The Night Walker, or The Little Thief · chunk 10 of 39
Fletcher, John / Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written c.1611(?) [revised by Shirley and re-licensed for stage, May 11, 1633] (Annals) comedy · Lady Elizabeth's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T26 Devils, hell and fiends · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
Oh 'tis a sad time, all the burnt wine is drunk Nick. We may thank your dry chaps for't, the Canaries gone too No substance for a sorrowful mind to work upon, I cannot mourn in beer, if she should walk now As discontented spirits are wont to do. And meet us in the Cellar. What sense have we with single beer against her? What heart can we defy the devil with? The March beer's open. A fortification of March Beer will do well, I must confess 'tis a most mighty Armour, For I presume I cannot pray. Why Nicholas? We Coachmen have such tumbling faiths, no prayers Can go an even pace. Hold up your candle. Verily Nurse, I have cried so much For my young Mistress, that is mortified, That if I have not more sack to support me, I shall even sleep, heigho, for another flagon; These burials and Christenings are the mournfulst matters, And they ask more drink. Drink to a sad heart's needful. Mine's ever sad, for I am ever dry Nurse. methinks the light burns blue, I prithee snuff it There's a thief in't I think. There may be one near it. What's that that moves there, i'th' name of— Nicholas? That thing that walks. Would I had a ladder to behold it, Mercy upon me, the Ghost of one o'th' Guard sure, 'tis the Devil by his claws, he smells of Brimstone, Sure he farts fire, what an earthquake I have in me; Out with thy prayer book Nurse. It fell i'th' frying-pan, and the Cats eat it. I have no power to pray, it grows still longer, 'tis Steeple high now, and it sails away Nurse, Let's call the Butler up, for he speaks Latin, And that will daunt the Devil: I am blasted, My bellies grown to nothing. Fie, fly, Tobie. So let them go, and whilst they are astonished Let us presently upon the rest now suddenly. Off, off, and up again, when we are near the Parlour, Art sure thou know'st the Chest? Though it were i'th' dark sir, I can go to't. On then and be happy. How my haunches quake? is the thing here still Now can I outdo any Button maker, at his own trade, I have fifteen fits of an Ague, Nurse, 'tis gone I hope The hard hearted woman has left me alone. Nurse— And she knows too I ha' but a lean Conscience to keep me company. The Devils among 'em in the parlour sure, The Ghost three stories high, he has the Nurse sure, He is boiling of her bones now, hark how she whistles: There's gentlewomen within too, how will they do? I'll to the Cook, for he was drunk last night, And now he is valiant, he's a kin toth' Devil too And fears no fire, No light?
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)
Oh tis a sad time, all the burnt wine is drunke Nicke. We may thank your dry chaps for't, the Canaries gone too No substance for a sorrowfull minde to worke upon, I cannot mourne in beere, if she should walke now As discontented spirits are wont to doe. And meete us in the Cellar. What sence have we with single beere against her? What heart can we defie the divell with? The March Beere's open. A fortification of March Beere will doe well, I must confesse tis a most mighty Armour, For I presume I cannot pray. Why Nicholas? We Coachmen have such tumbling faiths, no pray'rs Can goe an even pace. Hold up your candle. Verily Nurse, I have cry'd so much For my young Mistresse, that is mortified, That if I have not more sacke to support me, I shall even sleepe, heigho, for another flagon; These burialls and Christnings are the mournefulst matters, And they aske more drinke. Drinke to a sad heart's needfull. Mine's ever sad, for I am ever dry Nurse. Me thinkes the light burnes blew, I prethee snuffe it There's a theefe in't I thinke. There may be one neere it. Whats that that moves there, ith' name of — Nicholas? That thing that walkes. Would I had a ladder to behold it, Mercy upon me, the Ghost of one oth' Guard sure, Tis the Devill by his clawes, he smells of Brimstone, Sure he farts fire, what an earth-quake I have in me; Out with thy prayer booke Nurse. It fell ithe frying-pan, and the Cats eate it. J have no power to pray, it growes still longer, Tis Steeple high now, and it sayles away Nurse, Lets call the Butler up, for he speakes Latine, And that will daunt the Devill: I am blasted, My bellies growne to nothing. Fye, flye, Tobie. So let them goe, and whilst they are astonishd Let us presently upon the rest now sodainely. Off, off, and up agen, when we are neere the Parlour, Art sure thou knowst the Chest? Though it were ith' darke sir, I can goe to't. On then and be happie. How my haunches quake? is the thing here still Now can I out-doe any Button maker, at his ownetrade, I have fifteene fits of an Ague, Nurse, tis gone I hope The hard hearted woman has left me alone. Nurse — And she knowes too I ha but a leane Conscience to keepe me company. The Devills among em in the parlour sure, The Ghost three stories high, he has the Nurse sure, He is boyling of her bones now, harke how she whistles: There's gentlewomen within too, how will they doe? Ile to the Cooke, for he was drunke last night, And now he is valiant, he's a kin toth' Devill too And feares no fire, No light?