Monsieur Thomas (Father's Own Son) · chunk 3 of 42
Fletcher, John · published 1639 · first performed or written 1615 [1610-c.1616] (Annals) comedy · Unknown · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Ye are too munificent, Nor am I able to conceive those thanks sir. Ye wrong my tender love now, even my service, Nothing accepted, nothing stuck between us And our entire affections, but this woman, This I beseech ye friend. It is a jewel I do confess would make a thief, but never Of him that's so much yours, and bound your servant, That were a base ingratitude. Ye are noble, Pray be acquainted with her, keep your way sir, My cousin and my sister. Ye are most welcome: If any thing in our poor powers fair sir To render ye content, and liberal welcome May but appear, command it. Ye shall find us Happy in our performance. The poor servant Of both your goodnesses presents his service. Come no more compliment: custom has made it Dull, old, and tedious: ye are once more welcome, As your own thoughts can make ye, and the same ever. And so we'll in to ratify it. Hark ye Valentine, Is wild oats yet come over? Yes: with me Sir. How does he bear himself? A great deal better: Why do you blush? the Gentleman will do well. I should be glad on't Sir. How does his Father? As mad a worm as ere he was. I looked for't: Shall we enjoy your company? I'll wait on ye: Only a thought, or two. We bar all prayers. This last wench, I this last wench was a fair one: A dainty wench, a right one: a devil take it, What do I ail; to have fifteen now in liking Enough a man would think to stay my stomach, But what's fifteen, or fifteen score to my thoughts? And wherefore are mine eyes made, and have lights, But to increase my objects? this last wench Sticks plaguy close unto me: a hundred pound I were as close to her: if I loved now As many foolish men do, I should run mad. Sirrah, no more of your French shrugs I advise you, If you be lousy, shift yourself. May it please your worship: Only to see my son, my son good Lancelot Your Master, and my son: body O me sir, No money, no more money Monsieur Lancelot, Not a deneere, sweet Signior: bring the person, The person of my boy, my boy Tom: Monsieur Thomas, Or get you gone again, du gata whee sir, Bassa mi cum, good Lancelot, valetote. My boy, or nothing. Then to answer punctually. I say to 'th purpose. Then I say toth' purpose, Because your Worship's vulgar understanding May meet me at the nearest: your son, my master, Or Monsieur Thomas, (for so his travel styles him) Through many foreign plots that virtue meets with, And dangers (I beseech ye give attention) Is at the last arrived To ask your (as the French man calls it sweetly) Benediction, ae jour en jour.
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)
Ye are too munificent, Nor am I able to conceive thoſe thanks ſir. Ye wrong my tender love now, even my ſervice, Nothing accepted, nothing ſtuck between us And our intire affections, but this woman, This I beſeech ye friend. It is a jewell I doe confeſſe would make a thiefe, but never Of him that's ſo much yours, and bound your ſervant, That were a baſe ingratitude. Ye are noble, Pray be acquainted with her, keep your way ſir, My coſin and my ſiſter. Ye are moſt welcome: If any thing in our poore powers faire ſir To render ye content, and liberall welcome May but appeare, command it. Ye ſhall find us Happy in our performance. The poore ſervant Of both your goodneſſes preſents his ſervice. Come no more complement: cuſtome has made it Dull, old, and tedious: ye are once more welcome, As your owne thoughts can make ye, and the ſame ever. And ſo wee'l in to ratifie it. Harke ye Valentine, Is wild oates yet come over? Yes: with me Sir. How do's he beare himſelf? A great deale better: Why doe you bluſh? the Gentleman will doe well. I ſhould be glad on't Sir. How do's his Father? As mad a worme as ere he was. I lookt for't: Shall we enjoy your companie? Ile wayt on ye: Only a thought, or two. We bar all prayers. This laſt wench, I this laſt wench was a faire one: A dainty wench, a right one: a devill take it, What doe I ayle; to have fifteene now in liking Enough a man would thinke to ſtay my ſtomack, But what's fifteene, or fifteene ſcore to my thoughts? And wherefore are mine eyes made, and have lights, But to encreaſe my objects? this laſt wench Sticks plaguy cloſe unto me: a hundred pound I were as cloſe to her: if I lov'd now As many fooliſh men doe, I ſhould run mad. SIrha, no more of your French ſhrugs J adviſe you, If you be lowzie, ſhift your ſelfe. May it pleaſe your worſhip: Onely to ſee my ſonne, my ſonne good Launcelot Your Maſter, and my ſonne: body O me ſir, No money, no more money Monſieur Launcelot, Not a deneere, ſweet Signior: bring the perſon, The perſon of my boy, my boy Tom: Monſieur Thomas, Or get you gone agen, du gata whee ſir, Baſſa mi cu, good Launcelot, valetote. My boy, or nothing. Then to anſwer punctually. I ſay to 'th purpoſe. Then J ſay to'th purpoſe, Becauſe your Worſhips vulgar underſtanding May meet me at the neereſt: your ſonne, my maſter, Or Monſieur Thomas, (for ſo his travell ſtiles him) Through many forraigne plots that vertue meets with, And dangers (I beſeech ye give attention) Is at the laſt ariv'd To aske your (as the French man cals it ſweetly) Benediction, ae jour en jour.