Whetstone, George · published 1578 · first performed or written 1578 [1576-1579] (Annals) comedy · Unacted unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Sir Vlrico, I humbly crave to know, What good success: my honest suit ensues? Master Pimos, in breete, the same to show, I fear, you both, my order will refuse: Lyros, that thinks he gives more than he should, And you, for that, you have not, what you would, It shall go hard, if that your award mistikes me. Well, go with me, and you the same shall see: I weight on you. My troubled heart with guiltiness aggrieved, Like fire doth make my ears and cheeks to glow: God Grant I scape this black day unreprieved, I care not how the game go to morrow. Well, I will set a face of brass on it, And with the rest, upon the King attend: Who even anon will hear in judgement sit, To heaven or hell some officers to sand. But soft, a prize, Gripax and Rapax I see, A share of their venture belongs to me. Nay, good honest Promoters let me go. Tush Iohn Adroines, we must not leave you so: What? an old hobclunch a wanton knave? You shall to the King. Mary Iohn Adroynes God save: The king? why he will not look of poor men. Yes, yes, and will spy a knave in your face. Will he so? then, good you he gone apace. And why? Lest in my face, he spy you too, Have you seen a daw, bebob two crows so? Well, come away sir patch. Leave, or by God I'll scratch. What wilt thou so? Yea, and bite too. Help Rapax, play the man. Nay, do both what you can. If that in bobs, their bargain be, In faith they share alone for me. What bytest thou hobclunch, Yea, that chull, and punch. O Lord God, my heart. Knaves, i'll make you fart. Hold thy hands Job, first, take this bob. To part this fray, it is high time, I can tell, My Promoters else of the roast will smell. O, my neck thou wilt break. Yea, Gods ames, cryst thou creak? How now my friends? why what a stur is this? Mary. What? Care they part, I'll make them pys. Hold, no more blows. Knaves, this honest man thank, That you scape so well. Friend be not to crank, I am an officer, and mean to know The cause, why you brauld thus, before I go: Your bobs show, that the same, you best can tell. I would your worship, felt the same as well, I then am sure, this blockhedded slave, For both his faults, double punishment should have. What faults? Mary, He will lie like a dog. How now you churl, your tongue, would have a clog, Say on: To show his first, and chiefest faughte: His Father's maid, and he are nought. What I? I By my Grandsire's soul, you lie. Peace: Friend, for this fault, thou must die.
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)
Sir Vlrico, I humbly craue to know, What good ſucceſſe: my honeſt ſute enſues? Maſter Pimos, in breete, the ſame to ſhowe, I feare, you both, my order wyll refuſe: Lyros, that thinkes he geues more then he ſhould, And you, for that, you haue not, what you would, It ſhall goe hard, if that your award miſtikes mée. Wel, goe with mee, and you the ſame ſhall ſee: I waight on you. My troubled hart with guiltyneſſe agreu'd, Lyke fyre doth make my eares and cheekes to glow: God Graunt I ſcape this blacke day vnrepreu'd, I care not how the game goe to morrow. Well, I wyll ſet a face of braſſe on it, And with the reſt, vpon the King attend: Who euen anon wyll heare in Iudgement ſyt, To heauen or hel ſome officers to ſend. But ſoft, a pryze, Gripax and Rapax I ſée, A ſhare of their venture belonges to mée. Nay, good honeſt Promoters let mée go. Tuſh Iohn Adroines, we muſt not leaue you ſo: What? an ould hobclunch a wanton knaue? You ſhal to the King. Marry Iohn Adroynes God ſaue: The king? why he wyll not looke of poore men. Yes, yes, and wyll ſpye a knaue in your face. Wyll he ſo? then, good you he gone apace. And why? Leaſt in my face, he ſpye you too, Haue you ſéene a dawe, bebob two crowes ſo? Well, come awaye ſyr patch. Leaue, or by God yle ſcratch. What wilt thou ſo? Yea, and byte too. Helpe Rapax, play the man. Nay, do both what you can. If that in bobs, theyr bargayne be, In fayth they ſhare alone for mee. What byteſt thou hobclunch, Yea, that chull, and punch. O Lorde God, my hart. Knaues, ile make you fart. Hould thy hands Lob, Fyrſt, take this bob. To parte this fraye, it is bye time, I can tell, My Promoters elſe of the roſte wyll ſmell. O, my neck thou wylt breake. Yea, Gods ames, cryſt thou creake? How now my friends? why what a ſtur is this? Marry. What? Care they part, yle make them pys. Houlde, no more blowes. Knaues, this honeſt man thanke, That you ſcape ſo well. Friend be not to cranke, I am an officer, and meane to know The cauſe, why you brauld thus, before I goe: Your bobs ſhow, that the ſame, you beſt can tell. I would your worſhip, felt the ſame as well, I then am ſure, this blockhedded ſlaue, For both his faultes, double puniſhment ſhould haue. What faultes? Marry, He wyll lye lyke a dogge. How now you churle, your tongue, would haue a clog, Say on: To ſhowe his firſt, and chiefeſt faughte: His Fathers maide, and he are naught. What I? I. By my Grandſires ſoule, you lye. Peace: Friende, for this faulte, thou muſt dye.