Jonson, Ben · published 1640 · first performed or written 1633 [licensed for stage, May 7] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men T30 Constables, justices and the watch typicality 0.74 · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T30: constable, squire, tub, clay, worship, justice, turf, mr, hun, valentine.
Did he not writ his name, Sim Valentine? Vor I have met no Sin in Finsbury books; And yet I have writ 'em six or seven times over. O' you must look for the nine deadly Sims, I' the Church books, Doge '; not the ' high Constables; Nor i' the Counties: Zure, that same Zin Valentine, He was a stately Zin: an he were a Zin, And kept ' brave house. At the Cock and Hen, in Highgate. You ha' ' freshed my rememory well in't! neighbour Pan: He had a place, in last King Harrie's time, Of sorting all the young couples; joining 'em: And putting 'em together; which is, yet, Praformed, as on his day— Zin Valentine; As being the Zin o' the shire, or the whole County: I am old Rivet still, and bear a brain, The Clench, the Varrier, and true Leech of Hamsted. You are a shrewd antiquity, neighbour Clench! And a great Guide to all the Parishes! The very Bel-wether of the Hundred, here, As I may zay. Mr. Tobias Turf, High Constable, would not miss you, for of score unus, When he do ' scorse of the great Charty to us. What's that, a Horse? Can scorse naught but a Horse? I near read o' hun, and that in Smith-veld Chartie: I' the old Fabians Chronicles: nor I think In any new. He may be a Giant there, For I aught I know. You should do well to study Records, Fellow Ball, both Law and Poetry. Why, all's but writing, and reading, is it Scriben? An't be any more, it's mere cheating zure. Ulat cheating: all your Law, and Poets too. Mr. High Constable comes. I'll zayed avore ' hun. What's that, makes you'all so merry, and loud, Sirs, ha'? I could ha' heard you to my privy walk. A Contervarsie, 'twixt your two learned men here: Annibal Puppy says, that Law and Poetry Are both flat cheating; All's but writing and reading, He says, be't verse or prose. I think in conzience, He do ' zay true? Who is't do thwart ' un, ha'? Why my friend Scriben, and't please your worship. Who D'oge? my D'ogenes? a great Writer, marry! he'll face me down, me myself sometimes, That verse goes upon veete, as you and I do: But I can give 'un the hearing; zit me down; And laugh at ' un; and to myself conclude, The greatest Clerks, are not the wisest men Ever. Here they ' are both! What Sirs, disputin, And holdin Arguments of verse, and prose? And no green thing afore the Door, that shows, Or speaks a wedding? Those were verses now, Your worship spoke, and run upon vive feet. Feet, urom my mouth, D'oge? Leave your ' zurd uppinions: And get me in some boughs. Let 'em ha' leaves first. There's nothing green but Bays, and Rosemary. And they're too good for strew, your Maids say.
seed 43: T36 · seed 44: T35 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Did he not write his name, Sim Valentine? Vor I have met no Sin in Finsbury bookes; And yet I have writ 'hem ſixe or ſeven times over. O' you mun looke for the nine deadly Sims, I' the Church bookes, Doge'; not the 'high Conſtables; Nor i' the Counties: Zure, that ſame Zin Valentine, Hee was a ſtately Zin: an' hee were a Zin, And kept 'brave houſe. At the Cock and Hen, in High-gate. You ha' 'freſh'd my rememory well in't! neighbour Pan: He had a place, in laſt King Harrie's time, Of ſorting all the young couples; joyning 'hem: And putting 'hem together; which is, yet, Praform'd, as on his day— Zin Valentine; As being the Zin o' the ſhire, or the whole Countie: I am old Rivet ſtill, and beare a braine, The Clench, the Varrier, and true Leach of Hamſted. You are a ſhrewd antiquity, neighbour Clench! And a great Guide to all the Pariſhes! The very Bel-wether of the Hundred, here, As I may zay. Mr. Tobias Turfe, High Conſtable, would not miſſe you, for a' ſcore nus, When he doe' ſcourſe of the great Charty to us. What's that, a Horſe? Can ſcourſe nought but a Horſe? I neere read o' hun, and that in Smith-veld Chartie: I' the old Fabians Chronicles: nor I thinke In any new. He may be a Giant there, For I ought I know. You ſhould doe well to ſtudy Records, Fellow Ball, both Law and Poetry. Why, all's but writing, and reading, is it Scriben? An't be any more, it's meere cheating zure. Vlat cheating: all your Law, and Poets too. Mr. High Conſtable comes. Ile zay't avore 'hun. What's that, makes you'all ſo merry, and lowd, Sirs, ha? I could ha' heard you to my privie walke. A Contervarſie, 'twixt your two learn'd men here: Annibal Puppy ſayes, that Law and Poetry Are both flat cheating; All's but writing and reading, He ſayes, be't verſe or proſe. I thinke in conzience, He do' zay true? Who is't doe thwart 'un, ha? Why my friend Scriben, and't pleaſe your worſhip. Who D'oge? my D'ogenes? a great Writer, marry! Hee'll vace mee down, mee my ſelfe ſometimes, That verſe goes upon veete, as you and I doe: But I can gi' 'un the hearing; zit me downe; And laugh at 'un; and to my ſelfe conclude, The greateſt Clarkes, are not the wiſeſt men Ever. Here they' are both! What Sirs, diſputin, And holdin Arguments of verſe, and proſe? And no greene thing afore the Door, that ſhewes, Or ſpeakes a wedding? Thoſe were verſes now, Your worſhip ſpake, and run upon vive feet. Feet, vrom my mouth, D'oge? Leave your 'zurd uppinions: And get me in ſome boughes. Let 'hem ha' leaves firſt. There's nothing greene but Bayes, and Roſemary. And they're too good for ſtrewings, your Maids ſay.