The Night Walker, or The Little Thief · chunk 21 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 T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds typicality 0.83 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
They are so put upon the time, as if He studied to answer the late Histriomastix, Talking of change and transformations, That wittily, and learnedly he bangs him, So may a Puritans ruff, though starched in Print, Be turned to Paper, and a Play writ in't: A Play in the Puritans ruff? I'll buy his Works for't, And confute Horace with a Water Poet: What haste there, a ballad too? This? This is a piece of Poetry indeed; What noise is that? Some cry i'th' streets; prithee sing on. Again, dost not hear? 'tis i'th' house certainly? 'tis a strange noise? and has a tang o'the justice. Let's see? Untie his feet, pull out his gag, he will choke else; What desperate rogues were these. Give him fresh air. I will never study books more; I am undone, these villains have undone me, Rifled my Desk, they have undone me learnedly; A fire take all their books, I'll burn my Study: Where were you rascals when the villains bound me, You could not hear. He gave us books sir, dainty books to busy us; And we were reading in that which was the Brewhouse; A great way off, we were singing ballads too, And could not hear. This was a precious thief, A subtle trick to keep my servants safe. What ha' you lost fir? They ransacked all before my face, and threatened To kill me, if I coughed, they have a chain, My rings, my box of casting gold, my purse too, They robbed me miserably; but that which most grieves me, They took away some writings; 'twas a Rogue That knew me, and set on by the old Lady, I will indite her for't. Shall we pursue 'em? Run, run, cursed rascals, I am out of my wits, let not a creature in, No not with necessaries. We shall be starved. I'll buy my meat at window, as they pass by; I won't trust my scrivener, he has books too; And bread I'll ha' flung up; I charge ye all Burn all the books i' th' house. Your little Prayer book? I'll never pray again, i'll have my doors Made, up nothing but walls, and thick ones too; No sound shall tempt me again, remember I Have forswore books. If you should be called to take you oath. I will forswear all oaths, rather than see A thing but in the likeness of a book: And I were condemned, I'll rather choose to hang, Than read again; come in, and search all places, They may be about the house, were the doors locked? But the keys in 'em, and if they be gone, They could not want wit to lock us in sir. Never was man so miserably undone, I would lose a limb to see their rogueships totter. Thy brother's daughter, sayst, and borne in Wales? I have long time desired to see her, and I hope Your Ladyship will not be offended.
c.1611(?) [revised by Shirley and re-licensed for stage, May 11, 1633]
First performance (BritDrama)
1615 [1613-1616] [revised 1633]
Company (BritDrama)
Lady Elizabeth's Men
Theater
Phoenix/Cockpit;Indoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
comedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1127 · TCP A00966 · DEEP 947
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 1390–1454 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 21 of 39 in this edition
Length
496 words · 689 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T47 — Knaves, thieves and bawdscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.825 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T46 · seed 44: T41 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
They are so put upon the time, as if He studied to answer the late Histriomastix, Talking of change and transformations, That wittily, and learnedly he bangs him, So may a Puritans ruffe, though starched in Print, Be turn'd to Paper, and a Play writ in't: A Play in the Puritans ruffe? Ile buy his Workes for't, And confute Horace with a Water Poet: What hast there, a ballad too? This? This is a peece of Poetrie indeed; What noise is that? Some cry ith' streets; prethee sing on. Agen, dost not heare? 'tis ith'house certainely? Tis a strange noise? and has a tang o'the Iustice. Lets see? Vnty his feete, pull out his gagge, he will choake else; What desperate rogues were these. Give him fresh aire. I will never study bookes more; I am undone, these villaines have undone me, Rifled my Deske, they have undone me learnedly; A fire take all their bookes, Ile burne my Study: Where were you rascalls when the villaines bound me, You could not heare. He gave us bookes sir, dainty bookes to busie us; And we were reading in that which was the Brewhouse; A great way off, we were finging ballads too, And could not heare. This was a precious theefe, A subtill tricke to keepe my servants safe. What ha you lost fir? They ransack'd all before my face, and threatned To kill me, if I cough'd, they have a chaine, My rings, my boxe of casting gold, my purse too, They rob'd me miserably; but that which most grieves me, They tooke away some writings; 'twas a Rogue That knew me, and set on by the old Lady, I will indite her for't. Shall we pursue 'em? Runne, runne, cursed raskalls, I am out of my wits, let not a creature in, No not with necessaries. We shall be starv'd. Ile buy my meate at window, as they passe by; I wonot trust my Scrivenor, he has bookes too; And bread Ile ha flung up; I charge yee all Burne all the bookes i th house. Your little Prayer booke? Ile never pray agen, ile have my doores Made, up nothing but walls, and thicke ones too; No sound shall tempt me agen, remember I Have forswoare bookes. If you should be call'd to take you oath. I will forsweare all oathes, rather than see A thing but in the likenesse of a booke: And I were condemn'd, Ile rather chuse to hang, Than read agen; come in, and search all places, They may be about the house, were the doores lock'd? But the keyes in 'em, and if they be gone, They could not want wit to locke us in sir. Never was man so miserably undone, I would lose a limbe to see their rogueships totter. Thy brothers daughter, saist, and borne in Wales? I have long time desir'd to see her, and I hope Your Ladiship will not be offended.