Master Arden of Faversham in Kent · chunk 12 of 40
Anonymous / Kyd, Thomas / Shakespeare, William / Watson, Thomas · published 1592 · first performed or written 1591 [1588-1592] (Annals) tragedy · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Of late Lord Cheiny lost some plate, Which one did bring, and sold it at my shop, Saying he served sir Antony Cook, A search was made, the plate was found with me, And I am bound to answer at the size, Now Lord Cheiny solemnly bowen, If law will serve him, he'll hang me for his plate, Now I am going to London upon hope, To find the fellow, now Will I know Thou art acquainted with such companions, What manner of man was he? A lean faced writhe knave, Hawk nosed, and very hollow eyed, With mighty furrows in his stormy brows, Long hair down his shoulders curled, His Chin was bare, but on his upper lip, A mutchado, which he wound about his ear, What apparel had he, A watchet satin doublet all to torn, The inner side did bear the greater show, A pair of thread bare Velvet hose seam rent, A worsted stocking rent above the shoe, A livery cloak, but all the lace was off, 'twas bad, but yet it served to hide the plate, Sirrah Shakbag, canst thou remember Since we trolled the bowl at Sittingburgh, Where I broke the lapster's head of the Lion With a cudgel stick? I very well Will. Why it was with the money that the plate was sold for Sirrah Bradshaw what wilt thou give him That can tell thee who sold thy plate? Who I pray thee good Will, Why 'twas one Jack Fitten, He's now in Newgate, for stealing a horse, And shall be arraigned the next life. Why then let Lord Cheiny seek Iack Fitten forth For I'll back and tell him, who robbed him of his plate, This cheers my heart M. Green, I'll leave you, For I must to the Isle of Sheppey with speed, Before you go let me entreat you To carry this letter to mistress Arden of Feversham, And humbly recommend me to herself. That will I M. Green, and so farewell. Here Will, there's a Crown for thy good news. Farewell Bradshaw, I'll drink no water for thy sake, whilst this lasts: Now gentlemen, shall we have your company to London. Nay stay sirs, a little more I needs must use your help, And in a matter of great consequence, Wherein if you'll be secret and profound, I'll give you twenty Angels for your pains. Now? twenty Angells? giue my fellow George shakbag and me, twenty Angels, And if thou'lt have thy own father slain, That thou mayst inherit his land, we'll kill him, I thy Mother, thy sister, thy brother, or all thy kin Well this it is, Arden of Feversham, Hath highly wronged me about the Abbey land, That no revenge but death will serve the turn: Will you two kill him, here's the Angels down, And I will lay the platform of his death: Plat me no platforms give me the money, And i'll stab him as he stands pissing against a wall, but I'll kill him.
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)
Of late Lord Cheiny lost some plate, Which one did bring, and soulde it at my shoppe, Saying he serued sir Antony Cooke, A search was made, the plate was found with me, And I am bound to answer at the syse, Now Lord Cheiny solemnly bowen, If law will serue him, hele hang me for his plate, Now I am going to London vpon hope, To finde the fellow, now Will I know Thou art acpuainted with such companions, What manner of man was he? A leane faced writhen knaue, Hauke nosde, and verye hollow eied, With mightye furrowes in his stormye browes, Long haire down his shoulders curled, His Chinne was bare, but on his vpper lippe, A mutchado, which he wound about his eare, What apparell had he, A watchet sattin doublet all to torne, The inner side did beare the greater show, A paire of threed bare Veluet hose seame rent, A wosted stockin rent aboue the shoe, A liuery cloake, but all the lace was of, Twas bad, but yet it serued to hide the plate, Sirra Shakebagge, canst thou remember Since we trould the boule at Sittingburgh, Where I broke the Lapsters head of the Lyon With a Cudgill sticke? I very well Will. Why it was with the money that the plate was sould for Sirra Bradshaw what wilt thou giue him That can tell thee who soulde thy plate? Who I pray thee good Will, Why twas one Iacke Fitten, He's now in Newgate, for stealing a horse, And shall be arrainde the next life. Why then let Lord Cheiny séek Iack Fittē forth For Ile backe and tell him, who robbed him of his plate, This cheeres my hart M. Greene, Ile leaue you, For I must to the Ile of Sheppy with spéede, Before you go let me intreat you To carry this letter to mistres Arden of Feuershame, And humbly recommend me to her selfe. That will I M. Greene, and so farewell. Heere Will, theres a Crowne for thy good newes. Farewell Bradshaw, Ile drinke no water for thy sake, whilest this lasts: Now gentlemen, shall we haue your company to London. Nay stay sirs, a lytle more I needs muste vse your helpe, And in a matter of great consequence, Wherein if youle be secret and profound, Ile giue you twenty Angels for your paines. Now? twenty Angells? giue my fellow George shakbag and me, twenty Angels, And if thoult haue thy owne father slaine, That thou mayst inherit his land, weele kill him, I thy Mother, thy sister, thy brother, or all thy kin Well this it is, Arden of Feuershame, Hath highly wrongd me about the Abby land, That no reuendge but death will serue the turne: Will you two kill him, hoeres the Angels downe, And I will lay the platforme of his death: Plat me no platformes giue me the money, And ile stab him as he stands pissing against a wall, but Ile kill him.