Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1639 · first performed or written 1639 [c.1617-1639] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men (?) unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
Are there no City Wolves? A rope on them, yes, huge routs, you shall have long lane full of them; they'll feed upon any whore, carrion, thief, or any thing. Have they such maws? Maws? why man, fiddlers have no better stomachs, I have known some of them eat up a Lord at three bits. Three bonds you mean. A Knight is nobody with them, A young gentleman is swallowed whole like a gudgeon. I wonder that Gudgeon does not choke him. A Gudgeon choke him, if the throat of his conscience be sound, he'll gulp down any thing; five of your silken Gallants are swallowed easier than a Damask Prune: for our City wolves do so roll my young prodigal first in wax, which is soft, till he look like a guilded Pill, and then so finely wrap him up in Satin which is sleek, that he goes down without chewing, and thereupon they are called slippery Gallants. I'll be no Gentleman for that trick. The last is your Sea wolf, a horrible ravener to, he has a belly as big as a ship, and devours as much silk at a gulp as would serve forty dozen Tailors against a Christmas day or a running at Tilt. Well, well, now our trap is set what shall we do with the wolves we catch? Why those that are great ones and more than our matches we'll let go, and the lesser wolves we will hang: shall it be so? ay, ay, each man to his stand. Foul monster monger, who must live by that Which is thy own destruction: Why should men Be natures bondslaves? Every creature else Comes freely to the Table of the Earth; That which for man alone doth all things bearen Scarce gives him his true diet anywhere. What spiteful winds breathe here? that not a Tree Spreads, forth a friendly arm? distressed Queen, And most accursed Babes; the earth that bears you Like a proud mother, scorns to give you food: ha? Thanks fate, I now defy thee starveling hunger, Blessed tree, four lives grow in thy fruit, run taste it then, Wise men serve first themselves than other men. Oh me accursed and most miserable, Help, help, some Angel lay a listening ear To draw my cry up; none to lend help? oh Then pine and die. A wolf caught, a wolf caught. Oh help, I am no wolf good friend. No! What art thou then? A miserable wretch. An Usurer? No, no. A broker then? Mock not a man in woe, in a green wound, Pour balsam and not Physic. Snails, he talks like a Surgeon, If you be one why do you not help yourself sir? I am no Surgeon friend, my names Lapirus. How? a wolf caught hoa— Lap what Lap, hoa! Lapirus is my name dost thou not know me? Yes, for a wolvish rascal that would have worried his own Country.
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)
Are there no Citty Wolves? A rope on them, yes, huge routes, you shall have long lane full of them; theyle feed upon any whore, carrion, theefe, or any thing. Have they such mawes? Mawes? why man, fidlers have no better stomackes, I have knowne some of them eate up a Lord at three bits. Three bonds you meane. A Knight is no body with them, A young gentleman is swallowed whole like a Gudgēon. I wonder that Gudgeon does not choake him. A Gudgeon choake him, if the throate of his consciēnce be sound, he'le gulpe downe any thing; five of your silken Gallants are swallowed easier than a Damaske Prune: for our Citty wolves doe so roule my young prodigall first in waxe, which is soft, till he looke like a guilded Pill, and then so finely wrap him up in Sattin which is sleeke, that he goes downe without chewing, and thereupon they are called slippery Gallants. Ile be no Gentleman for that tricke. The last is your Sea wolfe, a horrible ravenēr to, hee has a belly as big as a ship, and devours as much silke at a gulp as would serve forty dozen Taylors against a Christmas day or a running at Tilt. Well, well, now our trap is set what shall we doe with the wolves we catch? Why those that are great ones and more than our matches we'le let goe, and the lesser wolves we will hang: shall it be soo? I, I, each man to his stand. Foulē monster monger, who must live by that Which is thy owne destruction: Why should men Be natures bondslaves? Every creature else Comes freely to the Table of the Earth; That which for man alone doth all things bearē Scarce gives him his true dyet any where. What spightfull winds breath here? that not a Tree Spreads, forth a friendly arme? distressed Queene, And most accursed Babes; the earth that beares you Like a proud mother, scornes to give you food: ha? Thankes fate, I now defie thee starveling hunger, Blest tree, foure lives grow in thy fruite, run tast it then, Wise men serve first themselves then other men. Oh me accursed and most miserable, Helpe, helpe, some Angell lay a listning eare To draw my cry up; none to lend helpe? oh Then pine and dye. A wolfe caught, a wolfe caught. Oh helpe, I am no wolfe good friēnd. No! What art thou then? A miserable wretch. An Vsurer? No, no. A Broaker then? Mocke not a man in woe, in a greene wound, Poure Balsome and not Physicke. Snayles, he talkes like a Surgeon, If you be one why doe you not helpe your selfe sir? I am no Surgeon friend, my names Lapirus. How? a wolfe caught hoa — Lap what Lap, hoa! Lapirus is my name dost thou not know me? Yes, for a wolvish rascall that would have worried his owne Country.