The Night Walker, or The Little Thief · chunk 22 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 T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
No, no. I should be happy if she might be serviceable To you Madam. Beshrew me, but at first, she took me much, Is she not like Maria? setting aside Her language very like her, and I love her The better for't, I prithee call her hither, She speaks feat English. Why, Gwennyth, Gwennyth, du hummah Gwennyth; She is course Madam, after her country guise, And were she in fine clothes— I'll have her handsome: What part of Wales were you borne in? In Abehundis Madams. She speaks that name in Welsh, which we call Breck- What can you do? nock. Her was toe many tings in Walls, know not the fashion in London's; her was milk the Cows, make seeze and butters, and spin very well the Welsh freeze, her was Cook to te Mountain cots, and sing very fine prittish tunes, was mage good ales and breads, and her know to dance on Sundays, marge you now Madams. A pretty innocence, I do like her infinitely, Nurse. And if I live— Here is Mr. Hartlove, madam, come to see you: Alas poor Gentleman, prithee admit him. madam, I am come to take my last leave. How sir? Of all my home affections, and my friends, For the interest you had once in Maria, I would acquaint you when I leave the kingdom. Would there were any thing in my poor power That might divert your will, and make you happy; I am sure I have wronged her too, but let your pardon Assure me you are charitable; she's dead Which makes us both sad: What do you look on? The likest face— Plesse us all, why does that sentilman make such unders and mazements at her, I know her not. Be not offended maid. How the Wench blushes, she represents Maria's loss to him. Will the sentillman hurt her, pray you be her defences, was have mad phisnomies, is her troubled with Lunatics in her praine pans, bless us all. Where had you this face? Her faces be our none I warrant her. I won't hurt you, all the lineaments That built Maria up; all those springing beauties Dwell on this thing, change but her tongue, I know her: Let me see your hand. Du Guin, was never thieves, and robberies; here is no singe in her hands warrant her. Trust me, the selfsame white, And softness, prithee speak our English Dialect. Haleggs? what does her speage hard urds to her, to make poor Gwennyth ridiculous, was no mannerly sentilman to abuse her. By the love, That everlasting love I bore Maria Mariai, her name was Guenith, and good names, was poor else, oman maid, her have no fine kanags to madge her tricksy, yet in her own countries was held a fine ense her can tell her, and honest sense too, marg you dat now, her can keep her little legs close enough warrant her. How prettily this anger shows. She gabbles innocently.
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)
No, no. I should be happy if she might be serviceable To you Madam. Beshrow me, but at first, she tooke me much, Is she not like Maria? setting aside Her language very like her, and I love her The bettet for't, I prethee call her hither, Shee speakes feate English. Why, Guennith, Guennith, du hummah Guenneth; She is course Madam, after her country guise, And were she in fine cloathes — Ile have her hansome: What part of Wales were you borne in? In Abehundis Madams. She speakes that name in Welsh, which we call Breck- What can you doe? nocke. Her was toe many tings in Walls, know not the fashion in Londons; her was milke the Cowes, make seeze and butters, and spinne very well the Welsh freeze, her was Cooke to te Mou taine cots, and sing very fine prittish tunes, was mage good ales and breds, and her know to daunce on Sundayes, marge you now Madams. A pretty innocence, I doe like her infinitely, Nurse. And if I live — Here is Mr. Hartlove, Madame, come to see you: Alas poore Gentleman, prethee admit him. Madame, I am come to take my last leave. How sir? Of all my home affections, and my friends, For the interest you had once in Maria, I would acquaint you when I leave the kingdome. Would there were any thing in my poore power That might divert your will, and make you happy; I am sure I have wrong'd her too, but let your pardon Assure me you are charitable; shee's dead Which makes us both sad: What doe you looke on? The likest face — Plesse us awle, why does that sentilman make such unders and mazements at her, I know her not. Be not offended maid. How the Wench blushes, shee represents Marias losse to him. Will the sentillman hurt her, pray you be her defences, was have mad phisnomies, is her troubled with Lunaticks in her praine pans, blesse us awle. Where had you this face? Her faces be our none I warrant her. I wonot hurt you, all the lineaments That built Maria up; all those springing beauties Dwell on this thing, change but her tongue, I know her: Let me see your hand. Du Guin, was never theeves, and robberies; here is no sindge in her hands warrant her. Trust me, the selfesame white, And softnesse, prethee speake our English Dialect. Haleggs? what does her speage hard urds to her, to make poore Guennith ridicles, was no mannerly sentilman to abuse her. By the love, That everlasting love I bare Maria Mariai, her name was Guenith, and good names, was poore else, oman maide, her have no fine kanags to madge her tricksie, yet in her owne cuntries was held a fine ense her can tell her, and honest ense too, marg you dat now, her can keepe her little legges close enough warrant her. How prettily this anger shewes. She gabbles innocently.