The Constant Maid (Love Will Find Out the Way) · chunk 11 of 32
Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1630(?)-1640] (Annals) not in BritDrama T52 Prodigals, portions and poor kin typicality 0.81 · 465 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T52: brother, father, uncle, cousin, son, poor, bread, old, given, master.
She hears. But collects nothing; all her senses are scattered. Stay, you shall give towards the building of a Church Nothing, see the money first laid out, That's given already; it were sin and pity To abuse the dead: but 'tis no matter, Uncle, You'll be as famous for pulling down the parish, The Church will fall of itself, With ding dung bell. Why did they put the poor fellow in prison? Whom? what fellow? Why the Corn-cutter: Poor Gentleman, he meant no hurt to the City, His feet were very weary, and that made him In every street cry out; ha' ye any corns In your head or toes? that head spoiled all. Which is Master Hornet? Ha, with me? A word, Sir. Prithee, what's he? he comes to borrow money On his wife's wedding-ring, or his child's whistle: You may see by his nose he has no laud, he looks As a Hawk; what do you dream on? What lady's timpany is your next cure? Or whose stale body must be rectified Next with a glister? There is no disputing, I must attend you. I am sent for by a Pursuivant to his Highness; Alas, I am undone, I never saw him, How should he know me, a poor wretch? Is't not some complaint, think you? That's my fear, there be Too many knaves i'th' world, and a man cannot Grow rich; but one State-Surgeon or other Must practise on his purse; before this Judge A vein is opened in the other Court, So many ounces he must bleed again: Let me see, all the treason I committed Is that I shifted houses; for I took Delight to cozen him of his subsidies; I always live obscurely, to avoid Taxations, I never pay the Church Her superstitious tithes, nor come to trouble Sermons, for fear of homilies before, That beg for burning. Why how now, Uncle, is your Scrivener broke, You talk such lamentation? I am sent for the King, Niece, & shall be made a beggar As I was borne; I see my chattel ceased, This chest is ransacked, and that bag deflowered, My door sealed up, and with this hungry Messenger, I am already marching to the Fleet. Nay, and you be at that ward, I must leave you, Fare well, pray do not lift my Uncle too hard; And so I leave you both to the mercy of the Bear-garden. Best make fast her Chamber. ay, ay, cursed dog. Wo' not some money qualify your haste? Deal in your own affairs; Will you go sit? Go, I must go. I'll take my leave; Have comfort, sir, this cloud may soon blow over. Yes, when I am blown up; I read imprisonment in his very looks, And all my gold confiscate.
seed 43: T52 · seed 44: T52 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
She heares. But collects nothing; all her senses are scatter'd. Stay, you shall give towards the building of a Church Nothing, see the money first laid out, That's given already; it were sin and pitie To abuse the dead: but 'tis no matter, Vnckle, You'll be as famous for pulling downe the parish, The Church will fall of it selfe, With ding dong bell. Why did they put the poore fellow in prison? Whom? what fellow? Why the Corne-cutter: Poore Gentleman, he meant no hurt to the Citie, His feet were verie wearie, and that made him In everie street cry out; Ha yee any cornes In your head or toes? that head spoyl'd all. Which is Master Hornet? Ha, with me? A word, Sir. Prethee, what's he? he comes to borrow money On his wives wedding-ring, or his childs whistle: You may see by his nose he has no laud, he looks As a Hawke; what do you dreame on? What Ladies timpany is your next cure? Or whose stale body must be rectified Next with a glister? There is no disputing, I must attend you. I am sent for by a Pursevant to his Highnesse; Alas, I am undone, I never saw him, How should he know me, a poore wretch? Is't not some complaint, think you? That's my feare, there be Too many knaves i'th' world, and a man cannot Grow rich; but one State-Surgeon or other Must practise on his purse; before this Judge A veine is open'd in the other Court, So many ounces he must bleed agen: Let me see, all the treason I committed Is that I shifted houses; for I took Delight to couzen him of his subsidies; I alwayes live obscurely, to avoyd Taxations, I never pay the Church Her superstitious tithes, nor come to trouble Sermons, for feare of homilies before, That beg for burning. Why how now, Vnckle, is your Scrivener broke, You talk such lamentation? I am sent for the King, Neece, & shall be made a beggar As I was borne; I see my chattell ceas'd, This chest is ransackt, and that bag deflour'd, My doore seal'd up, and with this hungrie Messenger, I am already marching to the Fleet. Nay, and you be at that ward, I must leave you, Fare well, pray do not lift my Uncle too hard; And so I leave you both to the mercy of the Bear-garden. Best make fast her Chamber. I, I, cursed dog. Wo' not some money quallifie your haste? Deale in your owne affairs; Will you go sit? Go, I must go. I'll take my leave; Have comfort, sir, this cloud may soon blow over. Yes, when I am blowne up; I reade imprisonment in his very looks, And all my gold confiscate.