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 0.71 · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T30: constable, squire, tub, clay, worship, justice, turf, mr, hun, valentine.
I am gone. Be quick than, I' your come of: and make amendss you Stote! Was ever such a Full-mart for an Usher, To a great worshipful Lady, as myself; Who, when I heard his name first, Martin Poleat, A stinking name, and not to be pronounced In any Lady's presence; my very heart e'en earned, seeing the Fellow Young, pretty and handsome; being than I say, A Basket-Carrier, and a man condemned To the Saltpetre works; made it my suit To Mr. Peter Tub, that I might change it; And call him as I do now, by Pol-marten, To have it sound like a Gentleman in an Office, And made him mine own Foreman, daily waiter, And he to serve me thus! Ingratitude! Beyond the Coarseness yet of any Clownage, Shown to a Lady! what now, is he stirring? Stirring betimes out of his bed, and ready. And comes he than? No Madam, he is gone. Gone? whither? ask the Porter: Where's he gone? I met the Porter, and have asked him for him; He says he let him forth an hour ago. An hour ago! what business could he have, So early? where is his man, grave Basket Hilts? His Guide, and Governor? Gone with his Master. Is he gone too? O that same surly knave, Is his right hand: and leads my son amiss. He has carried him to some drinking match, or other: Pol-marten, I will call you so again; I'am friends with you now. Go get your horse, and ride To all the Towns about here, where his haunts are; And cross the fields to meet, and bring me word; He cannot be gone far, being a foot. Be curious to inquire him: and bid Wisp My woman come, and wait on me. The love We Mothers bear our Sons, we ha' bought with pain, Makes us often view them, with too careful eyes, And overlook 'em with a jealous fear, Out-fitting Mothers. How now Wisp? Ha' you A Valentine yet: I'm taking th'air to choose one. Fate sand your Ladyship a fit one than. What kind of one is that? A proper man, To please your Ladyship. Out o' that vanity, That takes the foolish eye: Any poor creature, Whose want may need my alms, or courtesy; I rather wish; so Bishop Valentine, Left us example to do deeds of Charity; To feed the hungry; cloth the naked, visit The weak, and sick; to entertain the poor; And give the dead a Christian Funeral; These were the works of piety he did practise, And bade us imitate; not look for Lovers, Or handsome Images to please our senses. I pray thee Wisp, deal freely with me now: We are alone, and may be merry a little: Thou art none o' the Court-glories; nor the wonders For wit, or beauty i' the City: tell me, What man would satisfy thy present fancy? Had thy ambition leave to choose a Valentine, Within the Queen's Dominion, so a subject.
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)
I am gone. Be quick then, I' your come off: and make amends you Stote! Was ever ſuch a Full-mart for an Huiſher, To a great worſhipfull Lady, as my ſelfe; Who, when I heard his name firſt, Martin Poleat, A ſtinking name, and not to be pronounc'd In any Ladies preſence; my very heart eene earn'd, ſeeing the Fellow Young, pretty and handſome; being then I ſay, A Basket-Carrier, and a man condemn'd To the Salt-peeter workes; made it my ſuit To Mr. Peeter Tub, that I might change it; And call him as I doe now, by Pol-marten, To have it ſound like a Gentleman in an Office, And made him mine owne Fore-man, daily waiter, And he to ſerve me thus! Ingratitude! Beyond the Courſenes yet of any Clownage, Shewen to a Lady! what now, is he ſtirring? Stirring betimes out of his bed, and ready. And comes he then? No Madam, he is gone. Gone? whither? aske the Porter: Where's he gone? I met the Porter, and have ask'd him for him; He ſayes he let him forth an houre agoe. An houre agoe! what buſines could he have, So early? where is his man, grave Basket Hilts? His Guide, and Governour? Gone with his Maſter. Is he gone too? O that ſame ſurly knave, Is his right hand: and leads my ſonne amiſſe. He has carried him to ſome drinking match, or other: Pol-marten, I will call you ſo againe; I'am friends with you now. Goe get your horſe, and ride To all the Townes about here, where his haunts are; And croſſe the fields to meet, and bring me word; He cannot be gone farre, being a foot. Be curious to inquire him: and bid Wiſpe My woman come, and waite on me. The love Wee Mothers beare our Sonnes, we ha' bought with paine, Makes us oft view them, with too carefull eyes, And over-looke 'hem with a jealous feare, Out-fitting Mothers. How now Wiſpe? Ha' you A Valentine yet: I'm taking th'aire to chooſe one. Fate ſend your Ladiſhip a fit one then. What kind of one is that? A proper man, To pleaſe your Ladiſhip. Out o' that vanity, That takes the fooliſh eye: Any poore creature, Whoſe want may need my almes, or courteſie; I rather wiſh; ſo Biſhop Valentine, Left us example to doe deeds of Charity; To feed the hungry; cloath the naked, viſit The weake, and ſicke; to entertaine the poore; And give the dead a Chriſtian Funerall; Theſe were the workes of piety he did practiſe, And bad us imitate; not looke for Lovers, Or handſome Images to pleaſe our ſenſes. I pray thee Wiſpe, deale freely with me now: Wee are alone, and may be merry a little: Tho' art none o' the Court-glories; nor the wonders For wit, or beauty i' the Citie: tell me, What man would ſatisfie thy preſent phanſie? Had thy ambition leave to chooſe a Valentine, Within the Queenes Dominion, ſo a ſubject.