2 Henry the Sixth (The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster) · chunk 12 of 49
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1590 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 502 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Here comes the Townsmen, on Procession, To present your Highness with the man. Great is his comfort in this Earthly Vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. Stand by, my Masters; bring him near the King, His Highness' pleasure is to talk with him. Goodfellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind, and now restored? Born blind, and't please your Grace. I indeed was he. What Woman is this? His Wife, and't like your Worship. Hadst thou been his Mother, thou couldst have better told. Where wert thou borne? At Barwick in the North, and't like your Grace. Poor Soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee: Let never Day nor Night unhallowed pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. Tell me, goodfellow, Cam'st thou here by Chance, or of Devotion, To this holy Shrine? God knows of pure Devotion, Being called a hundred times, and oftener, In my sleep, by good Saint Albon: Who said; Simon, come; come offer at my Shrine, And I will help thee. Most true, forsooth: And many time and oft myself have heard a Voice, To call him so. What, art thou lame? I, God Almighty help me. How cam'st thou so? A fall off of a Tree. A Plum-tree, Master. How long hast thou been blind? O borne so, Master. What, and wouldst climb a Tree? But that in all my life, when I was a youth. Too true, and bought his climbing very dear. Mass, thou lov'dst Plums well, that wouldst venture so. Alas, good Master, my Wife desired some Damsons, and made me climb, with danger of my Life. A subtle Knave, but yet it shall not serve: Let me see thine Eyes; wink now, now open them, In my opinion, yet thou seest not well. Yes Master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban's. sayst thou me so: what Colour is this Cloak of? Red Master, Red as Blood. Why that's well said: What Colour is my Gown of? Black forsooth, Coal-black, as jet. Why then, thou knowst what Colour jet is of? And yet I think, jet did he never see. But Cloaks and Gowns, before this day, a many. Never before this day, in all his life. Tell me Sirrah, what's my Name? Alas Master, I know not. What's his Name? I know not. Nor his? No indeed, Master. What's thine own Name? Saunder Simpcoxe, and if it please you, Master. Then Saunder, sit there, The lying'st Knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been borne blind, Thou mightst as well have known all our Names, As thus to name the several Colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of Colours: But suddenly to nominate them all, It is impossible. My Lords, Saint Albone here hath done a Miracle: And would ye not think it, Cunning to be great, That could restore this Cripple to his Legs again. O Master, that you could?
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)
Here comes the Towneſ-men, on Proceſſion, To preſent your Highneſſe with the man. Great is his comfort in this Earthly Vale, Although by his ſight his ſinne be multiplyed. Stand by, my Maſters; bring him neere the King, His Highneſſe pleaſure is to talke with him. Good-fellow, tell vs here the circumſtance, That we for thee may glorifie the Lord. What, haſt thou beene long blinde, and now reſtor'd? Borne blinde, and't pleaſe your Grace. I indeede was he. What Woman is this? His Wife, and't like your Worſhip. Hadſt thou been his Mother, thou could'ſt haue better told. Where wert thou borne? At Barwick in the North, and't like your Grace. Poore Soule, Gods goodneſſe hath beene great to thee: Let neuer Day nor Night vnhallowed paſſe, But ſtill remember what the Lord hath done. Tell me, good-fellow, Cam'ſt thou here by Chance, or of Deuotion, To this holy Shrine? God knowes of pure Deuotion, Being call'd a hundred times, and oftner, In my ſleepe, by good Saint Albon: Who ſaid; Symon, come; come offer at my Shrine, And I will helpe thee. Moſt true, forſooth: And many time and oft my ſelfe haue heard a Voyce, To call him ſo. What, art thou lame? I, God Almightie helpe me. How cam'ſt thou ſo? A fall off of a Tree. A Plum-tree, Maſter. How long haſt thou beene blinde? O borne ſo, Maſter. What, and would'ſt climbe a Tree? But that in all my life, when I was a youth. Too true, and bought his climbing very deare. 'Maſſe, thou lou'dſt Plummes well, that would'ſt venture ſo. Alas, good Maſter, my Wife deſired ſome Damſons, and made me climbe, with danger of my Life. A ſubtill Knaue, but yet it ſhall not ſerue: Let me ſee thine Eyes; winck now, now open them, In my opinion, yet thou ſeeſt not well. Yes Maſter, cleare as day, I thanke God and Saint Albones. Say'ſt thou me ſo: what Colour is this Cloake of? Red Maſter, Red as Blood. Why that's well ſaid: What Colour is my Gowne of? Black forſooth, Coale-Black, as Iet. Why then, thou know'ſt what Colour Iet is of? And yet I thinke, Iet did he neuer ſee. But Cloakes and Gownes, before this day, a many. Neuer before this day, in all his life. Tell me Sirrha, what's my Name? Alas Maſter, I know not. What's his Name? I know not. Nor his? No indeede, Maſter. What's thine owne Name? Saunder Simpcoxe, and if it pleaſe you, Maſter. Then Saunder, ſit there, The lying'ſt Knaue in Chriſtendome. If thou hadſt beene borne blinde, Thou might'ſt as well haue knowne all our Names, As thus to name the ſeuerall Colours we doe weare. Sight may diſtinguiſh of Colours: But ſuddenly to nominate them all, It is impoſſible. My Lords, Saint Albone here hath done a Miracle: And would ye not thinke it, Cunning to be great, That could reſtore this Cripple to his Legges againe. O Maſter, that you could?