Peele, George · published 1593 · first performed or written 1591 [1590-1593] (Annals) history · Unknown T15 Friars and holy orders in plot typicality 0.77 · 470 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T15: friar, lord, holy, friars, robin, peggy, lacie, angelo, love, nun.
It is he Friar, give me thy hand, And gramercies twenty times, I promise thee thou hast cudgeled Two as good lessons into my jacket, As ever Churchman did at so short warning. The one is, not to be too busy with another man's cattle, The other, not in haste to deny my country. 'tis pity my Lord, But you should have more of this learning You profit so well by it. 'tis pity Friar but thou shouldst be Lluellen's Chaplain, thou edifiest so well, and so shalt thou be, of mine honour, here I entertain thee, thy boy, and thy trull, to follow my fortune, in Secula seculorum. And Richard my man sir and you love me, He that stands by me, and shrunk not at all weathers, And than you have me in my colours. Friars agreed: Rice welcome the ruffians. Go too, go too, you Britaine's all, And play the men both great and small, A wondrous matter hath be fall, That makes the prophet's cry and call, Tum da et di te de te dum, That you must march both all and some, Against your foes with trump and Drum: I speak to you from God that you shall overcome. What now, who have we here? Tum date dite dote dum. What have we a fellow dropped out of the element, What's he for a man? Knowest thou this Goscup? What? not Morgan Pigot, our good welsh prophet, O 'tis a holy Harper. A Prophet with a murrain, Good my Lord, let's hear a few of his lines I pray you. My lords, 'tis an odd fellow I can tell you, As any is in all Wales: He can sing rhyme with reason, and rhyme without reason, And without reason or rhyme. The devil he can, Rhyme with reason, and rhyme without reason, And reason without rhyme: Then good Morgan Pigot, pluck out thy spigot, And draw us a fresh pot, From the kinder kind of thy knowledge. Knowledge my son, knowledge I warranty, How sayst thou Morgan, art thou not a very prophet? Friar, friar, a Prophet verily, For great Lluellen's love, Sent from above, to bring him victory. Come then gentle prophet, let's see how thou canst salute thy prince, say, shall we have good success in our enterprise or no? When the weathercock of Carmarthen steeple Shall engender young ones in the belfry, And a herd of Goats leave their pasture, To be clothed in silver: Then shall Brute be borne a new, And Wales record their ancient hue, Ask Friar David if this be not true. This my Lord a means by you, O he is a prophet, a prophet. Soft you now good Morgan Pigot, And take us with ye a little I pray, What means your wisdom by all this.
seed 43: T19 · seed 44: T20 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
It is he Friar, giue me thy hand, And gramercies twentie times, I promise thee thou hast cudgeld Two as good lessons into my iacket, As euer Churchman did at so short warning. The one is, not to be too busie with another mans cattel, The other, not in hast to denie my countrie. Tis pittie my Lorde, But you should haue more of this learning You profit so well by it. Tis pittie Friar but thou shouldst be Lluellens Chaplaine, thou edifiest so well, and so shalt thou be, of mine honor, heere I entertaine thee, thy boye, and thy trull, to follow my fortune, in Secula seculorum. And Richard my man sir and you loue me, He that stands by me, and shrunke not at all weathers, And then you haue me in my colours. Friars agreed: Rice welcome the Ruffines. Goe too, goe too, you Britaines all, And plaie the men both great and small, A wonderous matter hath be fall, That makes the Prophets crie and call, Tum da et di te de te dum, That you must marche both all and some, Against your foes with trumpe and Drum: I speake to you from God that you shall ouercome. What now, who haue we here? Tum date dite dote dum. What haue we a fellow dropt out of the element, Whats hee for a man? Knowest thou this Goscup? What? not Morgain Pigot, our good welsh prophet, O tis a holie Harper. A Prophet with a moraine, Good my Lord, lets heare a few of his lines I pray you. My lords, tis an od fellow I can tell you, As any is in all Wales: He can sing rime with reason, and rime without reason, And without reason or rime. The diuell hee can, Rime with reason, and rime without reason, And reason without rime: Then good Morgan Pigot, pluck out thy spigot, And draw vs a fresh pot, From the kinder kinde of thy knowledge. Knowledge my sonne, knowledge I warrantye, How saist thou Morgaine, art thou not a very prophet? Friar, friar, a Prophet verilie, For great Lluellens loue, Sent from aboue, to bring him victorie. Come then gentle prophet, lets see how thou canst salute thy prince, say, shall we haue good successe in our enterprize or no? VVhen the weathercock of Carmarthen steeple Shall ingender yong ones in the belferie, And a heard of Goates leaue their pasture, To be cloathed in siluer: Then shall Brute be borne a new, And VVaes record their auncient hew, Aske Friar Dauid if this be not true. This my Lord a meanes by you, O he is a prophet, a prophet. Soft you now good Morgan Pigot, And take vs with yee a little I pray, VVhat meanes your wisdome by all this.