Master Arden of Faversham in Kent · chunk 23 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 T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
Sweet Mosbie is as gentle as a King, And I too blind, to judge him otherwise, Flowers do some times spring in fallow lands, Weeds in gardens, Roses grow on thorns. So whatsoe'er my Mosby's father was, Himself valued gentle by his worth. Ah how you women can insinuate, And clear a trespass with your sweet set tongue, I will forget this quarrel gentle Alice, Provided I'll be tempted so no more: Then with thy lips seal up this new made match Soft Alice for here comes somebody. How now Bradshaw, what's the news with you I have little news but here's a letter. That M. Green importuned me to give you: Go in Bradshaw call for a cup-of bear. 'tis almost suppertime, thou shalt stay with us. We haue mist of our purpose at London, but shall perform it by the waye, We thanke our neighbour Bradshaw. Yours Richard Greene. How likes my love the tenor of this letter? Well, were his date complete and expired. Ah would it were, Then comes my happy hour. Till then my bliss is mixed with bitter gall. Come let us in to shun suspicion. I to the gates of death to follow thee. Come Will, see thy tools be in a readiness? Is not thy Powder dank, Or will thy flint strike fire Then ask me if my nose be on my face, Or whether my tongue be frozen in my mouth. Zounds here's a coil, you were best swear me on the intergatories, how many Pistols I have took in hand, Or whether I love the smell of gun powder, Or dare abide the noise the dag will make, Or will not wink at flashing of the fire. I pray thee shackbag let this answer thee. That I have took more purses in this down, Then ere thou handledst pistols in thy life. I happily thou hast picked more in a throng. But should I brag what booties I have took, I think the overplus that's more than thine, Would mount to a greater some of money, Then either thou, or all thy kin are worth. Zounds I hate them as I hate a toad, That carry a muscado in their tongue. And scarce a hurting weapon in their hand. O Gróene, intolerable, It is not for mine honour to bear this. Why shakbag I did serve the King at Bulloyne, And thou canst brag of nothing that thou hast done. Why so can Iack of Feversham, That sounded for a fillip on the nose: When he that gave it him hollowed in his ear. And he supposed a Cannon bullet hit him. I pray you sirs list to Esop's talk, Whilst two stout dogs were striving for a bone, There comes a cur, and stole it from them both, So while you stand striving on these terms of manhood, Arden escapes us and deceive us all.
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)
Swete Mosbie is as gentle as a King, And I too blinde, to iudge him otherwise, Flowres do some times spring in fallow lands, VVeedes in gardens, Roses grow on thornes. So what so ere my Mosbies father was, Himselfe valued gentle by his worth. Ah how you women can insinuate, And cleare a trespasse with your sweete set tongue, I will forget this quarrel gentle Ales, Prouided Ile be tempted so no more: Then with thy lips seale vp this new made match Soft Ales for here comes some body. How now Bradshaw, whats the news with you I haue little news but heres a letter. That M. Gréene importuned me to giue you: Go in Bradshaw call for a cuppe-of beare. Tis almost suppertime, thou shalt stay with vs. We haue mist of our purpose at London, but shall perform it by the waye, We thanke our neighbour Bradshaw. Yours Richard Greene. How lykes my loue the tennor of this letter? Well, were his date compleat and expired. Ah would it were, Then comes my happy howre. Till then my blisse is mixt with bitter gall. Come let vs in to shun suspition. I to the gates of death to follow thee. Come Will, sée thy tooles be in a redynes? Is not thy Powder dancke, Or will thy flint stryke fyre Then aske me if my nose be on my face, Or whether my toung be frosen in my mouth. Zounds heres a coyle, you were best sweare mee on the intergatories, how many Pistols I haue tooke in hand, Or whether I loue the smell of gunne powder, Or dare abide the noise the dagge will make, Or will not wincke at flashing of the fire. I pray thée shackbag let this answer thée. That I haue tooke more purses in this down, Then ere thou handledst pistols in thy life. I happely thou hast pickt more in a throng. But should I bragge what booties I haue tooke, I think the ouerplus thats more then thine, Would mount to a greater somme of money, Then either thou, or all thy kinne are worth. Zounds I hate them as I hate a toade, That cary a muscado in their tongue. And scarce a hurting weapon in their hand. O Gróene, intollerable, It is not for mine honor to beare this. Why shakbag I did serue the King at Bulloyne, And thou canst bragge of nothing that thou hast done. Why so can Iack of Feuershame, That sounded for a phillope on the nose: When he that gaue it him hollowed in his eare. And he supposed a Cannon bullet hit him. I pray you sirs list to Esops talk, Whilest two stout dogs were striuing for a bone, There comes a cur, and stole it from them both, So while you stand striuing on these termes of manhoode, Arden escapes vs and deceaue vs al.