Jonson, Ben · published 1640 · first performed or written 1633 [licensed for stage, May 7] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Since I first Joined, or did in-lay in wit, some forty year. A pretty time! Basket, go you and wait On Master In-and-In to Totten-Court, And all the other wise Masters; show 'em the Hall: And taste the language of the buttery to 'em; Let 'em see all the Tubs about the house, That can raise matter, till I come— which shall be a Within an hour at lest. It will be glorious, If In-and-In will undertake it, Sir: He has a monstrous medlay wit o' his own. Spare for no cost, either in boards, or hoops, To architect your Tub: Ha' you ne'er a Cooper At London called Vitruvius? sand for him; Or old Iohn Haywood, call him to you, to help. He scorns the motion, trust to him alone. O, here's the Squire! you slipped us finely son! These manners to your Mother, will commend you; But in an other age, not this: well Tripoli, Your Father, good Sir Peter (rest his bones) Would not ha' done this: where's my Usher Martin? And your fair Mrs. Audrey? I not see'hem, No creature, but the four wise Masters here, Of Finsbury Hundred, came to cry their Constable, Who they do say is lost. My husband lost? And my fond Daughter lost? I fear me too. Where is your Gentleman, Madam? Poor Iohn Clay, Thou hast lost thy Audrey. I ha' lost my wits, My little wits, good Mother; I am distracted. And I have lost my Mistress Dido Wisp, Who frowns upon her Puppy, Hannibal. Loss! loss on everyside! a public loss! Loss o' my Master! loss of his Daughter! loss Of Favour, Friends, my Mistress! loss of all! What Cry is this? My man speaks of some loss. My Master is found: Good luck, and't be thy will, Light on us all. O husband, are you a live? They said you were lost. Where's Justice Brambles Clerk? Had he the money that I sent for? Yes, Two hours ago, two fifty pounds in silver, And Audrey too. Why Audrey? who sent for her? You Master Turf, the fellow said. He lied. I am cozened, robbed, undone: your man's a Thief, And run away with my Daughter, Mr. Bramble, And with my money. Neighbour Turf have patience, I can assure you that your Daughter is safe, But for the moneys I know nothing of. My money is my Daughter; and my Daughter She is my money, Madam. I do wonder Your Ladyship comes to know any thing In these affairs. Yes, Justice Bramble I met the maiden i' the fields by chance, I' the Squire's company my son: How he Lighted upon her, himself best can tell. I intercepted her, as coming hither, To her Father, who sent for her, by Miles Metaphor, Justice Preambles Clerk. And had your Ladyship Not hindered it, I had paid fine Mr. Justice For his young warrant, and new Purs'yvant, He served it by this morning. Know you that Sir?
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)
Since I firſt Ioyn'd, or did in-lay in wit, ſome vorty yeare. A pretty time! Basket, goe you and waite On Maſter In-and-In to Totten-Court, And all the other wiſe Maſters; ſhew 'hem the Hall: And taſte the language of the buttery to 'hem; Let 'hem ſee all the Tubs about the houſe, That can raiſe matter, till I come—which ſhall be a Within an houre at leaſt. It will be glorious, If In-and-In will undertake it, Sir: He has a monſtrous medlay wit o' his owne. Spare for no coſt, either in boords, or hoops, To architect your Tub: Ha' you nere a Cooper At London call'd Vitruvius? ſend r him; Or old Iohn Haywood, call him to you, to helpe. He ſcornes the motion, truſt to him alone. O, here's the Squire! you ſlip'd us finely ſonne! Theſe manners to your Mother, will commend you; But in an other age, not this: well Tripoly, Your Father, good Sir Peter (reſt his bones) Would not ha done this: where's my Huiſher Martin? And your faire Mrs. Awdrey? I not ſee'hem, No creature, but the foure wiſe Maſters here, Of Finsbury Hundred, came to cry their Conſtable, Who they doe ſay is loſt. My husband loſt? And my fond Daughter loſt? I feare mee too. Where is your Gentleman, Madam? Poore Iohn Clay, Thou haſt loſt thy Awdrey. I ha' loſt my wits, My little wits, good Mother; I am diſtracted. And I have loſt my Miſtris Dido Wiſpe, Who frownes upon her Puppy, Hanniball. Loſſe! loſſe on everyſide! a publike loſſe! Loſſe o' my Maſter! loſſe of his Daughter! loſſe Of Favour, Friends, my Miſtris! loſſe of all! What Cry is this? My man ſpeakes of ſome loſſe. My Maſter is found: Good luck, and't be thy will, Light on us all. O husband, are you a live? They ſaid you were loſt. Where's Juſtice Brambles Clarke? Had he the money that I ſent for? Yes, Two houres agoe, two fifty pounds in ſilver, And Awdrey too. Why Awdrey? who ſent for her? You Maſter Turfe, the fellow ſaid. Hee lyed. I am cozen'd, rob'd, undone: your man's a Thiefe, And run away with my Daughter, Mr. Bramble, And with my money. Neighbour Turfe have patience, I can aſſure you that your Daughter is ſafe, But for the monies I know nothing of. My money is my Daughter; and my Daughter She is my money, Madam. I doe wonder Your Ladiſhip comes to know any thing In theſe affaires. Yes, Juſtice Bramble I met the maiden i' the fields by chance, I' the Squires company my ſonne: How hee Lighted upon her, himſelfe beſt can tell. I intercepted her, as comming hither, To her Father, who ſent for her, by Miles Metaphore, Juſtice Preambles Clarke. And had your Ladiſhip Not hindred it, I had paid fine Mr. Juſtice For his young warrant, and new Purs'yvant, He ſerv'd it by this morning. Know you that Sir?