Monsieur Thomas (Father's Own Son) · chunk 12 of 42
Fletcher, John · published 1639 · first performed or written 1615 [1610-c.1616] (Annals) comedy · Unknown · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
Go for a Fiddler then: the poor old Fiddler That says his songs: but first where lies my Mistress, Did ye inquire out that? I'th' Lodge, alone sir, None but her own attendants. 'Tis the happier: Away then, find this Fiddler, and do not miss me By nine a clock. Via. My father's mad now, And ten to one will disinherit me: I'll put him to his plunge, and yet be merry, What Rybabalde? Don Thomasio. De bone venew. I do embrace your body: How dost thou Sam The same Sam.: your friend sir. And how is't bouncing boys? Thou art not altered, They said thou wert all Monsieur. O believe it, I am much altered, much another way: The civilest Gentleman in all your Country: Do not ye see me altered? ye, and nay Gentlemen, A much converted man: where's the best wine boys? A sound Convertite. What hast thou made up twenty yet? By'r Lady, I have given a shrewd push at it, for as I take it, The last I fell in love with, scored sixteen. Look to your skin, Rambaldo the sleeping Giant Will rouse, and rend thee piecemeal. He never perceives 'em Longer than looking on. Thou never meanest then To marry any that thou lov'st? No surely, Nor any wise man I think; marriage? Would you have me now begin to be prentice, And learn to cobble other men's old boots? Why you may take a Maid. Where? can you tell me? Or if 'twere possible I might get a Maid, To what use should I put her? look upon her, Dandle her upon my knee, and give her sugar sops? All the new gowns i'th' parish will not please her, If she be high bred, for there's the sport she aims at, Nor all the feathers in the Friars. Then take a widow, A good staunch wench, that tith, And begin a new order, Live in a dead man's monument, not I sir, I'll keep mine old road, a true mendicant: What pleasure this day yields me, I never covet To lay up for the morrow: and me thinks ever Another man's cook dresses my diet neatest. Thou wast wont to love old women, fat, and flat nosed, And thou wouldst say they kissed like Flounder, flat All the face over. I have had such damsels I must confess. Thou hast been a precious rogue. Only his eyes: and O my conscience They lie with half the kingdom. What's the matter? Whither go all these men-menders, these Physicians? Whose dog lies sick o'th' mulligrubs? O the Gentleman, The young smug Signior, Master Valentine, Brought out of travel with him, as I hear Is fall'n sick o'th' sudden, desperate sick, And likely they go thither. Who? young Frank? The only tempered spirit, Scholar, Soldier, Courtier: and all in one piece? 'tis not possible.
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)
Goe for a Fidler then: the poore old Fidler That ſayes his ſongs: but firſt where lyes my Miſtreſſe, Did ye enquire out that? I'th Lodge, alone ſir, None but her owne attendants. 'Tis the happier: Away then, finde this Fidler, and doe not miſſe me By nine a clocke. Via. My father's mad now, And ten to one will diſinherite me: I'le put him to his plunge, and yet be merry, What Rybabalde? Don Thomaſio. De bene venew. I doe embrace your body: How do'ſt thou Sam. The ſame Sam ſtill: your friend ſir. And how is't bouncing boyes? Thou art not alter'd, They ſaid thou wert all Monſieur. O beleeve it, I am much alter'd, much another way: The civil'ſt Gentleman in all your Country: Doe not ye ſee me alter'd? ye, and nay Gentlemen, A much converted man: wher's the beſt wine boyes? A ſound Convertite. What haſt thou made up twenty yet? By'r Lady, I have giv'n a ſhrewd puſh at it, for as I take it, The laſt I fell in love with, ſcor'd ſixteene. Look to your skin, Rambaldo the ſleeping Gyant Will rowze, and rent thee piece-meale. He nev'r perceives 'em Longer then looking on. Thou never meaneſt then To marry any that thou lov'ſt? No ſurely, Nor any wiſe man I thinke; marriage? Would you have me now begin to be prentize, And learne to cobble other mens old boots? Why you may take a Maid. Where? can you tell me? Or if 'twere poſſible I might get a Maid, To what uſe ſhould I put her? looke upon her, Dandle her upon my knee, and give her ſuger ſops? All the new gowns i'th pariſh will not pleaſe her, If ſhe be high bred, for ther's the ſport ſhe aymes at, Nor all the feathers in the Fryars. Then take a widow, A good ſtanch wench, that tith, And begin a new order, Live in a dead mans monument, not I ſir, I'le keep mine old road, a true mendicant: What pleaſure this day yeelds me, I never covet To lay up for the morrow: and me thinks ever Another mans cooke dreſſes my dyet neateſt. Thou waſt wont to love old women, fat, and flat noſed, And thou wouldſt ſay they kiſt like Flounders, flat All the face over. J have had ſuch damſels J muſt confeſſe. Thou haſt been a pretious rogue. Onely his eyes: and O my conſcience They lye with half the kingdome. What's the matter? Whither goe all theſe men-menders, theſe Phyſitians? Whoſe dog lyes ſicke o'th mulligrubs? O the Gentleman, The yong ſmug Signiour, Maſter Ʋalentine, Brought out of travell with him, as J heare Is falne ſick o'th ſudden, deſperate ſicke, And likely they goe thither. Who? yong Frank? The onely temper'd ſpirit, Scholler, Souldier, Courtier: and all in one piece? 'tis not poſſible.