Mayne, Jasper · published 1639 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638(?)] (Annals) comedy · King's Men · before the Court unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
Plague take you Captain. What does your sack work still? Where am I? Come y'have slept enough. Mr Timothy! How in the name of fresh Cod came you changed Into a sea Calf thus? 'slight, Sir, here be Two Fishmongers to buy you; beat the price Now y'are awake, yourself. How's this? my hands Transmuted into Claws? my feet made flounders? Arrayed in Fins, and scales? arn't you Ashamed to make me such a Monster? pray Help to undress me. We have rare news for you. No letter from the Lady I hope? Your Father And my grave Uncle, Sir, are cast away. How? They by this have made a meal For Jacks and Salmon. They are drowned. Fall down And worship sea-coals, for a ship of them Has made you, Sir, an Heir. This fellow here Brings the auspicious news: And these two friends Of ours confirm it. 'tis too true, Sir. Well, We are all mortal; but in what wet case Had I been now, if I had gone with him. Within this fortnight I had been converted Into some Pike, you might ha' cheapened me. In Fish-street; I had made an Ordinary, Perchance at the Mermaid: Now could I cry Like any Image in a fountain which Runs Lamentations. O my hard misfortune! Fie Sir, good truth it is not manly in you, To weep for such a slight loss as a father. I do not cry for that. No? no; but to think My Mother is not drowned too. I assure you, And that's a shrewd mischance. For then might I Ha gone to th' Counting house and set at liberty Those harmless Angels, which for many years Have been condemned to darkness. You'd not do Like your penurious Father, who was wont To walk his dinner out in Paul's, whiles you Kept Lent at home, and had, like folk in sieges, Your meals weighed to you. Indeed they say he was A Monument of Paul's. Yes, he was there As constant as Duke Humphrey. I can show The prints where he sat holes i'th' logs. He wore More pavement out with walking then would make A row of new stone-Saints, and yet refused To give to th' reparation. I've heard Heed make his Jack go empty to cozen neighbours. Yes, when there was not fire enough to warm A Mastic patch t' apply to his wife's Temples In great extremity of toothache. This is True, Mr Timothy, is't not? Yes. Then Linen. To us was stranger than to Capuchins. My flesh is of an Order with wearing shirts Made of the sacks that brought over Cutchyneele, Copperas, and indigo. My sister wears Smocks made of Curran-bags. I'll not endure it. let's show ourselves. Stay hear all first. Thy Uncle Was such another Plotwell; I have heard He still last left th' Exchange; and would commend The wholesomeness o'th' air in Moore-fields, when The clock struck three sometimes.
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)
Plague take you Captaine. What does your sack work still? Where am I? Come y'have slept enough. Mr Timothy! How in the name of fresh Cod came you changed Into a sea Calfe thus? Slight, Sir, here be Two Fishmongers to buy you; beat the price Now y'are awake, your selfe. How's this? my hands Transmuted into Clawes? my feet made flownders? Arrayd in Finnes, and scales? arn't you Ashamd to make me such a Monster? pray Help to undresse me. We have rare newes for you. No letter from the Lady I hope? Your Father And my grave Uncle, Sir, are cast away. How? They by this have made a meale For Jacks and Salmon. They are drownd. Fall downe And worship sea-coales, for a ship of them Has made you, Sir, an Heyre. This fellow here Brings the auspicious newes: And these two friends Of ours confirme it. Tis too true, Sir. Well, We are all mortall; but in what wet case Had J been now, if I had gone with him. Within this fortnight I had been converted Into some Pike, you might ha cheapned me. In Fish-street; J had made an Ordinary, Perchance at the Mermaid: Now could I cry Like any Image in a fountaine which Runs Lamentations. O my hard misfortune! Fie Sir, good truth it is not manly in you, To weep for such a slight losse as a father. I doe not cry for that. No? no; but to think My Mother is not drownd too. I assure you, And thats a shrewd mischance. For then might I Ha gone to th' Counting house and set at liberty Those harmelesse Angels, which for many yeares Have been condemned to darknesse. You'd not doe Like your penurious Father, who was wont To walk his dinner out in Pauls, whiles you Kept Lent at home, and had, like folk in seiges, Your meales weighed to you. Indeed they say he was A Monument of Pauls. Yes, he was there As constant as Duke Humphrey. I can show The prints where he sate holes ith' loggs. He wore More pavement out with walking then would make A row of new stone-Saints, and yet refused To give to th' reparation. I've heard Heed make his Jack goe emptie to cousen neighbours. Yes, when there was not fire enough to warme A Mastick patch t' apply to his wives Temples In great extremity of tootach. This is True, Mr Timothy, ist not? Yes. Then Linnen. To us was stranger then to Capuchins. My flesh is of an Order with wearing shirts Made of the sacks that brought ore Cutchyneele, Copprice, and Indico. My sister weares Smocks made of Curran-bags. Ile not endure it. Lets show our selves. Stay heare all first. Thy Uncle Was such another Plotwell; I have heard He still last left th' Exchange; and would commend The wholsomenesse oth' ayre in Moore-fields, when The clock struck three sometimes.