A Looking Glass for London and England · chunk 14 of 39
Lodge, Thomas / Greene, Robert · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1588] (Annals) biblical play; moral · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
But how shall I go home to my wife, when I shall have nothing to say unto her, but no Cow. Alas sir my wives faults will fall upon me. Fear not, let's go, I'll quiet her shalt see. Fly judges fly, corruption in your Court, The judge of truth, hath made your judgement short. Look so to judge that at the latter day, Ye be not judged with those that wend astray. Who passerh judgement for his private gain, He well may judge, he is adjudged to pain. Farewell gentle Tapster, masters as good Ale as ever was tapped, look to your feet, for the Ale is strong, well farewell gentle Tapster. Why sirrah slave, by heavens maker, thinkest thou the wench love thee best because she laughed on thee, give me but such an other word, and I will throw the pot at thy head. Spill no drink, spill no drink, the Ale is good, I'll tell you what, Ale is Ale, & so I'll commend me to you with hearty commendations, farewell gentle Tapster. Why wherefore peasant scorn'st thou that the wench should love me, look but on her, & i'll thrust my dagger in thy bosom. Well sirrah well, thart as thart, and so i'll take thee Why what am I? Why what thou wilt, a slave. Then take that villain, and learn how thou use me another time. Oh I am slain. That's all one to me, I care not, now will I in to my wench and call for a fresh pot. Nay but hear ye, take me with ye, for the Ale is Ale, cut a fresh toast Tapster, fill me a pot here is money, I am no beggar, I'll follow thee as long as the Ale lasts: a pestilence on the blocks for me, for I might have had a fall, well if we shall have no Ale i'll sit me down, and so farewell gentle Tapster. What slaughtered wretch lies bleeding here his last? So near the royal palace of the King, Search out if any one be biding nigh, That can discourse the manner of his death, Seat thee fair Aluida, the fair of fairs, Let not the 〈◊〉 once offend thine eyes, Here's one sits here a sleep my Lord, Wake him and make inquiry of this thing. Sirrah you, hearest thou fellow? If you will fill a fresh pot here's a penny, or else farewell gentle Tapster. He is drunk my Lord. we'll sport with him that Aluida may laugh. Sirrah thou fellow, thou must come to the King. I will not do a stroke of work to day, for the Ale is good Ale, and you can ask but a penny for a pot, no more by the statute. Villain here's the King, thou must come to him. The King come to an Alehouse, Tapster, fill me three pots, where's the King, is this he? give me your hand sir, as good Ale as ever was tapped, you shall drink while your skin crack.
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)
But how shall I go home to my wife, when I shall haue nothing to say vnto her, but no Cow. Alasse sir my wiues faults will fall vpon me. Feare not, lets go, Ile quiet her shalt sée. Flie Iudges flie, corruption in your Court, The Iudge of truth, hath made your iudgement short. Looke so to iudge that at the latter day, Ye be not iudg'd with those that wend astray. Who passerh iudgement for his priuate gaine, He well may iudge, he is adiudg'd to paine. Farewell gentle Tapster, maisters as good Ale as euer was tapt, looke to your féete, for the Ale is strong, well farwell gentle Tapster. Why sirrha slaue, by heauens maker, thinkest thou the wench loue thée best because she laught on thée, giue me but such an other word, and I will throw the pot at thy head. Spill no drinke, spill no drinke, the Ale is good, Ile tel you what, Ale is Ale, & so Ile commend me to you with heartie commendations, farewell gentle Tapster. Why wherfore peasant scornst thou that the wench should loue me, looke but on her, & ile thrust my daggar in thy bosome. Well sirrha well, thart as thart, and so ile take thée Why what am I? Why what thou wilt, a slaue. Then take that villaine, and learne how thou vse me another time. Oh I am slaine. Thats all one to me, I care not, now wil I in to my wench and call for a fresh pot. Nay but heare ye, take me with ye, for the Ale is Ale, cut a fresh toast Tapster, fil me a pot here is mony, I am no beggar, Ile follow thée as long as the Ale lasts: a pestilence on the blocks for me, for I might haue had a fall, wel if we shal haue no Ale ile sit me downe, and so farwell gentle Tapster. What slaughtred wretch lies bléeding here his last? So neare the royall pallaice of the King, Search out if any one be biding nie, That can discourse the maner of his death, Seate thée faire Aluida, the faire of faires, Let not the once offend thine eyes, Heres one sits here a sléepe my Lord, Wake him and make enquiry of this thing. Sirrha you, hearest thou fellow? If you will fill a fresh pot heres a peny, or else farewell gentle Tapster. He is drunke my Lord. Wéele sport with him that Aluida may laugh. Sirrha thou fellow, thou must come to the King. I wil not do a stroke of worke to day, for the Ale is good Ale, and you can aske but a peny for a pot, no more by the statute. Uillaine heres the King, thou must come to him. The King come to an Ale-house, Tapster, fil me thrée pots, wheres the King, is this he? giue me your hand sir, as good Ale as euer was tapt, you shall drinke while your skin cracke.