Stevenson, William · published 1575 · first performed or written 1553 [c.1552-1563] (Annals) comedy · at University unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
That cock is stolen. What was he fet out of the hens-rust? I can not tell where the devil he was kept, under key or lock. But Tib hath tickled in gammer's ear, that you should steal the cock Have I strong hoore? by bread and salt. What soft, I say be still. Say not one word for all this gear. By the mass that I will, I will have the young hoar by the head, & the old trot by the throat Not one word dame Chat I say, not one word for my coat. Shall such a beggar's brawl as the thinkest thou make me a thief The pocks light on her hores sides, a pestilence & a mischief Come out thou hungry needy bitch, o that my nails be short. gog's bred woman hold your peace, this gear will else pass sport I would not for an hundred pound, this matter should be known, That I am author of this tale, or have abroad it blown Did ye not swear ye would be ruled, before the tale I told I said ye must all secret keep, and ye said sure ye would. Would you suffer yourself diccon, such a sort, to revile you With slanderous words to blot your name, & so to defile you? No goodwife chat I would be loath such drabs should blot my name But yet ye must so order all, the Diccon hear no blame. Go to then, what is your read: say on your mind, (ye shall me rule herein. God a mercy to dame chat, in faith thou must the gear begin It is twenty pound to a goose turd, my gammer will not tarry But hitherward she comes as fast as her legs can her carry, To brawl with you about her cock, for well & hard Tib say The Cock was roasted in your house, to breakfast yesterday, And when ye had the carcase eaten, the feathers ye out flung And Doll your maid the legs she hid a foot deep in the dung. Do gracious god my heart is bursts. Well rule yourself a space And gammer gurton when she cometh anon into this place Then to the Quean let's see tell her your mind & spare not So shall Diccon blameless be, and then go to I care not. Then sure beware her throat, I can abide no longer In faith old witch it shallbe seen, which of us two be stronger And Diccon but at your request, I would not stay one hour, Well keep it in till she be here and then out let it power, In the meanwhile get you in, and make no words of this More of this matter with in this hour to hear you shall not miss Because I know you are my friend, hide it I could not doubtless Ye know your harm, see ye be wise about your own business So fare ye will.
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)
¶ That cocke is stollen. ¶ What was he fet out of the hens-ruste? ¶ I can not tel where ye deuil he was kept, vnder key or locke. But Tib hath tykled in Gammers eare, that you shoulde steale the cocke ¶ Haue I stronge hoore? by bread and salte. ¶ What softe, I say be styl. Say not one word for all this geare. ¶ By the masse that I wyl, I wil haue the yong hore by the head, & the old trot by ye throte ¶Not one word dame Chat I say, not one word for my cote. ¶ Shall such a begars brawle as ye thinkest yu make me a theefe The pocks light on her hores sydes, a pestlence & a mischeefe Come out thou hungry nedy bytche, o that my nails be short. ¶ Gogs bred womā hold your peace, this gere wil els passe sport I wold not for an hundred pound, this matter shuld be knowen, That I am auctour of this tale, or haue abrode it blowen Did ye not sweare ye wold be ruled, before the tale I tolde I said ye must all secret keepe, and ye said sure ye wolde. ¶ Wolde you suffer your selfe diccon, such a sort, to reuile you With slaunderous words to blot your name, & so to defile you? ¶ No goodwie chat I wold be lot such drabs shulde blot my name But yet ye must so order all, ye Diccon heare no blame. ¶Go to then, what is your rede: say on your minde, (ye shall me rule herein. ¶ God a mercye to dame chat, in faith thou must the gere begin It is twenty pound to a goose turd, my gammer will not tary But hetherward she comes as fast as her legs can her cary, To brawle with you about her cocke, for well & hard Tib say The Cocke was rosted in your house, to breafast yesterday, And when ye had the carcas eaten, the fethers ye out flunge And Dll your maid the legs she hid a foote depe in the dunge. ¶ Do gracyous god my harte is burstes. ¶ Well roe your selfe a space And gammer gurton when she commeth aon into thys place Then to the Queane lets see tell her your mynd & spare not So Diccon blamelesse bee, and then go to I care not. ¶ beware her trot, I can abide no longer In old witch it shalbe seene, which of vs two be stronger Diccon but at your request, I wold not stay one howre, ¶ Well eepe it in till she be here and then out let it powre, In the mean whi get you in, and make no wordes of this More of this matt wt in this howre to here you shall not misse Because I know you are my freind, hide it I cold not doubtles Ye know your harm, see ye be wise about your owne busines So fare ye will.