Stevenson, William · published 1575 · first performed or written 1553 [c.1552-1563] (Annals) comedy · at University unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
How now hodg? how does gammer, is yet the wether clear? What would chaveave me to do? Come hither Cocke anon: Hence swith to Doctor Rat, high thee that thou were gone, And pray him come speak with me, cham not well at ease, Shalt have him at his chamber, of else at mother Bees, else seek him at Hobfitcher's shop for as charred it reported There is the best ale in all the town, and now is most resorted. And shall ich bring him with me gammer? Yea, by and by good Cock. Shalt see that shallbe here anon, else let me have one the dock Now gammer shall we two go in, and tarry for his coming What devil woman pluck up your heart, & leave of all this glooming Though she were stronger at thou first, as ich think ye did find her Yet there ye breast the drunken sow, what time ye came behind her Nay, nay, cham sure she lost not all, for let them to the beginning And ich doubt not, but she will make small boast of her winning. SEE gammer, gammer, gib our cat, cham afraid what she aileth She stands me gasping behind the door, (as though her wind her faileth: Now let ich doubt what gib should mean, that now she doth so dote. Hold hither, ichould twenty pound, your needle is in her throat Grope her ich say, methinks ich feel it, does not prick your hand? Ich can feel nothing. No, ich know thats not within this land A muryner Cat then Gyb is, betwixt the Thames and Tyne, sh'asse as much wit in her head almost as chaveave in mine. Faith she'sse eaten some thing, that will not easily down Whether she got it at home, or abroad in the town Iche can not tell. Alas ich fear it he some crooked pin, And then farewell gyb, she is undone, and lost all save the skin. Tib, your needle woman, I say: gags soul give me a knife And chil have it out of her maw, or else chal lose my life. What nay hodg, fie kill not our cat, 'tis all the cats we ha' now. By the mass dame Chat bays me so moved, (iche care not what I kill, ma god a vow: Go to then Tib to this gear, hold up her tail and take her, Chil see what devil is in her guts chil take thou pains to rake her. Rake a Cat Hodge, what wouldst thou do? What think'st that cham not able? Did not Tom Lankard rake his Curtal toore day standing in the stable. Soft be content, let's here what news (Cock bringeth from mayst Rat. Gammer chaveave ben there as you bade, you wot well about what 'twill not be long before he come, ich durst swear of a book He bids you see ye be at home, and there for him to look.
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)
¶ How now hodg? how does gammer, is yet the wether clre What wold chaue me to doe? ¶ Come ether Ccke anon: Hence swythe to Doctor Rat, hye the that thou were gone, And pray hym come speke with me, cham not well at ease, Shalt haue him at his chamber, of els at mother Bees, Es seeke him at Hobfytchers shop for as charde it reported Thre is the best ale in al the towne▪ and now is most resorted. And shall ich brynge hym with me gammer? Yea, by and by good Cocke. ¶ Shalt see that shalbe here anone, els let me haue one the docke ¶ Now gammer shal we two go in, and tary for hy commynge What deuill wman plucke vp your hart, & leue of al this glōmīg Though she were stronger first, as ich thinke ye did find her Yet there ye brest the dronkē ow, what time ye cam behind her ¶ Nay, nay▪ cham sure she lost not all, for let them to ye beginnīg And ich doubt not, but she will make small bost of her winning. SE gāmer, gāmer, gib our cat, chā afraid what she ayleth She standes me gasping behind the doore, (as though her winde her faileth: Now let ich doubt what gib shuld mean, yt now she doth so dote. ¶ Hold hether, ichould twenty pound, your neele is in her throte Grope her ich say, me thinkes ich feele it, does not pricke your hand? ¶ Ich can feele nothing. ¶ No, ich know thars not within this land A muryner Cat then Gyb is, betwixt the tems and Tyne, Shase as much wyt in her head almost as chaue in mine. ¶ Faith shase eaten some thing, that wil not easely downe Whether she gat it at home, or abrode in the towne Iche can not tell. ¶ Alas ich feare it he some croked pyn, And then farewell gyb, she is vndone, and lost al saue the skyn. ¶ Tyb, your neele woman, I say: gags soule geue me a knyfe And chil haue it out of her mawe, or els chal lose my lyfe. ¶ What nay hodg, fy kil not our cat, tis al the cats we ha now. ¶ By the masse dame Chat bays me so moued, (iche care not what I kyll, ma god a vowe: Go to then Tyb to this geare, holde vp har tayle and take her, Chil see what deuil is in her guts chil take yu paines to rake her. ¶ Rake a Cat Hodge, what woldst thou do? ¶ What thinckst that cham not able? Did not Tom Lankard rake his Curtal toore day standing in the stable. ¶ Soft be content, les here what newes (Cocke bringeth from maist Rat. ¶ Gammer chaue bn ther as you bad, you wot wel about what Twill not be long before he come, ich durst sweare of a booke He byds you see ye be at home, and there for him to looke.