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 0.82 · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T30: constable, squire, tub, clay, worship, justice, turf, mr, hun, valentine.
A Tale of a Tub, Sir; a mere tale of a Tub. Lend it no ear I pray you: The Squire Tub Is a fine man, but he is too fine a man, And has a Lady Tub too to his Mother: I'll deal with none o' these vine silken Tubs. Iohn Clay, and Cloath-breech for my money, and Daughter. Here comes another old Boy too, vor his colours Will stroke down my wife's udder of purses, empty Of all her milk money, this Winter Quarter; Old Father Rosin, the chief Minstrel here: Chief Minstrel too of High gate: she has hired him And all, his two Boys for a day and a half, And now they come for Ribbanding, and Rosemary; Give 'em enough Girls, give 'em enough, and take it Out in his tunes anon. I'll ha' Tom Tiler, For our Iohn Clay's sake, and the Tile kills, zure. And I the jolly Joiner, for mine own sake. I'll ha' the jovial Tinker for To. Pan's sake. we'll all be jovy this day, vor son Valentine. My sweet son John's sake. There's another reading now: My Mr. reads it Son, and not Sin Valentine. Nor Zim: And he is i' the right: He is high Constable. And who should read above un, or avore ' hun? Son Iohn shall bid us welcome all, this day: we'll zerve under his colours: Lead the troop Iohn, And Puppy; see the Bells ring. Press all noises Of Finsbury, in our name; D'ogenes Scriben Shall draw a score of warrants vor the business. Does any wight parzent her Majesty's person, This Hundred, 'bove the high Constable? Not, no. Use our Authority than, to the utmost on't. So, you are sure Sir to prevent 'em all; And throw a block i' the Bridegroom's way, Iohn Clay, That he will hardly leap over. I conceive you, Sir Hugh; as if your Rhetoric would say, Whereas the Father of her is a Turf, A very superficies of the earth; He aims no higher, than to match in Clay; And there hath pitched his rest. Right Justice Bramble; You ha' the winding wit, compassing all. Subtle Sir Hugh, you now are i' the wrong, And err with the whole Neighbourhood, I must tell you; For you mistake my name. Justice Preamble I writ myself; which with the ignorant Clowns, here (Because of my profession of the Law, And place o' the peace) is taken to be Bramble. But all my warrants Sir, do run Preamble: Richard Preamble. Sir I thank you for't. That your good worship, would not let me run Longer in error but would take me up thus— You are my learned, and canonic neighbour: I would not have you stray; but the incorrigible Knot-headed beast, the Clowns, or Constables, Still let them graze; eat Salads; chew the Cud: All the Towne-musicke will not move a log. The Beetle and Wedges will, where you will have 'hem. True, true Sir Hugh, here comes Miles Metaphor, My Clerk: He is the man shall carry it, Cannon, By my instructions.
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)
A Tale of a Tub, Sir; a meere tale of a Tub. Lend it no eare I pray you: The Squire Tub Is a fine man, but he is too fine a man, And has a Lady Tub too to his Mother: Ile deale with none o' theſe vine ſilken Tubs. Iohn Clay, and Cloath-breech for my money, and Daughter. Here comes another old Boy too, vor his colours Will ſtroake downe my wives udder of purſes, empty Of all her milke money, this Winter Quarter; Old Father Roſin, the chiefe Minſtrell here: Chiefe Minſtrell too of High gate: ſhe has hir'd him And all, his two Boyes for a day and a halfe, And now they come for Ribbanding, and Roſemary; Give 'hem enough Girles, gi' 'hem enough, and take it Out in his tunes anon. I'll ha' Tom Tiler, For our Iohn Clay's ſake, and the Tile kils, zure. And I the jolly Joyner, for mine owne ſake. Ile ha' the joviall Tinker for To. Pans ſake. Wee'll all be jovy this day, vor ſonne Valentine. My ſweet ſonne Iohn's ſake. There's another reading now: My Mr. reades it Sonne, and not Sinne Valentine. Nor Zim: And hee is i' the right: He is high Conſtable. And who ſhould reade above un, or avore 'hun? Sonne Iohn ſhall bid us welcome all, this day: Wee'll zerve under his colours: Leade the troop Iohn, And Puppy; ſee the Bels ring. Preſſe all noiſes Of Finsbury, in our name; D'ogenes Scriben Shall draw a ſcore of warrants vor the buſines. Do's any wight parzent hir Majeſties perſon, This Hundred, 'bove the high Conſtable? No, no. Vſe our Authority then, to the utmoſt on't. So, you are ſure Sir to prevent 'hem all; And throw a block i' the Bride-groomes way, Iohn Clay, That he will hardly leape ore. I conceive you, Sir Hugh; as if your Rhetoricke would ſay, Whereas the Father of her is a Turfe, A very ſuperficies of the earth; Hee aimes no higher, then to match in Clay; And there hath pitch'd his reſt. Right Juſtice Bramble; You ha' the winding wit, compaſſing all. Subtile Sir Hugh, you now are i' the wrong, And erre with the whole Neighbour-hood, I muſt tell you; For you miſtake my name. Juſtice Preamble I write my ſelfe; which with the ignorant Clownes, here (Becauſe of my profeſſion of the Law, And place o' the peace) is taken to be Bramble. But all my warrants Sir, doe run Preamble: Richard Preamble. Sir I thanke you for't. That your good worſhip, would not let me run Longer in error but would take me up thus— You are my learned, and canonick neighbour: I would not have you ſtray; but the incorrigible Knot-headed beaſt, the Clownes, or Conſtables, Still let them graze; eat Sallads; chew the Cud: All the Towne-muſicke will not move a log. The Beetle and Wedges will, where you will have 'hem. True, true Sir Hugh, here comes Miles Metaphore, My Clarke: Hee is the man ſhall carry it, Chanon, By my inſtructions.