Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [c.1590-1604] (Annals) comedy · Pembroke's Men T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds typicality 0.78 · 526 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
I'll pheeze you in faith. A pair of stocks you rogue. YE are a baggage, the Slies are no Rogues. Look in the Chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror: therefore Paucas pallabris, let the world slide: Sessa. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? No, not a denier: go by S. Ieronimie, go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the Head-borough. Third, or fourth, or fift Borough, I'll answer him by Law. I'll not budge an inch boy: Let him come, and kindly. Huntsman I charge thee, tender well my hounds, Brach Meriman, the poor Cur is embossed, And couple Clowder with the deepe-mouthed brach, Saw'st thou not boy how Silver made it good At the hedge corner, in the couldst fault, I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. Why Bellman is as good as he my Lord, He cried upon it at the merest loss, And twice to day picked out the dullest sent, Trust me, I take him for the better dog. Thou art a Fool, if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such: But sup them well, and look unto them all, To morrow I intent to hunt again. I will my Lord. What's here? One dead, or drunk? See doth he breath? He breath's my Lord. Were he not warmed with Ale, this were a bed but cold to sleep so sound. Oh monstrous beast, how like a swine he lies. Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image: Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. What think you, if he were conveyed to bed, Wrapped in sweet clothes: Rings put upon his fingers: A most delicious banquet by his bed, And brave attendants near him when he wakes, Would not the beggar then forget himself? Believe me Lord, I think he cannot choose. It would seem strange unto him when he waked Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the jest: Carry him gently to my fairest Chamber, And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters, And burn sweet Wood to make the Lodging sweet: Procure me Music ready when he wakes, To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound: And if he chance to speak, be ready strait (And with a low submissive reverence) Say, what is it your Honour will command: Let one attend him with a silver Bason Full of Rose-water, and bestrewed with Flowers, Another bear the Ewer: the third a Diaper, And say wilt please your Lordship coole your hands. Some one be ready with a costly suit. And ask him what apparel he will wear: Another tell him of his Hounds and Horse, And that his Lady mourns at his disease, Persuade him that he hath been Lunatic, And when he says he is, say that he dreams, For he is nothing but a mighty Lord: This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs, It will be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty.
nodes 0–58 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 1 of 41 in this edition
Length
526 words · 704 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T47 — Knaves, thieves and bawdscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.784 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T46 · seed 44: T41 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
ILe pheeze you in faith. A paire of ſtockes you rogue. Y' are a baggage, the Slies are no Rogues. Looke in the Chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror: therefore Paucas pallabris, let the world ſlide: Seſſa. You will not pay for the glaſſes you haue burſt? No, not a deniere: go by S. Ieronimie, goe to thy cold bed, and warme thee. I know my remedie, I muſt go fetch the Head-borough. Third, or fourth, or fift Borough, Ile anſwere him by Law. Ile not budge an inch boy: Let him come, and kindly. Huntman I charge thee, tender wel my hounds, Brach Meriman, the poore Curre is imboſt, And couple Clowder with the deepe-mouth'd brach, Saw'ſt thou not boy how Siluer made it good At the hedge corner, in the couldeſt fault, I would not looſe the dogge for twentie pound. Why Belman is as good as he my Lord, He cried vpon it at the meereſt loſſe, And twice to day pick'd out the dulleſt ſent, Truſt me, I take him for the better dogge. Thou art a Foole, if Eccho were as fleete, I would eſteeme him worth a dozen ſuch: But ſup them well, and looke vnto them all, To morrow I intend to hunt againe. I will my Lord. What's heere? One dead, or drunke? See doth he breath? He breath's my Lord. Were he not warm'd with Ale, this were a bed but cold to ſleep ſo ſoundly. Oh monſtrous beaſt, how like a ſwine he lyes. Grim death, how foule and loathſome is thine image: Sirs, I will practiſe on this drunken man. What thinke you, if he were conuey'd to bed, Wrap'd in ſweet cloathes: Rings put vpon his fingers: A moſt delicious banquet by his bed, And braue attendants neere him when he wakes, Would not the begger then forget himſelfe? Beleeue me Lord, I thinke he cannot chooſe. It would ſeem ſtrange vnto him when he wk'd Euen as a flatt'ring dreame, or worthles fance. Then take him vp, and manage well the ieſt: Carrie him gently to my faireſt Chamber, And hang it round with all my vvanton pictures: Balme his foule head in warme diſtilled waters, And burne ſweet Wood to make the Lodging ſweete: Procure me Muſicke readie when he vvakes, To make a dulcet and a heauenly ſound: And if he chance to ſpeake, be readie ſtraight (And with a lowe ſubmiſſiue reuerence) Say, what is it your Honor vvil command: Let one attend him vvith a ſiluer Baſon Full of Roſe-water, and beſtrew'd with Flowers, Another beare the Ewer: the third a Diaper, And ſay wilt pleaſe your Lordſhip oole your hands. Some one be readie with a coſtly ſuite. And aske him what apparrel he will weare: Another tell him of his Hounds and Horſe, And that his Ladie mournes at his diſeaſe, Perſwade him that he hath bin Lunaticke, And when he ſayes he is, ſay that he dreames, For he is nothing but a mightie Lord: This do, and do it kindly, gentle ſirs, It wil be paſtime paſſing excellent, If it be husbanded with modeſtie.