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 · 514 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.
Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of Butter, pitiful hearted Titan that melted at the sweet Tale of the Sun? If thou didst, then behold that compound. You Rogue, here's Lime in this Sack too: there is nothing but Roguery to be found in Villainous man; yet a Coward is worse than a Cup of Sack with lime. A villainous Coward, go thy ways old Iacke, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten Herring: there lines not three good men unhanged in England, & one of them is fat, and grows old, God help the while, a bad world I say. I would I were a Weaver, I could sing all manner of songs. A plague of all Cowards, I say still. How now Woolsacke, what mutter you? A King's Son? If I do not beat thee out of thy Kingdom with a dagger of Lath, and drive all thy Subjects afore thee like a flock of Wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales? Why you whoreson round man? what's the matter? Are you not a Coward? Answer me to that, and Poines there? Ye fatch paunch, and ye call me Coward, I'll stab thee. I call thee Coward? I'll see thee damned ere I call the Coward: but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are strait enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: Call you that backing of your friends? a plague upon such backing: give me them that will face me. Give me a Cup of Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunk to day. O Villain, thy Lips are scarce wiped, since thou drunkest last. All's one for that. A plague of all Cowards still, say I. What's the matter? What's the matter? here be four of us, have ta'en a thousand pound this Morning. Where is it, Iack? where is it? Where is it? taken from us, it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. What, a hundred, man? I am a Rogue, if I were not at half Sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the Doublet, four through the Hose, my Buckler cut through and through, my Sword hacked like a Handsaw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all Cowards: let them speak; if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness. Speak sirs, how was it? We four set upon some dozen. Sixteen, at least, my Lord. And bond them. No, no, they were not bound. You Rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Iew else, an Hebrew Iew. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
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)
Didſt thou neuer ſee Titan kiſſe a diſh of Butter, pittifull hearted Titan that melted at the ſweete Tale of the Sunne? If thou didſt, then behold that compound. You Rogue, heere's Lime in this Sacke too: there is nothing but Roguery to be found in Villanous man; yet a Coward is worſe then a Cup of Sack with lime. A villanous Coward, go thy wayes old Iacke, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot vpon the face of the earth, then am I a ſhotten Herring: there lines not three good men vnhang'd in England, & one of them is fat, and growes old, God helpe the while, a bad world I ſay. I would I were a Weauer, I could ſing all manner of ſongs. A plague of all Cowards, I ſay ſtill. How now Woolſacke, what mutter you? A Kings Sonne? If I do not beate thee out of thy Kingdome with a dagger of Lath, and driue all thy Subiects afore thee like a flocke of Wilde-geeſe, Ile neuer weare haire on my face more. You Prince of Wales? Why you horſon round man? what's the matter? Are you not a Coward? Anſwer me to that, and Poines there? Ye fatch paunch, and yee call mee Coward, Ile ſtab thee. I call thee Coward? Ile ſee thee damn'd ere I call the Coward: but I would giue a thouſand pound I could run as faſt as thou canſt. You are ſtraight enough in the ſhoulders, you care not who ſees your backe: Call you that backing of your friends? a plague vpon ſuch backing: giue me them that will face me. Giue me a Cup of Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunke to day. O Villaine, thy Lippes are ſcarce wip'd, ſince thou drunk'ſt laſt. All's one for that. A plague of all Cowards ſtill, ſay I. What's the matter? What's the matter? here be foure of vs, haue ta'ne a thouſand pound this Morning. Where is it, Iack? where is it? Where is it? taken from vs, it is: a hundred vpon poore foure of vs. What, a hundred, man? I am a Rogue, if I were not at halfe Sword with a dozen of them two houres together. I haue ſcaped by miracle. I am eight times thruſt through the Doublet, foure through the Hoſe, my Buckler cut through and through, my Sword hackt like a Hand-ſaw, ecce ſignum. I neuer dealt better ſince I was a man: all would not doe. A plague of all Cowards: let them ſpeake; if they ſpeake more or leſſe then truth, they are villaines, and the ſonnes of darkneſſe. Speake ſirs, how was it? We foure ſet vpon ſome dozen. Sixteene, at leaſt, my Lord. And bound them. No, no, they were not bound. You Rogue, they were bound, euery man of them, or I am a Iew elſe, an Ebrew Iew. As we were ſharing, ſome ſixe or ſeuen freſh men ſet vpon vs. And vnbound the reſt, and then come in the other.