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 · 527 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.
Why there is it: Come, sing me a bawdy Song, make me merry: I was as virtuously given, as a Gentleman need to be; virtuous enough, swore little, diced not above seven times a week, went to a Bawdy-house not above once in a quarter of an hour, paid Money that I borrowed, three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of compass. Why, you are so fat, Sir Iohn, that you must nedes be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass Sir Iohn. Do thou amend thy Face, and I'll amend thy Life: Thou art our Admiral, thou bearest the Lantern in the Poop, but 'tis in the Nose of thee; thou art the Knight of the burning Lamp. Why, Sir Iohn, my Face does you no harm. No, I'll be sworn: I make as good use of it, as many a man doth of a Deaths-Head, or a Memento Mori. I never see thy Face, but I think upon Hell fire, and Dives that lived in Purple; for there he is in his Robes burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy Face; my Oath should be, By this Fire: But thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the Light in thy Face, the Sun of utter Darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the Night, to catch my Horse, if I did not think that thou hadst been an Ignis fatnus, or a Ball of Wildfire, there's no Purchase in Money. O, thou art a perpetual Triumph, an everlasting Bone-fire-Light: thou hast saved me a thousand Marks in Links and Torches, walking with thee in the Night betwixt Tavern and Tavern: But the Sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me Lights as good cheap, as the dearest Chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that Salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years, Heaven reward me for it. I would my Face were in your Belly. So should I be sure to be heart-burned. How now, Dame Partlet the Hen, have you inquired yet who picked my Pocket? Why Sir Iohn, what do you think, Sir Iohn? do you think I keep thieves in my House? I have searched, I have enquired, so has my Husband, Man by Man, Boy by Boy, Servant by Servant: the tied of a hair was never lost in my house before. Ye lie Hostess: Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair; and I'll be sworn my Pocket was picked: go to, you are a Woman, go. Who I? I defy thee: I was never called so in mine own house before. Go to, I know you well enough. No, Sir Iohn, you do not know me, Sir Iohn: I know you, Sir Iohn: you own me Money, Sir Iohn, and now you pick a quarrel, to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of Shirts to your Back. Doulas, filthy Doulas: I have given them away to Baker's Wives, and they have made Boulters of them.
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)
Why there is it: Come, ſing me a bawdy Song, make me merry: I was as vertuouſly giuen, as a Gentleman need to be; vertuous enough, ſwore little, dic'd not aboue ſeuen times a weeke, went to a Bawdy-houſe not aboue once in a quarter of an houre, payd Money that I borrowed, three or foure times; liued well, and in good compaſſe: and now I liue out of all order, out of compaſſe. Why, you are ſo fat, Sir Iohn, that you muſt edes bee out of all compaſſe; out of all reaſonable compaſſe Sir Iohn. Doe thou amend thy Face, and Ile amend thy Life: Thou art our Admirall, thou beareſt the Lanterne in the Poope, but 'tis in the Noſe of thee; thou art the Knight of the burning Lampe. Why, Sir Iohn, my Face does you no harme. No, Ile be ſworne: I make as good vſe of it, as many a man doth of a Deaths-Head, or a Memento Mori. I neuer ſee thy Face, but I thinke vpon Hell fire, and Diues that liued in Purple; for there he is in his Robes burning, burning. If thou wert any way giuen to vertue, I would ſweare by thy Face; my Oath ſhould bee, By this Fire: But thou art altogether giuen ouer; and wert indeede, but for the Light in thy Face, the Sunne of vtter Darkeneſſe. When thou ra'ſt vp Gads-Hill in the Night, to catch my Horſe▪ if I did not thinke that thou hadſt beene an Ignis fatnus, or a Ball of Wild-fire, there's no Purchaſe in Money. O, thou art a perpetuall Triumph, an euerlaſting Bone-fire-Light: thou haſt ſaued me a thouſand Markes in Linkes and Torches▪ walking with thee in the Night betwixt Tauerne and Tauerne: But the Sack that thou haſt drunke me, would haue bought me Lights as good cheape, as the deareſt Chandlers in Europe. I haue maintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirtie yeeres, Heauen reward me for it. I would my Face were in your Belly. So ſhould I be ſure to be heart-burn'd. How now, Dame Partlet the Hen, haue you enquir'd yet who pick'd my Pocket? Why Sir Iohn, what doe you thinke, Sir Iohn? doe you thinke I keepe Theeues in my Houſe? I haue ſearch'd, I haue enquired, ſo haz my Husband, Man by Man, Boy by Boy, Seruant by Seruant: the tight of a hayre was neuer loſt in my houſe before. Ye lye Hoſteſſe: Bardolph was ſhau'd, and loſt many a hayre; and Ile be ſworne my Pocket was pick'd: goe to, you are a Woman, goe. Who I? I defie thee: I was neuer call'd ſo in mine owne houſe before. Goe to, I know you well enough. No, Sir Iohn, you doe not know me, Sir Iohn: I know you, Sir Iohn: you owe me Money, Sir Iohn, and now you picke a quarrell, to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of Shirts to your Backe. Doulas▪ filthy Doulas: I haue giuen them away to Bakers Wiues, and they haue made Boulters of them.