Whetstone, George · published 1578 · first performed or written 1578 [1576-1579] (Annals) comedy · Unacted unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
die, Learde save us: you sqawde know, I'll 〈◊〉 ye: For reforming a lie, thus against me. Tush, tush, it helpeth not: if they can prove this. For some proof, I saw him and the Maid kiss. Can not foke kiss: but they are nought by and by? This presumption friend, will touch thee shrewdly: If thou scape with life, be thou sore of this, Thou shalt be terribly whipped, for this kiss. Whypt, marry God shield, chy had rather be hangde● Growte noll, come to the King. Art not well hanged. Well, good fellows, let's take up this matter. Nay, first Iohn Adroines, shallbe trust in a halter. Why? helps it you, to see the poor man whypt? I pray you friends, for this time let him go. Stand still, and chull, whether they will or not: Nay, but we charge him, in the King's name, stay thee. Hark honest man, I warrant thee set free? Grease them well, in their hands, and speak them fair: O Leard God, our tallow pot is not here. Tush, claw them with money: Why so my nails are sharp. I see, for Clowns, Pan's Pipe, is meeter, than Apollo's Harp. They can skill of no Music, but plain Song. I pray let's go, we trifle time too long: Straight. cocks soul knave, stop his mouth with money. O, I ken you now sir, chy cry you mercy. Come on slouch, wilt please you be jogging hence? Here is all, ten shillings, and thirteen pence. Hark ye my friends. We must not let him go. Hark once more. Give them the money. It shall be so. Well, although he deserves great punishment, For your sake, for this time we are content: farewell, henceforth be honest, And for this fault, will pass it over in jest. Then gives our money. Why? Why, they did but jest: Yea, but they took thy money in earnest. Art gone, now the Dewle choke you all with it: How chy kiss again, the knaves ha' taught me wit. But by Saint Anne, chy do see her lady: Men may do what them will, that have money. Ich surely had been whipped, but for my gold, But chull no more, with smouches be so bold. Yea, and ych wish all Lovers to be wise, There be learing knaves abroad, have cats eyes: Why, by God's bores, they can both see and mark, If a man steal, but asmuch in the dark. And now the world is grown, to such jolly spy: As if foke do kiss, they're nought by and by. Well, ych will home, and tell my Father Droyne: How that, two thieves robbed me of my Coin. Sir Gonsago, if that we henceforth hear, With will, or wealth, you do our subjects wrong: Look not again, this favour for to find, We use thy grace, to win you to amend: If not, our wrath shall fear you to offend. God spade you.
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)
Dye, Learde ſaue vs: you ſqawde knowe, yle yée: For reforming a lye, thus againſt mée. Tuſh, tuſh, it helpeth not: if they can proue this. For ſome proofe, I ſawe him and the Maide kys. Can not foke kys: but they are naught by and by? This preſumption friende, wyll touch thee ſhrowdlie: If thou ſcape with life, be thou ſore of this, Thou ſhalt be terriblie whypped, for this kys. Whypt, mary God ſhielde, chy had rather be hangde Growte nowle, come to the King. Arte not well hangde. Well, good fellowes, lets take vp this matter. Nay, firſt Iohn Adroines, ſhalbe truſt in a halter. Why? helpes it you, to ſée the poore man whypt? I praye you friendes, for this tyme let him go. Stande ſtyll, and chull, whether they wyll or no: Nay, but we charge him, in the Kings name, ſtaye thée. Harke honeſt man, I warrant thée ſet frée? Greaſe them well, in their handes, and ſpeake them fayre: O Leard God, our tallowe potte is not here. Tuſh, clawe them with money: Why ſo my nayles are ſharpe. I ſee, for Clownes, Pans Pype, is méeter, thē Apolles Harpe. They can ſkyll of no Muſicke, but plaine Song. I praye lets goe, we tryfle tyme too long: Strayght. Cockes ſoule knaue, ſtoppe his mouth with money. O, I ken you nowe ſyr, chy crie you mercie. Come on ſlouch, wylt pleaſe you be iogging hence? Here is all, tenne ſhyllinges, and thyrtene pence. Harke ye my friendes. We muſt not let him goe. Harke once more. Giue them the money. It ſhall be ſo. Well, although he deſerues great puniſhment, For your ſake, for this tyme we are content: farewell, henceforth be honeſt, And for this faulte, wyll paſſe it ore in ieaſt. Then giues our money. Why? Why, they dyd but ieaſt: Yea, but they tooke thy money in earneſt. Art gone, nowe the Dewle choake you all with it: Howe chy kiſſe againe, the knaues hae taught me wyt. But by Saint Anne, chy do ſee hur lady: Men maye do what them woll, that haue money. Ich ſurely had bene whipt, but for my golde, But chull no more, with ſmouches be ſo bolde. Yea, and ych wyſh all Louers to be wyſe, There be learing knaues abroade, haue Cattes eyes: Why, by Gods bores, they can bothe ſee and marke, If a man ſteale, but a ſmouch in the darke. And nowe the worlde is growne, to ſuch iollie ſpye: As if foke doo kyſſe, the'are naught by and by. Well, ych wyll home, and tell my Father Droyne: Howe that, two theeues robd mee of my Coyne. Sir Gonſago, if that we henceforth heare, With will, or wealth, you doe our ſubiects wrong: Looke not agayne, this fauour for to fynde, We vſe thie grace, to wyn you to amende: If not, our wrath ſhall feare you to offende. God ſpade you.