Monsieur Thomas (Father's Own Son) · chunk 31 of 42
Fletcher, John · published 1639 · first performed or written 1615 [1610-c.1616] (Annals) comedy · Unknown · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
Leave disputing Against yourself, if you will needs be miserable Spite of her goodness, and your friends persuasions, Think on, and thrive thereafter. I will home then, And follow your advice, and good, good Michael. No more, I know your soul's divided Valentine, Cure but that part at home with speedy marriage E'er my return, for then those thoughts that vexed her, While there ran any stream for lose affections, Will be stopped up, and chaste eyed honour guide her Away, and hope the best still: I'll work for ye, And pray too hearty, away, no more words I Care not for my broken head, But that it should be his plot, and a wench too, A lousy, lazy wench prepared to do it. Thou hadst as good be quiet, for o' my conscience He'll put another on thee else. I am resolved To call him to account, was it not manifest He meant a mischief to me, and laughed at me, When he lay roaring out, his leg was broken, And no such matter: had he broke his neck, Indeed 'twould ne'er ha' grieved me: gallows gall him, Why should he choose out me? Thou art ever ready To thrust thyself into these she occasions, And he as full of knavery to accept it. Well, if I live, I'll have a new trick for him. That will not be amiss, but to fight with him Is to no purpose: beside, he's truly valiant, And a most deadly hand: thou never foughtst yet, Not o' my conscience hast no faith in fight. No, no, I will not fight. Beside the quarrel, Which has a woman in't, to make it scurvy, Who would lie stinking in a Surgeon's hands A month or two this weather; for believe it, He never hurts under a quarters healing. No upon better thought, I will not fight Sam. But watch my time To pay him with a project: Watch him too, I would wish ye: prithee tell me, Dost thou affect these women still? Yes faith Sam. I love 'em even as well as e'er I did, Nay, if my brains were beaten out, I must to 'em. Dost thou love any woman? Any woman Of what degree or calling. Of any age too? Of any age, from fourscore to fourteen boy, Of any fashion. And defect too? Right. For those I love to lead me to repentance: A woman with no nose, after my surquedry, Shows like King Philip's moral, memento mori, And she that has a wooden leg, demonstrates Like Hypocrites, we halt before the gallows: An old one with one tooth, seems to say to us Sweet meats have sour sauce: she that's full of aches, Crum not your bread before you taste your porridge, And many morals we may find. 'Tis well sir, Ye make so worthy uses: but quid igitur, What shall we now determine? Let's consider, An hour or two, how I may fit this fellow.
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)
Leave diſputing Againſt your ſelfe, if you will needs be miſerable Spight of her goodneſſe, and your friends perſwaſions, Thinke on, and thrive thereafter. I will home then, And follow your adviſe, and good, good Michael. No more, I know your ſoul's divided Valentine, Cure but that part at home with ſpeedy marriage Ere my returne, for then thoſe thoughts that vext her, While there ran any ſtreame for looſe affections, Will be ſtopt up, and chaſte ey'd honour guide her Away, and hope the beſt ſtill: I'le worke for ye, And pray too heartily, away, no more words I Care not for my broken head, But that it ſhould be his plot, and a wench too, A lowzie, lazie wench prepar'd to doe it. Thou hadſt as good be quiet, for o' my conſcience He'l put another on thee elſe. I am reſolv'd To call him to account, was it not manifeſt He meant a miſchiefe to me, and laughed at me, When he lay roaring out, his leg was broken, And no ſuch matter: had he broke his necke, Indeed 'twould ne'r ha griev'd me: gallowes gall him, Why ſhould he chooſe out me? Thou art ever ready To thruſt thy ſelfe into theſe ſhe occaſions, And he as full of knavery to accept it. Well, if I live, I'le have a new tricke for him. That will not be amiſſe, but to fight with him Is to no purpoſe: beſides, he's truely valiant, And a moſt deadly hand: thou never foughtſt yet, Not o' my conſcience haſt no faith in fighting. No, no, I will not fight. Bſide the quarrell, Which has a woman in't, to make it ſcurvy, Who would lye ſtinking in a Surgeons hands A moneth or two this weather; for beleeve it, He never hurts under a quarters healing. No upon better thought, I will not fight Sam, But watch my time To pay him with a project: Watch him too, I would wiſh ye: prethee tell me, Do'ſt thou affect theſe women ſtill? Yes faith Sam, I love 'em ev'n as well as ev'r I did, Nay, if my braines were beaten out, I muſt to 'em. Doſt thou love any woman? Any woman Of what degree or calling. Of any age too? Of any age, from fourſcore to fourteen boy, Of any faſhion. And defect too? Right. For thoſe I love to leade me to repentance: A woman with no noſe, after my ſurquedry, Shewes like King Philips morall, memento mori, And ſhe that has a wodden leg, demonſtrates Like Hypocrites, we halt before the gallowes: An old one with one tooth, ſeemes to ſay to us Sweet meats have ſowre ſawce: ſhe that's full of aches, Crum not your bread before you taſte your porridge, And many morals we may finde. 'Tis well ſir, Ye make ſo worthy uſes: but quid igitur, What ſhall we now determine? Let's conſider, An houre or two, how I may fit this fellow.