Monsieur Thomas (Father's Own Son) · chunk 23 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 · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Despair not I do beseech you Sir, nor tempt your weakness, For if you like it so, I can assure you He is the same man still. Would thou wert ashes On that condition; but believe it gossip You shall know you have wrong. You never Sir, So will I know my duty: and for heaven sake, Take but this council with ye ere you marry, You were wont to bear me: take him, and confess him Search him toth' quick, and if you find him fail Do as please you; a Mother's name I honour. He is lost, and spoiled I am resolved my roof Shall never harbour him: and for your Minion I'll keep you close enough, lest you break lose And do more mischief; get ye in: who waits. Do you call Sir? Seek the Boy: and bid him wait My pleasure in the morning: mark what house He is in, and what he does: and truly tell me. I will not fail Sir. If ye do, i'll hang ye. Keep you the back door there, and be sure None of her servants enter, or go out, If any woman pass, she is lawful prize, boys Cut off all convoys. Who shall answer this? Why, I shall answer it, you fearful widgen, I shall appear toth' action. May we discourse too On honourable terms? With any gentlewoman That shall appear at window: ye may rehearse too By your commission safely, some sweet parcels Of poetry to a Chambermaid. May we sing too? For there's my masterpiece. By no means, no boys, I am the man reserved for air, 'tis my part, And if she be not rock, my voice shall reach her: Ye may record a little, or ye may whistle, As time shall minister, but for main singing, Pray ye satisfy yourselves: away, be careful. But hark ye one word Tom, we may be beaten. That's as ye think good yourselves: if you deserve it, Why 'tis the easiest thing to compass: beaten? What bugbears dwell in thy brains? who should beat thee? She has men enough, Art not thou man enough too? Thou hast flesh enough about thee: if all that mass Will not maintain a little spirit, hang it, And dry it too for dog's meat: get you gone; I have things of moment in my mind: that door, Keep it as thou wouldst keep thy wife from a Servingman. No more I say: away Sam. At your will sir. I have him here, a rare rogue, good sweet master, Do something of some savour suddenly, That we may eat, and live: I am almost starved, No point manieur, no point devein, no Signieur, Not by the virtue of my languages, Nothing at my old masters to be hoped for, O Signieur du, nothing to line my life with, But cold Pies with a cudgel, till you help us. Nothing but famine frights thee: come hither Fidler, Whad Ballads are you seen in best: be short sir.
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)
Diſpaire not I do beſeech you Sir, nor tempt your weakneſſe, For if you like it ſo, I can aſſure you He is the ſame man ſtill. Would thou wert aſhes On that condition; but beleeve it goſſip You ſhall know you have wrong. You never Sir, So will I know my duty: and for heaven ſake, Take but this councell with ye ere you marry, You were wont to beare me: take him, and confeſſe him Search him toth' quicke, and if you find him faile Do as pleaſe you; a Mothers name I honour. He is loſt, and ſpoil'd I am reſolv'd my rooffe Shall never harbour him: and for your Minion Ile keepe you cloſe enough, leaſt you breake looſe And do more michiefe; get ye in: who waits. Do you call Sir? Seeke the Boy: and bid him wait My pleaſure in the morning: marke what houſe He is in, and what he do's: and truly tell me. I will not faile Sir. If ye do, ile hang ye. KEepe you the backe doore there, and be ſure None of her ſervants enter, or goe out, If any woman paſſe, ſhe is lawfull prize, boyes Cut off all convoyes. Who ſhall anſwere this? Why, I ſhall anſwere it, you fearefull widgen, I ſhall appeare toth' action. May we diſcourſe too On honourable tearmes? With any gentlewoman That ſhall appeare at window: ye may rehearſe too By your commiſſion ſafely, ſome ſweet parcels Of poetry to a Chambermaid. May we ſing too? For ther's my maſter-piece. By no meanes, no boyes, I am the man reſerv'd for ayre, 'tis my part, And if ſhe be not rock, my voyce ſhall reach her: Ye may record a little, or ye may whiſtle, As time ſhall miniſter, but for maine ſinging, Pray ye ſatisfie your ſelves: away, be carefull. But hark ye one word Tom, we may be beaten. That's as ye think good your ſelves: if you deſerve it, Why 'tis the eaſieſt thing to compaſſe: beaten? What bugbeares dwell in thy brains? who ſhould beat thee? She has men enough, Art not thou man enough too? Thou haſt fleſh enough about thee: if all that maſſe Will not maintaine a little ſpirit, hang it, And dry it too for dogs meat: get you gone; I have things of moment in my minde: that doore, Keep it as thou would'ſt keep thy wife from a Servingman. No more I ſay: away Sam. At your will ſir. I have him here, a rare rogue, good ſweet maſter, Doe ſomething of ſome ſavour ſuddenly, That we may eat, and live: I am almoſt ſtarv'd, No point manieur, no point devein, no Signieur, Not by the vertue of my languages, Nothing at my old maſters to be hoped for, O Signieur du, nothing to line my life with, But cold Pyes with a cudgell, till you help us. Nothing but famine frights thee: come hither Fidler, Whad Ballads are you ſeen in beſt: be ſhort ſir.