The Three Lords and Three Ladies of London · chunk 13 of 41
Wilson, Robert · published 1590 · first performed or written 1588 [1588-1590] (Annals) moral · Queen Elizabeth's Men (?) T39 Profit, conscience and dishonest dealing typicality 0.77 · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T39: conscience, lucre, usury, lucar, fraud, dissimulation, simony, london, lady, nemo.
here's a good fellow too, one of our acquaintance, how hast thou lived Simplicity? More honestly than all the rest of thy company: for when I might beg no longer, as begging was but bad, for you cozened me once of an alms, I fell to tankard bearing & so got a wife of the same science. painful penury, then got I my freedom, and feeling my shoulder grow weary of the tankard, set up an easier trade to sell ballads. Hadst thou a stock to set up withal? Wise enough to tell you, ay, & yonder's my stal, but beware I lose nothing, for if I do, I'll lay it straight to some of you, for I saw none so like thieves I promise you, since I set up. Ye are a wiseman when your nose is in the cup, but soft who comes here? step we close aside, for these be the three Ladies for my life brought out of prison by their keeper, let us be whist and we shall hear and see all, Sirrah you must say nothing. not till ye speak for I am afraid of him that's with the woman. O Sorrow when? when sorrow wilt thou cease To blow the spark that burns my troubled soul? To feed the worm that stings my fainting breast, And sharp the steel that gores my dying heart? My thoughts are thorns, my tears hot drops of lead, I plain, I pine, I die, yet never dead. If world would end, my woe should but begin, Lo, this the case of Conscience for her sin: And sin the food wherewith my worm was fed, That stings me now to death, yet never dead. Yet neuer dead, and yet Loue doeth not th, Love that to loss in life her folly lent, Folly the food whereon her frailty fed, Frailty the milk that Nature's breast did give, Life, loss and folly, frailty, food and kind, Worm, sting, thorns, fire and torment to the mind, Life but a breath, and folly but a flower, Frailty clay, dust the food, that fancy scorns, Love a sweet bait to cover losses sour. Flesh breeds the fire that kindles lustful thorns, Lust, fire, bait, scorn, dust, flower, and feeble breath Die, quench, deceive, fly, fade, and yield to death, To death? O good, if death might finish all, We die each day, and yet for death we call. For death we call, yet death is still in sight, Lucre doth sealed in drops of melting gold, Accusing Rust, calls on eternal might, Where flames consume, and yet we freeze with cold: Sorrow adds Sulphur unto Fury's heat, And chops them ye, whose chattering teeth do beat, But sulphur, snow, flame, frost nor hideous crying Can cause them die, that ever are in dying. Nor make the pain diminish or increase, sorrow is slack, and yet will never cease.
seed 43: T41 · seed 44: T39 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Heer's a good fellow too, one of our acquaintance, how hast thou liued Simplicity? More honestly then all the rest of thy company: for when I might beg no longer, as begging was but bad, for you cson'd me once of an alms, I fel to tankard bearing▪ & so os a wife of the same science. painful penury, then got I my fréedom, and feeling my shoulder grow wearie of the tankard, set vp an easier trade to sel ballas. Hadst thou a stock to set vp withal? Wise inough to tell you, I, & yonder's my stal, but bewar I loose nothing, for if I do, Ile lay it straight to some of you, for I saw none so like theues I promise you, since I set vp. Ye are a wiseman when your nose is in the cup, but soft who comes here? step wee close aside, for these be the three Ladies for my life brought out of prison by their keper, let vs be whist and we shall heare and se all, Sirra you must say nothing. not til ye speak for I am affraid of him that's with ye womn▪ O Sorrow when? when sorrow wilt thou cease To blow the sparke that burnes my troubled soule? To féede the worme that stings my fainting breast, And sharp the stéele that goares my dieng heart? My thoughtes are thornes, my teares hot drops of lead, I plaine, I pine, I die, yet neuer dead. If world would end, my woe should but begin, Loe, this the case of Conscience for her sin: And sin the food wherewith my worme was fed, That sting me now to death, yet neuer dead. Yet neuer dead, and yet Loue doeth not th, Loue that to losse in life her follie lent, Folly the food whereon her frailtie fed, Frailtie the milke that Natures breast did gie, Life, losse and follie, frailtie, foode and kinde, Worme, sting, thornes, fire and torment to the mind, Life but a breath, and follie but a flower, Frailtie claie, dust the foode, that fancie scornes, Loue a sweet bait to couer losses sower. Flesh breedes the fire that kindles lustfull thornes, Lust, fire, bait, scorne, dust, flower, and feeble breath Die, quench, deceiue, flie, fade, and yeeld to death, To death? O good, if death might finish all, We die each day, and yet for death we cal. For death we call, yet death is stil in sight, Lucre doth seald in drops of melting gold, Accusing Rust, cals on eternal might, Where flames consume, and yet we fréeze with cold: Sorrow addes Sulphur vnto Furies heat, And chops them yee, whose chattering teeth do beat, But sulphur, snow, flame, frost nor hideous crieng Can cause them die, that euer are in dying. Nor make the paine diminish or increase, sorrow is slacke, and yet wil neuer cease.