Stevenson, William · published 1575 · first performed or written 1553 [c.1552-1563] (Annals) comedy · at University unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
I say Tib, if thou be Tib, as I trow sure thou be, What devil make ado is this, between our dame and thee. gog's bread Hodg thou had a good turn thou wert not here this while. It had been better for some of us to have been hence a mile My Gammer is so out of course, and frantic all at once That cock our boy, I poor wench, have felt it on our bones. What is the matter, say on Tib whereat she taketh so on. She is undone she sayth (alas,) her joy and life is gone If she here not of some comfort, she is sayth but dead Shall never come within her lips, one inch of meat ne bread. lady cham not very glad, to see her in this dump Chold a noble her stole hath fallen, & she hath broke her rump Nay and that were the worst, we would not greatly care For bursting of her huckle bone, or breaking of her Chair, But greater, greater, is her grief, as hodge we shall all feel. gog's wounds Tib, my gammer has never lost her Needle? Her Needle. Her Needle? Her needle by him that made me, it is true Hodge I tell thee. gog's sacrament, I would she had lost, thart out of her belly The Devil or else his dame, they ought her sure a shame How a murrion came this chance, (say Tib) unto our dame? My gammer sat her down on her pes, & had me reach thy breeches And by & by, a vengeance in it or she had take two stitches To clap a clout upon thine arse, by chance a side she leers And gyb our cat in the milk pan, she spied over head and ears Ah hoar, out these, she cried aloud, & swapped the breeches down Up went her staff, and out leapt gyb, at doors into the town And since that time was never wight, cold set their eyes upon it gog's malison chave Cock and I, bid twenty times light on it. And is not then my breeches sewn up, to morrow that I should wear No in faith hodge thy breeches lie for al this never the near. Now a vengeance light on all the sort, that better should have kept it, The cat, the house, and tib our maid, that better should have swept it S where we cōmeth crawling, come on in twenty deuils way Ye have made a fair days work, have you not? pray you say. ALas hog, alas. I may well curse and ban This day that ever I saw it, with gyb and the milk pan For these and ill luck to gather, as knoweth Cocke my boy Haue stacke away my deare neele, and robd me of my ioe My fair long straight needle that was mine only treasure The first day of my sorrow is, and last end of my pleasure.
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 say Tyb, if thou be Tyb, as I trow sure thou bee, What deuyll make a doe is this, betweene our dame and thee. ¶ Gogs breade Hodg thou had a good turne thou warte not here this whyle. It had ben better for some of vs to haue ben hence a myle Gammer is so out of course, and trantyke all at ones That Coke our boy I poore wench, haue felt it on our bones. ;What is the matter, say on Tib wherat she taketh so on. ¶ is vndone he sayth (alas,) her ioye and life is gone If here not of some comfort, she is sayth but dead Sall neuer ome within her lyps, one inch of meate ne bread. ¶ Lae cham not very glad, to see her in this dumpe Cholde a noble er stole hath fallen, & shee hath broke her rumpe Nay and tat were the worst, we wold not greatly care For burstig of her huckle bone, or breakyng of her Chaire, But greatter, greater, is her grief, as hodge we shall all feele. ¶ Gogs woundes Tyb, my gammer has neuer lost her Neele? ¶ Her Neele. ¶ Her Neele? ¶ Her neele by him that made me, it is true Hodge I tell thee. ¶ Gogs sacrament, I would she had lost, tharte out of her belli The Deuill or els his dame, they ought her sure a shame How a murryn came this chaunce, (say Tib) vnto our dame? ¶ My gāmer sat her downe on her pes, & had me reach thy breeche And y & by, a vengeāce in it or she had take two stitches To clap a clout vpon thine ars, by chauce a syde she eares And gyb our at in the milke pan, she spied ouer head and eares Ah hore, out these, she cryed aloud, & swapt the breches downe Up went her staffe, and out leapt gyb, at doors into the towne And synce that time was neuer wyght, cold set their eies vpō it Gogs malison chae Cocke and I, bd twenty times light on it. ¶ And is ot thē my breches sewid vp, to morow yt I shuld were ¶ No in faith odge thy breeches lie for this neer the ere. ¶ Now a vēgance light on al ye sort, y• better shold haue kept it, The cat the house, and tb our maid, y• better shold haue swept it S where we cōmeth crawling, come on in twenty deuils way Ye haue made a fayre daies worke, haue you not pray you say. ALas hge, alas. I may well cursse and ban This daie that euer I saw it, with gyb and the mylke pan For these and ill lucke to gather, as knoweth Cocke my boye Haue stacke away my deare neele, and robd me of my ioe My fayre longe strayght nele that was myne onely treasure The fyrst day of my sorow is, and last end of my pleasure.