Greene, Robert · published 1630 · first performed or written 1589 [1586-1590] (Annals) comedy · Queen Elizabeth's Men unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 493 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.
Marg'ret, a farmer's daughter for a farmer's son, I warrant you the meanest of us both, Shall have a mate to lead us from the Church: But Thomas, what's the news? what in a dump? Give me your hand, we are near a pedlar's shop, Out with your purse, we must have fairings now. Faith Joan and shall, I'll bestow a fairing on you, and then we will to the Tavern, and snap off a pint of wine or two. Whence are you sir, of Suffolk? for your terms are finer than the common sort of men. Faith lovely girl, I am of Beccles by, Your neighbour not above six miles from hence, A farmer's son that never was so quaint, But that he could do courtesy to such Dames: But trust me Marg'ret I am sent in charge, From him that revelled in your father's house, And filled his Lodge with cheer and venison, 'tired in green, he sent you this rich purse: His token that he helped you run your cheese, And in the milkhouse chatted with yourself. To me? you forget yourself. Women are often weak in memory. Oh pardon sir, I call to mind the man, 'twere little manners to refuse his gift, And yet I hope he sends it not for love: For we have little leisure to debate of that. What, Marg'ret, blush not, maids must have their loves. Nay by the mass she looks pale as if she were angry. Sirrah are you of Beccles? I pray how doth goodman Cob? my father bought a horse of him, I'll tell you Marg'ret, a were good to be a Gentleman's jade, for of all things the foul hilding could not abide a dung-cart. How different is this Farmer from the rest, That erst as yet hath pleased my wandering sight His words are witty, quickened with a smile, His courtesy gentle, smelling of the Court, facile and debonair in all his deeds, Proportioned as was Paris, when in grey, He courted Oenon in the vale by Troy. Great Lords have come and pleaded for my love, Who but the keeper's Lass of Fressingfield? And yet methinks this farmer's jolly son, Passeth the proudest that hath pleased mine eye. But Peg disclose not that thou art in love, And show as yet no sign of love to him, Although thou well wouldst wish him for thy love: Keep that to thee till time doth serve thy turn, To show the grief wherein they heart doth burn. Come Joan and Thomas, shall we to the Fair, You Beccles man will not forsake us now. Not whilst I may have such quaint girls as you. Well if you chance to come by Fressingfield, Make but a step into the keeper's Lodge, And such poor fare as Woodmen can afford, Butter and cheese, cream, and fat venison, You shall have store, and welcome therewithal. Gramarcy's Peggie, look for me ere long.
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)
Margret, a Farmers daughter for a Farmers ſonne, I warrant you the meaneſt of vs both, Shall haue a mate to leade vs from the Church: But Thomas, whats the newes? what in a dumpe? Giue me your hand, we are neere a Pedlers ſhop, Out with your purſe, we muſt haue fairings now. Faith Ione and ſhall, Ile beſtow a fairing on you, and then we will to the Tauern, and ſnap off a pint of wine or two. Whence are you ſir, of Suffolke? for your tearmes are finer then the common ſort of men. Faith louely girle, I am of Beckles by, Your neighbour not aboue ſix miles from hence, A Famers ſonne that neuer was ſo quaint, But that he could doe courteſie to ſuch Dames: But truſt me Margret I am ſent in charge, From him that reueld in your fathers houſe, And fild his Lodge with cheere and veniſon, Tyred in greene, he ſent you this rich purſe: His token that he helpt you run your cheeſe, And in the milkehouſe chatted with your ſelfe. To me? you forget your ſelfe. Women are often weake in memory. Oh pardon ſir, I call to minde the man, Twere little manners to refuſe his gift, And yet I hope he ſends it not for loue: For we haue little leiſure to debate of that. What, Margret, bluſh not, maides muſt haue their loues. Nay by the maſſe ſhe lookes pale as if ſhe were angrie. Sirra are you of Beckles? I pray how doth goodman Cob? my father bought a horſe of him, Ile tell you Margret, a were good to be a Gentlemans iade, for of all things the foule hilding could not abide a dung-cart. How different is this Farmer from the reſt, That carſt as yet hath pleas'd my wandring ſight His words are witty, quickened with a ſmile, His courteſie gentle, ſmelling of the Court, Facill and debonaire in all his deeds, Proportion'd as was Paris, when in gray, He courted Aenon in the vale by Troy. Great Lords haue come and pleaded for my loue, Who but the Keepers Laſſe of Freſingfield? And yet me thinkes this Farmers ioylly ſonne, Paſſeth the proudeſt that hath pleas'd mine eye. But Peg diſcloſe not that thou art in loue, And ſhew as yet no ſigne of loue to him, Although thou well wouldſt wiſh him for thy loue: Keepe that to thee till time doth ſerue thy turne, To ſhew the griefe wherein they heart doth burne. Come Ione and Thomas, ſhall we to the Faire, You Beckles man will not forſake vs now. Not whilſt I may haue ſuch quaint girles as you. Well if you chance to come by Freſingfield, Make but a ſtept into the Keepers Lodge, And ſuch poore fare as Woodmen can affoord, Butter and cheeſe, creame, and fat venizon, You ſhall haue ſtore, and welcome therewithall. Gramarcies Peggie, looke for me ere long.