Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1596-1597] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 509 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
O Lord sir, I'll be sworn upon all the Books in England, I could find in my heart. Francis. Anon, anon sir. How old art thou, Francis? Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shallbe— Francis. Anon sir, pray you stay a little, my Lord. Nay but hark you Francis, for the Sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not? O Lord sir, I would it had been two. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: Ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. Francis. Anon, anon. Anon Francis? No Francis, but to morrow Francis: or Francis, on thursday: or indeed Francis when thou wilt. But Francis. My Lord. Wilt thou rob this Leathern jerkin, Crystal button, Not-pated, Agate ring, Puke stocking, Caddice garter, Smooth tongue, Spanish pouch. O Lord sir, who do you mean? Why then your brown Bastard is your only drink: for look you Francis, your white Canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary sir, it cannot come to so much. What sir? Francis. Away you Rogue, dost thou hear them call? here they both call him, the Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go. What, standest thou still, and hearest such a calling? Look to the Guests within. My Lord, old Sir Iohn with half a dozen more, are at the door: shall I let them in? Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. Poines. Anon, anon sir. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves, are at the door, shall we be merry? As merry as Crickets my Lad. But hark ye, What cunning match have you made with this jest of the Drawer? Come, what's the issue? I am now of all humours, that have showed themselves humours, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve a clock at midnight. What's a clock Francis? Anon, anon sir. That ever this Fellow should have fewer words then a Parrot, and yet the son of a Woman. His industry is vp-staires and down-staires, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percies mind, the Hotspurre of the North, he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a Breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife; Fie upon this quiet life, I want work. O my sweet Harry says she, how many hast thou killed to day? Give my Roan horse a drench (says he) and answers, some fourteen, an hour after: a trifle, a trifle. I prithee call in Falstaff, I'll play Percy, and that damned Brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. Rino, says the drunkard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow. Welcome Iacke, where hast thou been? A plague of all Cowards I say, and a Vengeance too, marry and Amen. Give me a cup of Sack Boy. Ere I lead this life long, I'll sow nether stocks, and mend them too. A plague of all cowards. Give me a Cup of Sack, Rogue. Is there no Virtue extant?
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)
O Lord ſir, Ile be ſworne vpon all the Books in England, I could finde in my heart. Francis. Anon, anon ſir. How old art thou, Francis? Let me ſee, about Michaelmas next I ſhalbe— Francis. Anon ſir, pray you ſtay a little, my Lord. Nay but harke you Francis, for the Sugar thou gaueſt me, 'twas a penyworth, was't not? O Lord ſir, I would it had bene two. I will giue thee for it a thouſand pound: Aske me when thou wilt, and thou ſhalt haue it. Francis. Anon, anon. Anon Francis? No Francis, but to morrow Francis: or Francis, on thurſday: or indeed Francis when thou wilt. But Francis. My Lord. Wilt thou rob this Leatherne Ierkin, Chriſtall button, Not-pated, Agat ring, Puke ſtocking, Caddice garter, Smooth tongue, Spaniſh pouch. O Lord ſir, who do you meane? Why then your browne Baſtard is your onely drinke: for looke you Francis, your white Canuas doublet will ſulley. In Barbary ſir, it cannot come to ſo much. What ſir? Francis. Away you Rogue, doſt thou heare them call? Heere they both call him, the Drawer ſtands amazed, not knowing which way to go. What, ſtand'ſt thou ſtill, and hear'ſt ſuch a calling? Looke to the Gueſts within. My Lord, olde Sir Iohn with halfe a dozen more, are at the doore: ſhall I let them in? Let them alone awhile, and then open the doore. Poines. Anon, anon ſir. Sirra, Falſtaffe and the reſt of the Theeues, are at the doore, ſhall we be merry? As merrie as Crickets my Lad. But harke yee, What cunning match haue you made with this ieſt of the Drawer? Come, what's the iſſue? I am now of all humors, that haue ſhewed themſelues humors, ſince the old dayes of goodman Adam, to the pupill age of this preſent twelue a clock at midnight. What's a clocke Francis? Anon, anon ſir. That euer this Fellow ſhould haue fewer words then a Parret, and yet the ſonne of a Woman. His induſtry is vp-ſtaires and down-ſtaires, his eloquence the parcell of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percies mind, the Hotſpurre of the North, he that killes me ſome ſixe or ſeauen dozen of Scots at a Breakfaſt, waſhes his hands, and ſaies to his wife; Fie vpon this quiet life, I want worke. O my ſweet Harry ſayes ſhe, how many haſt thou kill'd to day? Giue my Roane horſe a drench (ſayes hee) and anſweres, ſome fourteene, an houre after: a trifle, a trifle. I prethee call in Falſtaffe, Ile play Percy, and that damn'd Brawne ſhall play Dame Mortimer his wife. Rino, ſayes the drunkard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow. Welcome Iacke, where haſt thou beene? A plague of all Cowards I ſay, and a Vengeance too, marry and Amen. Giue me a cup of Sacke Boy. Ere I leade this life long, Ile ſowe nether ſtockes, and mend them too. A plague of all cowards. Giue me a Cup of Sacke, Rogue. Is there no Vertue extant?