Heywood, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [1592-1599] (Annals) history · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Well fellow for thy pains take that, Leave me alone, for I am much displeased. And get thee gone my friend, there's for thy pains, to Howard. So leave me to myself. Fare ye well Sir, I hope I have peppered ye. And so I think have I my Constable. Now Constable, this peace, this peace, What think ye of it man? Nay rather what thinks Burgundie? I think he that did contrive the same, Was little less than a dissembling villain. Dog bite thyself, come on, come on, Have not you played Iohn for the King, To save yourself Sir? ay, art thou good at that? Adieu Sir, I may chance to hit you pat. You may Sir, I perhaps may be before ye, And for this cunning through the nose to bore ye. So Sellinger, we then perceive by thee The Duke is passing angry at our league? ay, my dread Lord beyond comparison, Like a mad dog snatching at every one That passeth by: shall I but show you how, And act the manner of his tragic fury? No stay a while, methought I heard thee say, They meant to greet us by their messengers. They did my Lord. What and the Constable too? My Sovereign yes. But how took he the news? Faith even as discontented as might be, But being a more deep melancholist, And sullener of temper then the Duke, He chaws his malice, fumes & froths at mouth, Uttering but little more than what we gather By his disturbed looks and riveled front, Saving that now and then his boiling passion, Damned up as in a furnace, finding vent Breaks through his severed lips into short pusses, And then he mumbles forth a word or two, As doth a toothless Monk when he's at matins. Oh it was sport alone to note their carriage, Sport my Lord? will you but hear me speak, And if I do not weary you with laughter, near trust Tom Sellinger more upon his word. I pray thee peace, by this it should appear One of their messengers is come, go see, Upon my life we shall have some device, Of new dissimulation how now Tom? 'tis as your highness did suppose my Lord, Here is a messenger from Burgundie. Excellent good, admit him presently, And brother of France, let me entreat your grace To stand aside a little in my tent, lest finding us together, he refrain, To tell the message he is sent about, So sure I am persuaded we shall find Some notable piece of knavery set a foot. With all my heart, urge him speak loud enough, That I my Lord may understand him too. Fear not, I have the method in my mind: What it is you my Lord of Conte welcome. How doth the valiant Duke, in health I hope? In health (my Lord) of body, though in mind Somewhat distempered, that your Grace hath joined In league with his professed enemy.
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)
Well fellow for thy paines take that, Leaue me alone, for I am much displeasoe. And get thée gone my friend, theres for thy paines, to Howard. So leaue me to my selfe. Fare ye well Sir, I hope I haue pepperd ye. And so I thinke haue I my Constable. Now Constable, this peace, this peace, What thinke ye of it man? Nay rather what thinks Burgundie? I thinke he that did contriue the same, Was little lesse then a dissembling villaine. Dog bite thy selfe, come on, come on, Haue not you plaid Iohn for the King, To saue your selfe Sir? I, art thou good at that? Adiew Sir, I may chance to hit you pat. You may Sir, I perhaps may be before ye, And for this cunning through the nose to bore ye. So Sellinger, we then perceiue by thée The Duke is passing angrie at our league? I, my dread Lord beyond comparison, Like a mad dog snatching at euerie one That passeth by: shall I but shew you how, And act the manner of his tragicke furie? No stay a while, me thought I heard thée say, They meant to gréet vs by their messengers. They did my Lord. What and the Constable too? My Soueraigne yes. But how tke he the newes? Faith euen as discontented as might be, But being a more déepe melancholiste, And sullenner of temper then the Duke, He chawes his malice, fumes & frothes at mouth, Vttering but little more then what we gather By his disturbed lookes and riueld front, Sauing that now and then his boyling passion, Damnd vp as in a surnace, finding vent Breaks through his seuerd lips into short pusses, And then he mumbles forth a word or two, As doth a toothles Monke when hées at mattens. Oh it was sport alone to note their cariage, Sport my Lord? wil you but heare me speak, And if I do not wearie you with laughter, Nere trust Tom Sellinger more vpon his word. I pray thée peace, by this it should appeare One of their messengers is come, go see, Vpon my life we shall haue some deuise, Of new dissimulation how now Tom? Tis as your highnes did suppose my Lord, ere is a messenger from Burgundie. Excellent good, admit him presently, And brother of France, let me intreat your grace To stand aside a little in my tent, Least finding vs together, he refraine, To tell the message he is sent about, So sure I am perswaded we shall find Some notable péece of knauerie set a foote. With al my hart, vrge him speak loud enough, That I my Lord may vnderstand him too. Feare not, I haue the method in my mind: What it is you my Lord of Conte welcome. How doth the valiant Duke, in health I hope? In health (my Lord) of bodie, though in mind Somewhat distemperd, that your Grace hath ioind In league with his professed enemie.