Master Arden of Faversham in Kent · chunk 27 of 40
Anonymous / Kyd, Thomas / Shakespeare, William / Watson, Thomas · published 1592 · first performed or written 1591 [1588-1592] (Annals) tragedy · Pembroke's Men (?) T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.84 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
M. Michael the spleen prickles you. Go too, you carry an eye over mistress susan. i'faith, to keep her from the Painter. Why more from a Painter, than from a serving creature like yourself. Because you Painters make but a painting table of a pretty wench, and spoil her beauty with blotting. What mean you by that? Why that you Painters, paint lambs, in the lining of wenches petticoats And we serving men put horns to them, to make them become sheep. Such another word will cost you a cuff or a knock What with a dagger made of a pencil? Faith 'tis too weak, And therefore thou to weak to win susan. Would susans love lay upon this stroke, I'll lay my life, this is for susans love, Stayed you behind your M. to this end? Have you no other time to brabble in But now when serious matters are in hand? Say Clarke, hast thou done the thing thou promised? I hear it is, the very touch is death. Then this I hope, if all the rest do fail, Will catch M. Arden, And make him wise in death, that lived a fool. Why should he thrust his sickle in our corn, Or what hath he to do with thee my love? Or govern me that am to rule myself, Forsooth for credit's sake I must leave thee. Nay he must leave to live, to live, that we may love, May live may love for what is life but love? And love shall last as long as life remains, And life shall end, before my love depart. Why what's love, without true constancy? Like to a pillar built of many stones. Yet neither with good mortar, well compact, Nor cement, to fasten it in the joints. But that it shakes with every blast of wind, And being touched, straight falls unto the earth, And buries all his haughty pride in dust. No let our love be rocks of adamant, Which time nor place, nor tempest can asunder. Mosbie leave protestations now, And let us bethink us what we have to do: Black Will and shakebag I have placed, In the broom close watching Arden's coming, Let's to them, and see what they have done. Of ferry man, where art thou? Here here, go before to the boat. And I will follow you. We have great haste, I pray thee come away. Fie what a mist is here. This missed my friend, is mystical, Like to a good companions smoky brain, That was half drowned with new ale over night. I were pity but his skull were opened, To make more Chimney room. Friend what's thy opinion of this mist. I think 'tis like to a cursed wife in a littlehouse, That never leaves her husband till she have driven him out at doors, with a wet pair of eyes, Then looks he as if his house were afire, Or some of his friends dead.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
M. Michaell the spleane prickles you. Go too, you carry an eye ouer mistres susan. I faith, to keepe her from the Painter. Why more from a Painter, then from a seruing creature like your selfe. Because you Painters make but a painting fable of a pretty wench, and spotle her beauty with blotting. What meane you by that? Why that you Painters, paint lambes, in the lyning of wenches peticots And we seruing men put hornes to them, to make them become sheepe. Such another word wilcost you a cuffe or a knock What with a dagger made of a pensell? Faith tis too weake, And therefore thou to weak to winne susan. Would susans loue lay vppon this stroke, Ile lay my lyfe, this is for susans loue, Stayd you behinde your M. to this end? Have you no other time to brable in But now when serious matters are in hand? Say Clarke, hast thou done the thing thou promised? I heare it is, the very touch is death. Then this I hope, if all the rest do faile, Wil catch M. Arden, And make him wise in death, that liued a foole. Why should he thrust his sickle in our corne, Or what hath he to do with thee my loue? Or gouerne me that am to rule my selfe, Forsooth for credit sake I must leaue thee. Nay he must leaue to liue, to liue, that we may loue, May liue may loue for what is lyfe but loue? And loue shall last as long as lyfe remaines, And lyfe shall end, before my loue depart. Why whats loue, without true constancy? Lyke to a piller built of many stones. Yet neither with good morter, well compact, Nor semell, to fasten it in the ioynts. But that it shakes with euery blast of winde, And being toucht, straight falles vnto the earth, And buries all his haughty pride in dust. No let our loue be roces of Addamant, Which time nor place, nor tempest can a sunder. Mosbie leaue protestations now, And let vs bethinke vs what we haue to doo: Black Will and shakebag I have placed, In the broome close watching Ardens comming, Lets to them, and see what they haue done. Of ferry man, where art thou? Here here, goe before to the boat. And I will follow you. We haue great haste, I pray thée come away. Fy what a mist is here. This mist my frend, is misticall, Lyke to a good companions smoaky braine, That was halfe dround with new ale ouer night. I were pitty but his stull were opened, To make more Chimny roome. Fréend whats thy opinion of this mist. I think tis lyke to a curst wise in a lytlehouse, That neuer leaues her husband till she haue driuen him out at doores, with a wet paire of eyes, Then lookes he as if his house were a fire, Or some of his fréends dead.