Nabbes, Thomas · published 1638 · first performed or written 1638 (Annals) comedy · Prince Charles's Men (second) (?); King's Revels Company (?) · Salisbury Court T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns typicality 0.75 · 454 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Y'Are welcome Gentlemen to Tot'nam-Court, Where You (perhaps) expect some lusty sport; Such as rude Custom doth beget in MAY, When straggling Numbers court that jovial day With early Riot. No such thing must be The Subject of our easy comedy. What then! a humorous, fiery, red-faced Host, That will discourse his Guest into more cost Then's Cheer is worth: and lies with so much credit, As if 'twere truth's Authority, He said it, Nor this! The AUTHOR surely then intends Some gown-man of the Town, that daily spends A thrifty Penny, to preserve his Lungs, For a full Voice' midst the contentious throngs. But heere is no such Satyre: nor is't sit Abuse should be the exercise of Wit. To feast your sense and minds for Cakes and Ale, New, and not staled with handling, here's a Tale Dressed up of a fair Milkmaid; whose chaste Theme Shall close your stomachs up instead of Cream. Cookery and Wit are like: the self same Meat Delights one's taste, another cannot eat. So 'tis in Fancy's Work: this loves a jest; That Language; Matter pleaseth tother best. Our play's not larded with great store of these: And how the relish of their salt will please 'Tis doubtful. Yet We are the less afraid; Because Your Reckoning is beforehand paid. COme, my Delight; let not such painted griefs Press down thy soul: the darkness but presents Shadows of fear, which should secure us best From danger of pursuit. Would it were day: My apprehension is so full of horror, I think each sound the air's light motion Makes in these thickets, is my Uncle's voice, Threatening our ruins. Let his rage persist To enterprise a vengeance; we'll prevent it. Wrapped in the arms of night (that favours Lovers) We hitherto have scaped his eager search, And are arrived near London. Sure I hear The Bridge's Cataracts, and such like murmurs As night and sleep yield from a populous number. But when will it be day? the light hath comfort. senses being lost, The last are less delighted. Th'early Cock Hath sung his summons to the day's approach: 'Twill instantly appear. Why, startled Bellamie! Did no amazing sounds arrive your ear? Pray listen. Come, come; 'Tis thy fear suggests Illusive fancies: under love's protection We may presume of safety. Follow, follow, follow. Ay me, 'tis sure mine Uncle. Dear Love. Astonishment hath seized my faculties. My Love, my Bellamie. Ha! Dost thou forsake me Worthgood? Where's my Love? Dart from thy silver Crescent one fair beam Through this black air thou Governess of night, To show me whither she is led by fear. Thou envious darkness to assist us hither, And now prove fatal. Follow, follow, follow.
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)
Y'Are welcome Gentlemen to Tot'nam-Court, Where You (perhaps) expect some lusty sport; Such as rude Custome doth beget in MAY, When straggling Numbers court that joviall day With early Riot. No such thing must be The Subject of our easie COMEDIE. What then! a humorous, fiery, red-fac'd Host, That will discourse his Guest into more cost Then's Cheere is worth: and lyes with so much credit, As if 'twere Truths Authoritie, He se'd it, Nor this! The AVTHOR surely then intends Some Gowne-man of the Towne, that dayly spends A thrifty Penny, to preserve his Lungs, For a full Voyce 'midst the contentious throngs. But heere is no such Satyre: nor is't sit Abuse should bee the exercise of Wit. To feast your sense and minds for Cakes and Ale, New, and not stal'd with handling, heere's a Tale Drest up of a faire Milke-maid; whose chast Theame Shall close your stomacks up instead of Creame. Cook'ry and Wit are like: the selfe same Meat Delights one's tast, another cannot eat. So 'tis in Fancie's Worke: this loves a jest; That Language; Matter pleaseth t'other best. Our PLAY'S not larded with great store of these: And how the relish of their salt will please 'Tis doubtfull. Yet We are the lesse affraid; Because Your Reck'ning is before-hand paid. COme, my Delight; let not such painted griefes Presse downe thy soule: the darknesse but presents Shadowes of feare, which should secure us best From danger of pursuit. Would it were day: My apprehension is so full of horrour, I thinke each sound the ayre's light motion Makes in these thickets, is my Vncles voyce, Threatning our ruines. Let his rage persist To enterprise a vengeance; wee'l prevent it. Wrap't in the armes of night (that favours Lovers) We hitherto have scap'd his eager search, And are arriv'd neere London. Sure I heare The Bridges Catarracts, and such like murmures As night and sleepe yeeld from a populous number. But when will it be dy? the light hath comort. snses being lost, The lst are lesse delighted. Th'early Cocke Hath sung his summons to the dayes approach: 'Twill instantly appeare. Why, startled Bellamie! Did no amazing sounds arrive your eare? Pray listen. Come, come; 'Tis thy feare sugest's Illusive fancies: under Loves protection We may presume of saetie. Follow, follow, follow. Ay me,'tis sure mine Vncle. Deare Love. Astonishment gath seiz'd my faculties. My Love, my Bellamie. Ha! Dost thou forsake me Worthgood? Where's my ove? Dart from thy silver Crescent one faire beame Through this black ayre thou Governesse of night, To shew me whither she is led by feare. Thou envious darknesse to assit us hither, And now prove fatall. Follow, follow, follow.