead. Dead, hang ye Rascal, hang ye; you were quick enough when you laid your Whore on her back, to take measure of her new shoes: Would you think it Husband, this young knave has got a wench with child. Hoyda, and is this the shaking of the sheets you talk of, goodwife Snipper Snapper: 'sfoot I like him the better fort: he is of your husband's trade, you old whore, and he has metal in him: dost scold for that, hold your tongue with a pox. ay, ay, one Whoremaster will take part with another still. Peace Walflit, leave gaping. A wench with child? 'sfoot in my my capering days I have done as much myself Sis. ay, beshrew your heart for your labour. Peace Sisley, I shall sow up your lips else; Let me talk with my Prentice: Hast got a maid with child sayst? A maid, marry hang her whore. Yet again, keep your Clack, I'll slit your tongue else. Speak my young Cock-Sparrow, what merry wagtail hast thou been billing with? O Sir, if any but my dame and you should know it, I were lost for ever. Mum, mum for my part Boy; and you Margery Magpie, Keep your tongue from chattering, or by the marry maskins I'll tickle your gaskins: Come, say, what Didapper was't? The emperor's Daughter Sir. Who, the Princess? Out upon thee Traitor. 'sfoot will Bow-bell never leave ringing? will the perpetual motion of your old chaps never leave sounding? I shall beat your clapper out anon for't: Ah sirrah, go too boy, no Court-mustard serve your turn but the emperor's Daughter? This is fine i'faith. he'll smoke for't I warrant him. Why Wiperginie, prating still I say? thoust drawn on her shoe handsomely by the Mass: Prithee tell me, how couldst thou being but a poor Shoemaker, climb up to a Court-bedsted? he'll climb to the Gallows for't. Why Knipperdolin, is the Devil in thee? I have climbed farther Sir; she's now my Wife, And I have married her. Hoyda. Hush madge owlet, leave hollowing.
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)
Nothing, hang thee villaine, Ile cry it at the Market Crosse: I'faith, is your Aul so free for smocke-leather? Good Dame. By these tenne fingers Ile double thy yeares for't: Oh that I knew the Queane, I'de slit her nose, And teare her eyes out of her head y'faith. How now, what's the matter that it thunders so? Oh, you are as good a Master too o'th to the side: you looke to your Prentises well; one of your men has beene at greene-goose faire; but he shall pay for the sauce Ile warrant him. What Faire? what Sauce, goody gander-goose? Nay, 'tis no matter, as he likes this, let him dance the shaking of the sheetes another time. What sheetes dame Guiniver? what dance I pray yee? Marry uptailes all: doe you smell me now? I smell an Asse head of your owne: what's all this troe? Pardon me Sir. Unlesse you stand my friend, Alas I am but dead. Dead, hang yee Rascall, hang yee; you were quicke enough when you laid your Whore on her backe, to take measure of her new shooes: Would you thinke it Husband, this young knave has got a wench with child. Hoyda, and is this the shaking of the shoetes you talke of, goodwife Snipper Snapper: s'foote I like him the better fort: he is of your husbands trade, you old whore, and he has mettall in him: dost scould for that, hold your tongue with a poxe. I, I, one Whore-master will take part with another still. Peace Walflit, leave gaping. A wench with child? s'fut in my my capring dayes I have done as much my selfe Sis. I, beshrow your heart for your labour. Peace Sisley, I shall sow up your lips else; Let me talke with my Prentise: Hast got a maid with child saist? A maid, marry hang her whore. Yet agen, keepe your Clacke, Ile slit your tongue else. Speake my young Cock-Sparrow, what merry wagtaile hast thou beene blling with? O Sir, if any but my dame and you should know it, I were lost for ever. Mum, mum for my part Boy; and you Margery Magpye, Keepe your tongue from chattering, or by the mary maskins Ile tickle your gaskins: Come, say, what Didapper was't? The Emperours Daughter Sir. Who, the Princesse? Out upon thee Traytor. Sfoot will Bow-bell never leave ringing? will the perpetuall motion of your old chaps never leave sounding? I shall beate your clapper out anon for't: Ah sirrah, goe too boy, no Court-mustard serve your turne but the Emperours Daughter? This is fine yfaith. Hee'le smoake for't I warrant him. Why Wiperginie, prating still I say? th'ast drawne on her shooe handsomely by the Masse: Prethee tell me, how couldst thou being but a poore Shooemaker, climbe up to a Court-bed-sted? Hee'le climbe to the Gallows for't. Why Knipperdolin, is the Devill in thee? I have climb'd farther Sir; shee's now my Wife, And I have married her. Hoyda. Hush madge Howlet, leave hollowing.