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 0.81 · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T30: constable, squire, tub, clay, worship, justice, turf, mr, hun, valentine.
Turf, I am privy to thy deep unrest: The ground of which, springs from an idle plot, Cast by a Suitor, to your daughter Audrey— And thus much, Turf, let me advertise you; Your daughter Audrey, met I on the way, With Justice Bramble in her company: Who means to marry her at Pancridge Church. And there is Cannon Hugh, to meet them ready: Which to prevent you must not trust delay; But winged speed must cross their sly intent: Than high thee. Turf, haste to forbidden the Banes. Hath Justice Bramble got my daughter Audrey? A little while, shall he enjoy her, zure. But O the Hue and Cry! that hinders me: I must prusue that, or neglect my journey: I'll even leave all: and with the patiented Ass, The over-laden Ass, throw of my burden, And cast mine office; pluck in my large ears Betimes, jest some dis-judge 'em to be horns: I'll leave to beaten it on the broken hoof, And ease my pasterns. I'll no more High Constables. I cannot choose, but smile, to see thee troubled With such a bald, halfe-hatched circumstance! The Captain was not robbed, as is reported; That trick the Justice craftily devised, To break the marriage with the Tileman Clay. The Hue, and Cry, was merely counterfeit: The rather may you judge it to be such, Because the Bridegroom, was described to be One of the thieves, first i' the velonie. Which, how far 'tis from him, yourselves may guess: 'Twas Justice Bramble's fetch, to get the wench. And is this true Squire Tub? Believe me Turf, As I am a Squire: or less, a Gentleman. I take my office back: and my authority, Upon your worship's words. Neighbours, I am High Constable again: where's my son Clay? He shall be son, yet, wife, your meat by leisure: Draw back the spits. That's done already man. I'll break this marriage of: and afterwards, She shall be given to her first betrothed. Look to the meat, wife: look well to the roast. I'll follow him aloof, to see the event. Dame, Mistress, though I do not turn the spit; I hope yet the Pigs-head. Come up, Jack-sauce: It shall be served in to you. Not, no service, But a reward for service. I still took you For an unmannerly Puppy: will you come, And fetch more wood to the vier, Mr. Ball? I would to the vier? I shall piss it out first: You think to make me even your ox, or ass; Or any thing. Though I cannot right myself On you; I'll sure revenge me on your meat. Madam, to Kentish Town, we are got at length; But, by the way we cannot meet the Squire: Nor by inquiry can we hear of him. Here is Turfe's house, the father of the Maid. Pol-Marten, see, the streets are strewed with herbs, And here hath been a wedding, Wisp, it seems! Pray heaven, this Bridal be not for my son! Good Marten, knock: knock quickly: Ask for Turf. My thoughts misgive me, I am in such a doubt—
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)
Turfe, I am privie to thy deepe unreſt: The ground of which, ſprings from an idle plot, Caſt by a Suitor, to your daughter Awdrey— And thus much, Turfe, let me advertiſe you; Your daughter Awdrey, met I on the way, With Juſtice Bramble in her company: Who meanes to marry her at Pancridge Church. And there is Chanon Hugh, to meet them ready: Which to prevent you muſt not truſt delay; But winged ſpeed muſt croſſe their ſlie intent: Then hie thee. Turfe, haſte to forbid the Banes. Hath Juſtice Bramble got my daughter Awdrey? A little while, ſhall he enjoy her, zure. But O the Huy and Cry! that hinders me: I muſt pruſue that, or neglect my journey: Ile ene leave all: and with the patient Aſſe, The over-laden Aſſe, throw off my burden, And caſt mine office; pluck in my large eares Betimes, leſt ſome diſ-judge 'hem to be hornes: I'll leave to beat it on the broken hoofe, And eaſe my paſternes. Ile no more High Conſtables. I cannot chooſe, but ſmile, to ſee thee troubled With ſuch a bald, halfe-hatched circumſtance! The Captaine was not rob'd, as is reported; That trick the Juſtice craftily deviz'd, To breake the mariage with the Tile-man Clay. The Huy, and Cry, was meerely counterfeit: The rather may you judge it to be ſuch, Becauſe the Bride-groome, was deſcrib'd to be One of the theeves, firſt i' the velonie. Which, how farre 'tis from him, yourſelves may gueſſe: 'Twas Juſtice Bramble's vetch, to get the wench. And is this true Squire Tub? Beleeve me Turfe, As I am a Squire: or leſſe, a Gentleman. I take my office back: and my authority, Vpon your worſhips words. Neighbours, I am High Conſtable againe: where's my zonne Clay? He ſhall be zonne, yet, wife, your meat by leaſure: Draw back the ſpits. That's done already man. Ile breake this mariage off: and afterward, She ſhall be given to her firſt betroth'd. Looke to the meate, wife: looke well to the roſt. Ile follow him aloofe, to ſee the event. Dame, Miſtris, though I doe not turne the ſpit; I hope yet the Pigs-head. Come up, Jack-ſauce: It ſhall be ſerv'd in to you. No, no ſervice, But a reward for ſervice. I ſtill tooke you For an unmannerly Puppy: will you come, And vetch more wood to the vier, Mr. Ball? I wood to the vier? I ſhall piſſe it out firſt: You thinke to make me ene your oxe, or aſſe; Or any thing. Though I cannot right my ſelfe On you; Ile ſure revenge me on your meat. Madam, to Kentiſh Towne, wee are got at length; But, by the way wee cannot meet the Squire: Nor by inquiry can we heare of him. Here is Turfe's houſe, the father of the Maid. Pol-Marten, ſee, the ſtreets are ſtrew'd with herbes, And here hath beene a wedding, Wiſpe, it ſeemes! Pray heaven, this Bridall be not for my ſonne! Good Marten, knock: knock quickly: Aske for Turfe. My thoughts miſgive me, I am in ſuch a doubt—