Master Arden of Faversham in Kent · chunk 17 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 T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
My house is irksome, there I cannot rest. Then stay with me in London, go not home. Then that base Mosbie doth usurp my room, And makes his triumph of my being thence. At home, or not at home, where ere I be. Here here it lies, ah Franklin here it lies, That will not out till wretched Arden dies. Forget your griefs a while, here comes your man, What o'clock is't sirrah? Almost ten. See see how runs away the weary time, Come M. Franklin, shall we go to bed. I pray you go before, I'll follow you, Ah what a hell is fretful jealousy? What pity moaning words? what deep fetched sighs? What grievous groans? and overlading woes, Accompanies this gentle gentleman. Now will he shake his care oppressed head, Then fix his sad eyes on the sullen earth, Ashamed to gaze upon the open world. Now will he cast his eyes up towards the heavens, Looking that ways for redress of wrong, Some times he seeketh to beguile his grief, And tells a story with his careful tongue. Then comes his wives dishonour in his thoughts, And in the middle cutteth off his tale. Pouring fresh sorrow on his weary limbs. So woe begone, so inly charged with woe, Was never any lived and bore it so. My M. would desire you come to bed. Is he himself already in his bed? He is and fain would have the light away, Conflicting thoughts encamped in my breast Awake me with the Echo of their strokes: And I a judge to censure either side, Can give to neither wished victory. My master's kindness pleads to me for life, With just demand, and I must grant it him. My mistress she hath forced me with an oath, For Susan's sake the which I may not break, For that is nearer than a master's love, That grim faced fellow, pitiless black Will, And Shakebag stern in bloody stratagem, Two rougher Ruffians never lived in Kent, Have sworn my death if I infringe my vow, A dreadful thing to be considered of, methinks I see them with their bolstered hair, Staring and grinning in thy gentle face, And in their ruthless hands, their daggers drawn, Insulting over thee with a peck of oaths. Whilst thou submissive pleading for relief, Art mangled by their ireful instruments. methinks I hear them ask where Michael is And pitiless black Will, cries stab the slave. The Peasant will detect the Tragedy. The wrinkles in his foul death threatening face, Gapes open wide, like graves to swallow men. My death to him is but a merriment, And he will murder me to make him sport. He comes he comes, ah M. Franklin help, Call up the neighbours or we are but dead What dismal outcry calls me from my rest?
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)
My house is irksome, there I cannot rest. Then stay with me in London, go not home. Then that base Mosbie doth vsurpe my roome, And makes his triumphe of my béeing thence. At home, or not at home, where ere I be. Heere heere it lyes, ah Francklin here it lyes, That wil not out till wretched Arden dies. Forget your gréefes a while, héer coms your man, What a Clock ist sirra? Almost ten. Sée sée how runnes away the weary time, Come M. Franklin, shal we go to bed. I pray you go before, Ile follow you, Ah what ahell is fretfull Ielousie? What pitty moning words? what déepe fetcht sighes? What gréeuous grones? and ouerlading woes, Accompanies this gentle gentleman. Now will he shake his care oppressed head, Then sir his sad eis on the sollen earth, Ashamed to gaze vpon the open world. Now will he cast his eyes vp towards the heauens, Looking that waies for redresse of wrong, Some times he séeketh to beguile his griefe, And tels a story with his carefull tongue. Then comes his wiues dishonor in his thoughts, And in the middle cutteth of his tale. Dowring fresh sorrow on his weary lims. So woe begone, so inlye charged with woe, Was neuer any lyued and bare it so. My M. would desire you come to bed. Is he himselfe already in his bed? He is and faine would haue the light away, Conflicting thoughts incamped in my brest Awake me with the Echo of their strokes: And I a iudge to censure either side, Can giue to neither wished victory. My masters kindnes pleads to me for lyfe, With iust demaund, and I must grant it him. My mistres she hath forced me with an oath, For Susans sake the which I may not breake, For that is nearer thē a masters loue, That grim faced fellow, pittiles black Will, And Shakebag stearne in bloody stratageme, Two Ruffer Ruffins neuer liued in Kent, Haue sworne my death if I infrindge my vow, A dreadfull thing to be considred of, Me thinks I see them with their bolstred haire, Staring and grinning in thy gentle face, And in their ruthles hands, their dagers drawne, Insulting ore there with a peck of oathes. Whilest thou submissiue pleading for reléefe, Art mangled by their irefull instruments. Me thinks I heare them aske where Michaell is And pittiles black Will, cryes stab the slaue. The Pesant will detect the Tragedy. The wrincles in his fowle death threatning face, Gapes open wide, lyke graues to swallow men. My death to him is but a merryment, And he will murther me to make him sport. He comes he comes, ah M. Francklin helpe, Call vp the neighbors or we are but dead What dismall outcry cals me from my rest?