Christmas His Masque (Christmas His Show) · chunk 3 of 4
Jonson, Ben · published 1641 · first performed or written 1616 [Christmas; January 1617] (Annals) masque · before the Court unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
I, I; but Misrule doth not like his suit: he says the Players have lent him one too little, on purpose to disgrace him. Let him hold his peace, and his disgrace will be the less: what? shall we proclaim where we were furnished? Mum! Mum! a peace, be ready good Boys. Now their intent, is above to present with all the appurtenances A right Christmas, as of old it was, to be gathered out of the Dances. Which they do bring, and afore the King, the Queen, and Prince, as it were now Drawn here by Love; who, over and above, doth draw himself i'the gear too. Hum drum, sauce for a Coney; no more of your Martial music: Even for the sake, o' the next new stake, for there I do mean to use it. And now to ye, who in place are to see, with Roll and Farthingale hooped: I pray you know, though he want his bow by the wings, that this is Cupid. He might go back, for to cry what you lack, but that were not so witty: His Cap, and Coat, are enough to note that he is the Love o' the City. And he leads on, though he now begun, for that was only his-rule: But now comes in, Tom of Bosom's Inn, and he presenteth Misrule. Which you may know, by the very show, albeit you never ask it: For there you may see what his Ensigns be, the Rope, the Cheese, and the Basket. This Carol plays, and has been in his days a chirping boy, and a kill pot: Kit Cobbler it is, I'm a Father of his, and he dwells in the lane, called Fil-pot. But who is this? O' my daughter Sis Mince-pie, with her do not dally On pain o' your life: She's an honest Cook's wife, and comes out of Scalding-Alley. Next in the trace, comes Gambol in place, and to make my tale the shorter: My Son Hercules, ta'en, out of Distaffe-lane but an active man, and a Porter. Now Post and Pair, old Christmasses heir doth make, and a gingling Sally: And wot you who, 'tis one of my two Sons, Cardmakers in Pur-alley. Next in a trice, with his box and his Dices, Mac-pippin my Son, but younger, Brings Mumming in; and the knave will win, for of is a Costermonger. But New-yeares-gift, of himself makes shifted to tell you what his name is: With Orenge on head, and his Gingerbread, Clem Wasp of Honey-lane ' 'tis. This I you tell, is our jolly Wassell, and for Twelve-night more meet too: She works by the Ell, and her name is Nell, and she dwells in Thred-needle-street too. Than Offering he, with his Dish, and his Tree, that in every great house keepeth; Is by my Son, young Littleworth done, and in Penny-rich-street he sleepeth.
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)
I, I; but Miſ-rule doth not like his ſuite: he ſaies the Players have lent him one too little, on purpoſe to diſgrace him. Let him hold his peace, and his diſgrace will bee the leſſe: what? ſhall wee proclaime where wee were furniſht? Mum! Mum! a' peace, be readie good Boyes. Now their intent, is above to preſent with all the appurtenances A right Chriſtmas, as of old it was, to be gathered out of the Dances. Which they doe bring, and afore the King, the Queene, and Prince, as it were now Drawne here by Love; who, over and above, doth draw himſelfe i'the geere too. Hum drum, ſauce for a Coney; no more of your Martiall muſicke: Even for the ſake, o' the next new ſtake, for there I doe meane to uſe it. And now to yee, who in place are to ſee, with Roll and Farthingale hooped: I pray you know, though he want his bow by the wings, that this is Cupid. He might goe backe, for to cry what you lack, but that were not ſo wittie: His Cap, and Coat, are enough to note that he is the Love o' the Cittie. And he leades on, though he now begon, for that was onely his-rule: But now comes in, Tom of Boſomes Inne, and he preſenteth Miſ-rule. Which you may know, by the very ſhow, albeit you never aske it: For there you may ſee what his Enſignes bee, the Rope, the Cheeſe, and the Basket. This Carol plaies, and has beene in his dayes a chirping boy, and a kill pot: Kit Cobler it is, I'me a Father of his, and he dwells in the lane, cal'd Fil-pot. But who is this? O' my daughter Sis Mince-pie, with her doe not dally On paine o' your life: She's an honeſt Cooks wife, and comes out of Scalding-Alley. Next in the trace, comes Gambol in place, and to make my tale the ſhorter: My Sonne Hercules, tane, out of Diſtaffe-lane but an active man, and a Porter. Now Poſt and Paire, old Chriſtmaſses heire doth make, and a gingling Sally: And wott you who, t'is one of my two Sons, Cardmakers in Pur-alley. Next in a trice, with his boxe and his Dice, Mac-pippin my Son, but younger, Brings Mumming in; and the knave will win, for a' is a Coſtermonger. But New-yeares-gift, of himſelfe makes ſhift to tell you what his name is: With Orenge on head, and his Gingerbread, Clem Waſpe of Honey-lane 'tis. This I you tell, is our jolly Waſſell, and for Twelfe-night more meet too: She workes by the Ell, and her name is Nell, and ſhe dwells in Thred-needle-ſtreet too. Then Offering he, with his Diſh, and his Tree, that in every great houſe keepeth; Is by my Sonne, young Little-worth done, and in Penny-rich-ſtreet he ſleepeth.