1 The Two Angry Women of Abingdon · chunk 24 of 51
Porter, Henry · published 1599 · first performed or written 1598(?) (Annals) comedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T26 Devils, hell and fiends · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
An angel mistress let me see, stand you on my left hand, and let the angel lie on my buckler on my right hand, for fear of losing, now here stand I to be tempted, they say, every man hath two spirits attending on him, either good or bad, now I say a man hath no other spirits but either his wealth or his wife, now which is the better of them, why that is as they are used, for use neither of them well, and they are both nought, but this is a miracle to me, that gold that is heavy hath the upper, and a woman that is light doth soonest fall, considering that light things aspire, and heavy things soonest go down, but leave these considerations to sir Iohn, they become a black coat better than a blue, well mistress I had no mind to day to quarrel, but a woman is made to be a man's seducer, you say quarrel. Coom. There speaks an angel, is it good? I. Then I cannot do amiss, the good angel goes with me. Come on my hearts, i'faith it is ill luck, To hunt all day and not kill any thing, What sayest thou Lady, art thou weary yet? I must not say so sir. Although thou art. And can you blame her to be forth so long, And see no better sport? Good faith 'twas very hard. No 'twas not ill. Because you know it is not good to kill. Yes venison Lady. No indeed nor them, Life is as dear in Dear as 'tis in men. But they are killed for sport. But that's bad play, When they are made to sport their lives away. 'tis fine to see the run. What out of breath? They run but ill that run themselves to death, They might make then less haste & keep their wind. Why then they see the hounds brings death behind. Then 'twere as good for them at first to stay, As to run long and run their lives away. ay but the stoutest of you all that's here, Would run from death, and nimbly scud for fear, Now by my troth I pity those poor elves. Well, they have made us but bad sport today. Yes 'twas my sport to see them scape away. I wish that I had been at one Bucks fall. Out thou wood-tyrant thou art worst of all. A woodman Lady, but no tyrant I. Yes tyrantlike thou lovest to see lives die. Lady no more, I do not like this luck, To hunt all day and yet not kill a Buck, Well, it is late, but yet I swear I will Stay here all night, but I a Buck will kill. All night, nay good sir Raph Smith do not so. Content ye Lady, Will, go fetch my bow, A berry of fair Roes I saw today, Down by the groves, and there i'll take my stand, And shoot at one, God send a lucky hand.
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)
An angell mistresse let me see, stand you on my left hand, and let the angell lye on my buckler on my right hand, for feare of losing, now heere stand I to be temped, they say, euery man hath two spirits attending on him, eyther good or bad, now I say a man hath no other spirits but eyther his wealth or his wife, now which is the better of them, why that is as they are vsed, for vse neither of them well, and they are both nought, but this is a miracle to me, that golde that is heauie hath the vpper, and a woman that is light dooth soonest fall, considering that light things aspire, and heauie things soonest go downe, but leae these considerations to sir Iohn, they become a blacke coate better then a blew, well mistresse I had no minde to daye to quarrell, but a woman is made to be a mans seducer, you say quarrell. Coom. There speakes an angell, is it good? I. Then I cannot doe amisse, the good angel goes with me. Come on my harts, I faith it is ill lucke, To hunt all day and not kill any thing, What sayest thou Lady, art thou weary yet? I must not say so sir. Although thou art. And can you blame her to be foorth so long, And see no better sport? Good faith twas very hard. No twas not ill. Because you know it is not good to kill. Yes venson Ladie. No indeed nor them, Life is as deere in Deare as tis in men. But they are kild for sport. But thats bad play, When they are made to sport their liues away. Tis fine to see the runne. What out of breath? They runne but ill that runne themselues to death, They might make then lesse hast & keep their winde. Why then they see the hounds brings death behinde. Then twere as good for them at first to stay, As to run long and run their liues away. I but the stoest of you all thats here, Would run from death, and nimbly scud for feare, Now by my troth I pittie those poore elfes. Well, they haue made vs but bad sport to day. Yes twas my sport to see them scape away. I wish that I had beene at one Bucks fall. Out thou wood-tyrant thou art worst of all. A woodman Ladie, but no tyrant I. Yes tyrant-like thou louest to see liues dye. Lady no more, I do not like this lucke, To hunt all day and yet not kill a Buck, Well, it is late, but yet I sweare I will Stay heere all night, but I a Buck will kill. All night, nay good sir Raph Smith do not so. Content ye Ladie, Will, go fetch my bow, A berrie of faire Roes I saw to day, Downe by the groues, and there ile take my stand, And shoote at one, God send a luckie hand.