Master Arden of Faversham in Kent · chunk 36 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 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
three games for a french crown sir, And please you. Content. Can he not take him yet? what a spite is that? Not yet Will, take heed he see thee not? I fear he will spy me, as I am coming, To prevent that, creep betwixt my legs One ace, or else I lose the game. marry sir there's two for failing. Ah M. Arden (now I can take you) Mosbie, Michael, Alice, what will you do? Nothing but take you up sir, nothing else. there's for the pressing Iron you told me of. And there's for the ten pound in my sleeve, What, groans thou? nay then give me the weapon, Take this for hindering Mosby's love and mine. D Mistres. Ah that villain will betray us all, Tush fear him not, he will be secret, Why dost thou think I will betray myself? In Southwark dwells a bonny northern lass, The widow Chambley, i'll to her house now, Ind if she will not giue me harborough, He make bootie of the queane euen to her smocke. Shift for yourselves we two will leave you now First lay the body in the countinghouse. We have our gold mistress Alice, adieu, Mosbie farewell, and Michael farewell too. Mistress, the guests are at the doors. Hearken they knock, what shall I let them in? Mosbie go thou & bear them company. And susan fetch water and wash away this blood, The blood cleaveth to the ground & will not out But with my nails i'll scrape away the blood, The more I strive the more the blood appears: What's the reason M. can you tell? Because I blush not at my husband's death. Now now, whats the matter? is all well? I well, if Arden were alive again. In vain we strive, for here his blood remains, Why strew rushes on it, can you not, This wench doth nothing fall unto the work. 'twas thou that made me murder him, What of that? Nay nothing Mosbie so it be not known. Keep thou it close, and 'tis unpossible, Ah but I can not, was he not slain by me, My husband's death torments me at the heart. It shall not long torment thee gentle Alice, I am thy husband, think no more of him. Now now M. Arden? what ail you weep? Because her husband is abroad so late. A couple of Ruffians threatened him yesternight, And she poor soul is afraid he should be hurt. Is't nothing else? tush he'll be here anon. Now M. Arden lack you any guests. Ah M. Green, did you see my husband lately, I saw him walking behind the Abbey even now, I do not like this being out so late, M. Franklin where did you leave my husband. Believe me I saw him not since Morning, Fear you not he'll come anon, meantime You may do well to bid his guests sit down.
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)
Thrée games for a french crowne sir, And please you. Content. Can he not take him yet? what a spight is that? Not yet Will, take hede he see thee not? I feare he will spy me, as I am coming, To preuent that, creepe betwixt my legs One ace, or els I lose the game. Mary sir theres two for fayling. Ah M. Arden (now I can take you) Mosbie, Michaell, Ales, what will you do? Nothing but take you vp sir, nothing els. Thers for the pressing Iron you tould me of. And ther's for the ten pound in my sleeue, What, grones thou? nay then giue me y• weapō, Take this for hindring Mosbies loue and mine. D Mistres. Ah that villaine wil betray vs all, Tush feare him not, he will be secrete, Why dost thou think I will betray my selfe? In South warke dwels a bonnie northerne lasse, The widow Chambley, ile to her house now, Ind if she will not giue me harborough, He make bootie of the queane euen to her smocke. Shift for your selues we two will leaue you now First lay the bodie in the countinghouse. We haue our gould mistris Ales, adew, Mosbie farewell, and Michaell farewell too. Mistres, the guests are at the doores. Hearken they knocke, what shall I let them in? Mosbie go thou & beare them companie. And susan fetch water and wash away this bloode, The bloode cleaueth to the ground & will not out But with my nailes ile scrape away the blood, The more I striue the more the blood appeares: Whats the reason M. can you tell? Because I blush not at my husbands death. Now now, whats the matter? is all well? I wel, if Arden were aliue againe. In vaine we striue, for here his blood remains, Why strew rushes on it, can you not, This wench doth nothing fall vnto the worke. Twas thou that made me murther him, What of that? Nay nothing Mosbie so it be not known. Kéepe thou it close, and tis vnpossible, Ah but I can not, was he not staine by me, My husbands death torments me at the hart. It shall not long torment thee gentle Ales, I am thy husband, thinke no more of him. Now now M. Arden? what ayle you wéepe? Because her husband is abroad so late. A cupple of Ruffins threatned him yesternight, And she poore soule is affraid he should be hurt. It nothing els? tush hele be here anone. Now M. Arden lacke you any guests. Ah M. Greene, did you se my husband lately, I saw him walking behinde the Abby euen now, I do not like this being out so late, M. Francklin where did you leaue my husband. Beleeue me I saw him not since Morning, Feare you not hele come anone, meane time You may do well to bid his guests sit down.