The Bloody Brother (Rollo, Duke of Normandy) · chunk 11 of 39
Fletcher, John / Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip · published 1639 · first performed or written 1617 [revised 1627-1630] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns typicality 0.74 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Thou boy, thou. I have a trick for thee too, And a rare trick, and I have done it for thee. What's that good master? 'Tis a sacrifice. A full Vine bending, like an Arch, and under The blown god Bacchus, sitting on a Hogshead, His Altar Beer: before that, a plump Vintner Kneeling, and offering incense to his deity, Which shall be only this, red Sprats and Pilchers. This when the Table's drawn, to draw the Wine on. Thou hast it right, and then comes thy Song, Butler. This will be admirable. Oh sir, most admirable. If you'll have the pasty speak, 'tis in my power, I have fire enough to work it; come, stand close, And now rehearse the Song, We may be perfect, The drinking Song, and say I were the Brothers. Well have you borne yourselves; a red Dear Pie, Boys, And that no lean one, I bequeath your virtues; What friends hast thou to day? no citizens? Yes father, the old Crew. By the mass true wenches: Sirrah, set by a chine of Beef, and a hot Pastry, And let the Jowl of Sturgeon be corrected: And do you mark sir, stalk me to a Pheasant, And see if you can shoot her in the Cellar. God a mercy Lad, send me thy roaring bottles, And with such Nectar I will see 'em filled That all thou speakest shall be pure Helicon. Monsieur Latorche? what news with him? Save you. Save you Master, save you gentlemen, You are casting for this preparation; This joyful supper for the royal Brothers: I'm glad I have met you fitly, for to your charge My bountiful brave Butler, I must deliver A Bevie of young Lasses, that must look on This night's solemnity, and see the two Dukes, Or I shall lose my credit; you have Stowage? For such freight I'll find room, and be your servant. Bring them, they shall not starve here I'll send'em victuals Shall work you a good turn, though't be tend a yes hence, sir. God-a-mercy noble Master. Nay, I'll do't. And wine they shall not want, let'em drink like Ducks. What misery it is that minds so royal, And such most honest bounties, as yours are, Should be confined thus to uncertainties. ay, were the State once settled, than we had places. Then we could show ourselves, and help our friends, sir. ay, then there were some savour in't, where now We live between two stools, every hour ready To tumble on our noses; and for aught we know yet, For all this Supper, ready to fast the next day. I would fain speak unto you out of pity, Out of the love I bear you, out of honesty, For your own goods; nay, for the general blessing. And we would as fain hear you, pray go forward. Dare you but think to make yourselves up certainties Your places, and your credits ten times doubled, The Prince's favour, Rollos.
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)
Thou boy, thou. I have a trick for thee too, And a rare trick, and I have done it for thee. What's that good master? 'Tis a sacrifice. A full Vine bending, like an Arch, and under The blowne god Bacchus, sitting on a Hogshead, His Altar Beere: before that, a plumpe Vintner Kneeling, and offring incense to his deitie, Which shall be only this, red Sprats and Pilchers. This when the Table's drawne, to draw the Wine on. Thou hast it right, and then comes thy Song, Butler. This will be admirable. Oh sir, most admirable. If youle have the pasty speak, 'tis in my power, I have fire enough to work it; come, stand close, And now rehearse the Song, We may be perfect, The drinking Song, and say I were the Brothers. Well have you borne your selves; a red Deare Pye, Boyes, And that no leane one, I bequeath your vertues; What friends hast thou to day? no citizens? Yes father, the old Crew. By the masse true wenches: Sirra, set by a chine of Beefe, and a hot Pasty, And let the Joll of Sturgeon be corrected: And doe you marke sir, stalke me to a Pheasant, And see if you can shoot her in the Sellar. God a mercy Lad, send me thy roaring bottles, And with such Nectar I will see 'em filld That all thou speak'st shall be pure Helicon. Monsieur Latorche? what newes with him? Save you. Save you Master, save you gentlemen, You are casting for this preparation; This joyfull supper for the royall Brothers: I'm glad I have met you fitly, for to your charge My bountifull brave Butler, I must deliver A Bevie of young Lasses, that must looke on This nights solemnity, and see the two Dukes, Or I shall lose my credit; you have Stowage? For such freight Ile find roome, and be your servant. Bring them, they shal not starve here Ile send'em victuals Shall work you a good turne, though't be tend a yes hence, sir. God-a-mercy noble Master. Nay, Ile do't. And wine they shal not want, let'em drink like Ducks. What misery it is that minds so royall, And such most honest bounties, as yours are, Should be confind thus to uncertainties. I, were the State once setled, then we had places. Then we could shew our selves, and help our friends, sir. I, then there were some savour in't, where now We live between two stooles, every houre ready To tumble on our noses; and for ought we know yet, For all this Supper, ready to fat the next day. I would faine speak unto you out of pitie, Out of the love I beare you, out of honesty, For your owne goods; nay, for the generall blessing. And we would as faine heare you, pray goe forward. Dare you but think to make your selves up certainties Your places, and your credits ten times doubled, The Princes favour, Rollos.