Stevenson, William · published 1575 · first performed or written 1553 [c.1552-1563] (Annals) comedy · at University unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
WEll done be gog's malt, well song and well said, Come on mother Chat as thou art true maid, One fresh pot of ale let's see to make an end Against this cold wether my naked arms to defend, This gear it warms the soul, now wind blow on the worst, And let us drink and swill, till that our bellies burst Now were he a wise man, by cunning cold define Which way my journey lieth or where Dyccon will dine But one good turn I have, be it by night or day South, East, North or west, I am never out of my way. Chym goodly rewarded, cham I not, do you think? Chad a goodly dinner for all my sweat and swink, Neither butter cheese, milk onions flesh nor fish Save this poor piece of barley bread, 'tis a pleasant costly dish. Hail fellow Hodge & will to face, with thy meat, if thou have any! But by thy words as I then smelled, thy daintrels be not many. Daintrels diccon (gog's soul man (save this piece of dry horsebread, Cha bit no bit this live longe day, no crome come in my head My guts they yawl crawl and all my belly rumbleth The puddings can not lie still, each one over other tumbleth By gog's heart cham so verte, and in my belly pend Chould one piece were at the spittlehouse another at the castles end. Why hodge, was there none at home thy dinner for to set: Godgs bread Diccon ich came to late, was nothing there to get Gib (a foul fiend might on her light (licked the milk pan so clean See Diccon, 'twas not so well washed this vii year as ich were A pestilence light on all ill luck, chad thought yet for all this Of a morsel of bacon behind the door at worst should not miss, But when ich sought a slip to cut, as ich was wont to do gog's soul Diccon, gyb our Cat had eat the bacon to. Which bacon Diccon stole, as is declared before. Ill luck quoth he, marry swear it hodg, this day the truth to tell Thou rose not on thy right side, or else blessed thee not well. Thy milk slopped up, thy bacon filched, that was to bad luck hodg. Nay, nay, there was a fouler fault, my gammer game the dogded Seest not how cham rent & torn, my heels, my knees & my breech Chad thought as ich sat by the fire, help here & there a stitch, But there ich was powpte indeed. Why Hodge? Boots not man to tell, Cham so dressed amongst a sort of fools, chad better be in hell, My gammer (cham ashamed to say) by god served me not we'll How so Hodge? Hase she not gone trowest now and lost her needle. Her Eel Hodge, who fished of late? that was a dainty dish.
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)
WEll done be Gogs malt, well songe and well sayde, Come on mother Chat as thou art true mayde, fresh pot of ale lets see to make an ende Agaynst this colde wether my naked armes to defende, This gere it warms the sole, now wind blow on the worst, And let vs drink and swill, till that our bellies burste Now were he a wyse man, by cunnynge colde defyne Which way my Iourney lyeth or where Dyccon will dyne But one good turne I haue▪ be it by nyght or daye South, East, North or west, I am neuer out of my waye. ¶Chym goodly rewarded, cham I not, do you thyncke? Chad a goodly dynner for all my sweate and swyncke, Neyther butter cheese, mylke onyons fleshe nor fyshe Saue thys poor pece of barly bread, tis a pleasant costly dishe. ¶Haile fellow Hodge & will to face, wt thy meat, i yu haue any! But by thy words as I thē smelled, thy daintrels be not manye. ¶Daintrels diccō (gogs soule mā (saue this pece of dry horsbred, Cha byt no byt this lyue longe daie, no crome come in my hed My gutts they yawle crawle and all my belly rumbleth The puddynges can not lye still, ech one ouer other tumbleth By gogs harte cham so vere, and in my belly pende Chould one peece were at the spittlehouse another at ye castels ende. ¶ Why hodge, was there none at home thy dinner for to set: ¶ Godg bread Diccon ich came to late, was nothing ther to get Gb (a owle feind might on her light (lickt ye milke pan so clene See Diccon, twas not so well washt this .vii. yere as ich wee A pestilence lyght on all ill lucke, chad thought yet for all hys Of a morsell of bacon behynde the do at worst shuld not misse, But when ich sought a slyp to cut, as ich was wont to do Gogs soule Diccon, gyb our Cat had the bacon to. Which bacon Diccon stole, as is declared before. ¶Ill luck quod he, mary swere it hodg, this day ye trueth to tel Thou rose not on thy right syde, or els blt thee not wel. Thy mylk slopt vp, thy bacō filched, that was to bad luck hodg. ¶ Nay, nay, ther was a fowler fat, my gāmer game y• doge Seest not how chā rent & torn, my heels, my knees & my breech Chad thought as ich sat by the fire, help here & there a stitch, But there ich was powpte indeede. ¶ Why Hodge? ¶ Bootes not man to tell, Cham so drest amonst a sorte of fooles, chad better be in hell, My gammer (cham ashamed to say) by god serued me not weele ¶ How so Hodge? ¶ Hase she not gone trowest now and lost her neele. ¶ Her Eele Hodge, who fysht of late? that was a dainty dysh.