Master Arden of Faversham in Kent · chunk 13 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 T1 Death, grief and revenge · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Where is he? He is now at London, in Aldersgate street, He's dead, as if he had been condemned By an act of parliament, if once Black Will and I Swear his death, Here is ten pound, and when he is dead, Ye shall have twenty more: My fingers itches to be at the peasant, Ah that I might be set a work thus through the year, And that murder would grow to an occupation: That a man might without danger of law, Zounds I warrant, I should be warden of the company, Come let us be going, and we'll bait at Rochester, Where I'll give thee a gallon of Sack, To handsel the match withal. I have gotten such a letter, As will touch the Painter, And thus it is. My duty remembered Mistress Susan, hoping in God you be in good health, as I Michael was at the making hereof. This is to certify you, that as the Turtle true, when she hath lost her mate, sitteth alone, so I mourning for your absence, do walk up and down. Poule's, till one day I fell asleep and lost my masters pantofles. Ah mistress Susan abolish that paltry Painter, cut him off by the shins, with a frowning look of your crabbed countenance, & think upon Michael, who drunk with the dregs of your favour, will cleave as fast to your love, as a plaster of Pitch to a galled horse back Thus hoping you will let my passions penetrate, or rather impetrate mercy of your meek hands, I end. Why you paltry knave, Stand you here loitering, knowing my affairs, What haste my business craves to send to Kent? Faith friend Michael, this is very ill, Knowing your master hath no more but you, And do ye slack his business for your own? Where is the letter sirrah, let me see it, See master Franklin, here's proper stuff, Susan my maid, the Painter, and my man, A crew of harlots all in love forsooth, Sirrah let me hear no more of this. Now for thy life, once write to her a word, Wilt thou be married to so base a trull. 'tis Mosby's sister, come I once at home, I'll rouse her from remaining in my house: Now M. Franklin let us go walk in Paul's, Come, but a turn or two and then away, The first is Arden, and that's his man, The other is Franklin Arden's dearest friend, Zounds I'll kill them all three, Nay sirs, touch not his man in any case, But stand close, and take you fittest standing, And at his coming forth speed him: To the nag's head, there's this cowards haunt, But now I'll leave you till the deed be done: If he be not paid his own near trust shakebagge, Sirrah Shakbag, at his coming forth I'll run him through, and then to the blackfreers, And there take water and a way. Why that's the best, but see thou miss him not.
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)
Where is he? He is now at London, in Aldersgate stréete, He's dead, as if he had beene condemned By an act of parliament, if once Black Will and I Sweare his death, Here is ten pound, and when he is dead, Ye shall haue twenty more: My fingers itches to be at the pesant, Ah that I might be set a worke thus through the yéere, And that murther would grow to an occupation: That a man might without daunger of law, Zounds I warrant, I should be warden of the company, Come let vs be going, and wele bate at Rochester, Where Ile giue thee a gallon of Sack, To hansell the match with all. I haue gotten suche a letter, As will touche the Painter, And thus it is. My duetye remembred Mistres Susan, hoping in God you be in good health, as I Michaell was at the making heereof. This is to certifie you, that as the Turtle true, when she hath lost her mate, sitteth alone, so I mourning for your absence, do walk vp and down. Poules, til one day I fell a sleepe and lost my maisters Pantophelles. Ah mistres Susan abbolishe that paltry Painter, cut him off by the shinnes, with a frowning looke of your crabed countenance, & think vpon Michaell, who druncke with the dregges of your fauour, wel cleaue as fast to your loue, as a plaster of Pitch to a gald horse back Thus hoping you will let my passions penetrate, or rather impetrate mercy of your meeke hands, I end. Why you paltrie knaue, Stand you here loytering, knowing my affaires, What haste my busines craues to send to Kent? Faith frend Michaell, this is very ill, Knowing your maister hath no more but you, And do ye slache-his busines for your owne? Where is the letter sirra, let me sée it, Sée maister Francklin, heres proper stuffe, Susan my maid, the Painter, and my man, A crue of harlots all in loue forsooth, Sirra let me heare no more of this. Now for thy lyfe, once write to her a worde, Wilt thou be married to so base a trull. Tis Mosbies sister, come I once at home, Ile rouse her from remaining in my house: Now M. Francklin let vs go walke in Paules, Come, but a turne or two and then away, The first is Arden, and thats his man, The other is Francklin Ardens dearest fréend, Zounds Ile kill them all three, Nay sirs, touch not his man in any case, But stand close, and take you sittest standing, And at his comming foorth spéede him: To the Nages head, ther'is this cowards haunt, But now Ile leaue you till the deed be don: If he be not paid his owne nere trust shakebagge, Sirra Shakbag, at his comming foorth Ile runne him through, and then to the blackfreers, And there take water and a way. Why thats the best, but see thou misse him not.