The Sad Shepherd, or A Tale of Robin Hood · chunk 14 of 19
Jonson, Ben · published 1641 · first performed or written 1637 [c.1612-1637] (Annals) not in BritDrama unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
I not gave it, Mother; You have done wrong. than; I know how to place My gifts, and where; and when to found my seasons To give, not throw away my Courtesies. Count you this thrown away? What's ravished from me I count it worse; as stolen: I lose my thanks. But leave this quest: they fit not you, not me, Maudlin, Contentions of this quality. How now? Your Stag's returned upon my shoulders, He has found his way into the Kitchen again: With his two Legs, If now your Cook can dress him; 'Slid, I thought the Swine'ard would ha' be at me, He looks so big! the sturdy Churl, lewd Lorel! There Scathlock, for thy plines, thou hast deserved it. Do you give a thing, and take a thing, Madam? Not, Maudlin, you had imparted to your Neighbours; As much good do't them: I ha' done no wrong. The Spit stand still, no Broaches turn Before the fire, but let it burn Both sides, and haunches, till the whole Converted be into one Coal. What Devils Pater noster mumbles she? Stay, you will hear more of her witchery The Swilland Dropsy enter in The Lazy Cuke, and swell his skin; And the old Mort-malon his shin Now prick, and itch, withouten blind. Speak out Hag, we may hear your Devil's Matins. The Paene, we call S. Antons fire The Gout, or what we can desire, To cramp a Cuke, in every limb, Before they dine, yet; seize on him. A soul ill Spirit hath possessed her. O Karol, Karol, call him back again. Her thoughts do work upon her, in her slumber. And may express some part of her disease. Observe, and mark, but trouble not her ease. O, ô. How is't Amie? Wherefore start you? O Karol, he is fair, and sweet. What than? Are there not flowers as sweet, and fair, as men? The Lily is fair! and Rose is sweet! I', so! Let all the Roses, and the Lilies go: Karol is only fair to me! And why? Alas for Karol, Marian, I could die. He singeth sweetly too! What than? Are there not Birds sing sweeter far, than Men? I grant the Linnet, Lark, and Bul-finchsing, But best, the dear, good Angel of the Spring, The Nightingale. Than why? than why, alone, Should his notes please you? I not long ago took a delight, with wanton kids to play, And sport with little Lambs a Summer's Day! And view their frisks! me thought it was a sight Of joy, to see my two brave Rams to fight! Now Karol, only, all delight doth move! All that is Karol, Karol I approve! This very morning, but— (I did bestow (It was a little 'gainst my will, I know) A single kiss, upon the silly Swain, And now I wish that very kiss again. His lip is softer, sweeter than the Rose His mouth, and tongue with dropping honey flows. The relish of it was a pleasing thing.
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)
I not gave it, Mother; You have done wrong. then; I know how to place My guifts, and where; and when to find my ſeaſons To give, not throw away my Curteſies. Count you this thrown away? What's raviſh'd from mee I count it worſe; as ſtolne: I looſe my thanks. But leave this queſt: they fit not you, not mee, Maudlin, Contentions of this qualitie. How now? Your Stag's return'd upon my ſhoulders, Hee has found his way into the Kitchin againe: With his two Leggs, If now your Cooke can dreſſe him; Slid, I thought the Swine'ard would ha' be at mee, Hee lookes ſo big! the ſturdie Karle, lewd Lorel! There Scathlock, for thy plines, thou haſt deſerv'd it. Do you give a thing, and take a thing, Madam? No, Maudlin, you had imparted to your Neighbours; As much good doo't them: I ha' done no wrong. The Spit ſtand ſtill, no Broches turne Before the fire, but let it burne Both ſides, and haunches, till the whole Converted be into one Cole. What Devills Pater noſter mumbles ſhee? Stay, you will heare more of her witcherie The Swilland Dropſie enter in The Lazie Cuke, and ſwell his skin; And the old Mort-malon his ſhin Now prick, and itch, withouten blin. Speake out Hagge, wee may heare your Devills Mattens. The Paene, wee call S. Antons fire The Gout, or what wee can deſire, To crampe a Cuke, in every lim, Before they dine, yet; ſeize on him. A ſoule ill Spirit hath poſſeſſed her. O Karol, Karol, call him back againe. Her thoughts do worke upon her, in her ſlumber. And may expreſſe ſome part of her diſeaſe. Obſerve, and marke, but trouble not her eaſe. O', ô. How is't Amie? Wherfore ſtart you? O' Karol, he is faire, and ſweet. What then? Are there not flowers as ſweet, and faire, as men? The Lillie is faire! and Roſe is ſweet! I', ſo! Let all the Roſes, and the Lillies goe: Karol is only faire to mee! And why? Alas for Karol, Marian, I could die. He ſingeth ſweetly too! What then? Are there not Birds ſing ſweeter farre, then Men? I grant the Linet, Larke, and Bul-finchſing, But beſt, the deare, good Angell of the Spring, The Nightingale. Then why? then why, alone, Should his notes pleaſe you? I not long agone Tooke a delight, with wanton kidds to play, And ſport with little Lambes a Summers Day! And view their friskes! me thought it was a ſight Of joy, to ſee my two brave Rammes to fight! Now Karol, onely, all delight doth move! All that is Karol, Karol I approve! This verie morning, but— (I did beſtow (It was a little 'gainſt my will, I know) A ſingle kiſſe, upon the ſeelie Swaine, And now I wiſh that verie kiſſe againe. His lip is ſofter, ſweeter then the Roſe His mouth, and tongue with dropping honey flowes. The reliſh of it was a pleaſing thing.