George a Green, the Pinner of Wakefield · chunk 6 of 16
Greene, Robert · published 1599 · first performed or written 1590 [1587-1591] (Annals) romance · Sussex's Men unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Well, Iane, since thou disdainest King Iames love, I'll draw thee on with sharp and deep extremes: For by my father's soul, this brat of thine Shall perish here before thine eyes, Unless thou open the gate, and let me in. O deep extremes: my heart begins to break: My little Ned looks pale for fear. Cheer thee, my boy, I will do much for thee. But not so much, as to dishonour me. And if thou diest, I cannot live, sweet Ned. Then die with honour, mother, dying chaste. I am armed: My husband's love, his honour, and his fame, joins victory by virtue. Now, King Iames, if mother's tears cannot allay thine ire, Than butcher him, for I will never yield: The son shall die, before I wrong the father. Why then he dies. My Lord, Musgrove is at hand. Who, Musgrove? The devil he is. Come, My horse. Now, King Iames, thou art my prisoner. Not thine, but fortune's prisoner. Father, the field is ours: their colours we Have seized: And Humes is stain: I slew him hand to hand. God and Saint George. O father, I am sore athirst. Come in, young Cuddie, come and drink thy fill: Bring in King Iame with you as a guest: For all this broil was cause he could not enter. The sweet content of men that live in love, Breeds fretting humours in a restless mind, And fancy being checked by fortune's spite, Grows too impatient in her sweet desires: Sweet to those men whom love leads on to bliss, But sour to me, whose hap is still amiss. Marie amen, sir. Sir, what do you cry, Amen at? Why, did not you talk of love? how do you know that? Well, though I say it that should not say it, There are few fellows in our parish, So nettled with love, as I have been of late. Sirrah, I thought no less, when the other morning, You rose so early to go to your wenches. Sir, I had thought you had gone about my honest business. Trow you have hit it: for master, be it known To you, There is some good will betwixt Madge the Sousewife, And I, Marie she hath another lover. Canst thou brook any rivals in thy love? A rider? no, he is a sow-gelder, and goes a foot. But Madge pointed to meet me in your wheat close. Well, did she meet you there? Never make question of that: And first I saluted her with a green gown, And after fell as hard a-wooing, As if the Priest had been at our backs, to have married us. What, did she grant? Did she grant? Never make question of that: And she gave me a shirt collar, Wrought over with no counterfeit stuff. What, was it gold? Nay, 'twas better than gold. What was it? Right Couentrie blue, Who had no sooner come there, but wot you who came by. No, who? Clim the sow-gelder. Came he by?
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, Iane, since thou disdainst King Iames loue, Ile drawe thee on with sharpe and deepe extremes: For by my fathers soule, this brat of thine Shall perish here before thine eyes, Vnlesse thou open the gate, and let me in. O deepe extremes: my heart begins to breake: My little Ned lookes pale for feare. Cheare thee, my boy, I will doe much for thee. But not so much, as to dishonour me. And if thou dyest, I cannot liue, sweete Ned. Then dye with honour, mother, dying chaste. I am armed: My husbands loue, his honour, and his same, Ioynes victorie by vertue. Nowe, King Iames, if mothers teares cannot alay thine ire, Then butcher him, for I will neuer yeeld: The sonne shall dye, before I wrong the father. Why then he dyes. My Lord, Musgroue is at hand. Who, Musgroue? The deuill he is. Come, My horse. Nowe, King Iames, thou art my prisoner. Not thine, but fortunes prisoner. Father, the field is ours: their colours we Haue seyzed: And Humes is stayne: I slewe him hand to hand. God and Saint George. O father, I am sore athirst. Come in, young Cuddie, come and drinke thy fill: Bring in King Iame with you as a ghest: For all this broile was cause he could not enter. The sweete content of men that liue in loue, Breedes fretting humours in a restlesse minde, And fansie being checkt by fortunes spite, Growes too impatient in her sweete desires: Sweete to those men whome loue leades on to blisse, But sowre to me, whose happe is still amisse. Marie amen, sir. Sir, what doe you crye, Amen at? Why, did not you talke of loue? Howe doe you knowe that? Well, though I say it that should not say it, There are fewe fellowes in our parish, So netled with loue, as I haue bene of late. Sirra, I thought no lesse, when the other morning, You rose so earely to goe to your wenches. Sir, I had thought you had gone about my honest busines. Trow you haue hit it: for master, be it knowne To you, There is some good will betwixt Madge the Sousewife, And I, Marie she hath another louer. Canst thou brooke any riuals in thy loue? A rider? no, he is a sow-gelder, and goes a foote. But Madge pointed to meete me in your wheate close. Well, did she meete you there? Neuer make question of that: And first I saluted her with a greene gowne, And after fell as hard a wooing, As if the Priest had bin at our backs, to haue married vs. What, did she grant? Did she graunt? Neuer make question of that: And she gaue me a shirt coler, Wrought ouer with no counterfet stuffe. What, was it gold? Nay, twas better than gold. What was it? Right Couentrie blew, Who had no sooner come there, but wot you who came by. No, who? Clim the sow-gelder. Came he by?