1 The Two Angry Women of Abingdon · chunk 25 of 51
Porter, Henry · published 1599 · first performed or written 1598(?) (Annals) comedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Will ye not then sir Raph go home with me? No, but my men shall bear thee company. Sirs man her home, Will bid the Huntmen couple, And bid them well reward their hounds tonight. Lady farewell, Will haste ye with the Bow, I'll stay for thee here by the grove below. I will, but 'twill be dark I shall not see, How shall I see ye then? Why hollo to me, and I will answer thee. Enough, I will. Farewell. How willingly dost thou consent to go, To fetch thy master that same killing bow. Guilty of death I willing am in this, Because 'twas our ill haps today to miss, To hunt and not to kill is hunter's sorrow, Come Lady, we'll have venison ere tomorrow. Come Frank now are we hard by the house, But how now, sad? No, to study how to woe thy sister. How man, how to woe her? why no matter how, I am sure thou wilt not be ashamed to woe, Thy cheeks not subject to a childish blush, Thou hast a better warrant by thy wit, I know thy oratory can unfold, Quick invention, plausible discourse, And set such painted beauty on thy tongue, As it shall ravish every maiden sense, For Frank, thou art not like the russet youth I told thee of, that went to woe a wench, And being full stuffed up with fallow wit, And meadow matter, asked the pretty maid, How they sold corn last market day with them. Saying: indeed 'twas very dear wit them: And do ye hear, he had not need do so, For she will Francis thoroughly try your wit, Sirrah she'll bow the metal of your wits, And if they crack she will not hold ye currant, Nay she will weigh your wits as men may angels, And if I lack a grain, she will not chanke with ye, I cannot speak it but in passion, She is a wicked wench to make a jest, ay me how full of flouts and mocks she is? Some Aquavitae reason to recover, This sick discourser, soond not prithee Philip, Tush, tush, I do not think her as thou sayest, Perhaps she's opinions darling Philip: Wise in repute, the crows bird o my friend, Some judgements slave themselves to small desert, And wondernize the birth of common wit, When their wone strangeness do but make that strange, And their ill errors do but make that good, And why should men debase to make that good, Perhaps such admiration wins her wit. Well, I am glad to hear this bold prepare, For this encounter, forward hardy Frank, Yonder's the window, with the candle in't, Belike she's putting on her night attire, I told ye Frank 'twas late, well I will call her, Marry softly that my mother may not hear: Mall, sister Mall. How now, whose's there? 'tis I, 'tis I, who I? I quoth the dog, or what? A christ cross rowel?
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)
Will ye not then sir Raph go home with me? No, but my men shall beare thee company. Sirs man her home, Will bid the Huntmen couple, And bid them well reward their hounds to night. Ladie farewell, Will hast ye with the Bow, Ile stay for thee heere by the groue below. I will, but twill be darke I shall not see, How shal I see ye then? Why hollo to me, and I wil answer thee. Enough, I wil. Farewel. How willingly doost thou cosent to go, To fetch thy maister that same killing bow. Guiltie of death I willing am in this, Because twas our ill haps to day to misse, To hun and not to kill is hunters sorrow, Come Ladie, weel haue venson ere tomorrow. Come Franke now are we hard by the house, But how now, sad? No, to studie how to woe thy sister. How man, how to woe her? why no matter how, I am sure thou wit not be ashamed to woe, Thy cheekes not subiect to a childish blush, Thou hast a better warrant by thy wit, I know thy oratorie can vnfold, Quicke inuention, plausible discourse, And set such painted beautie on thy tongue, As it shall rauish euery maiden sence, For Franke, thou art not like the russet youth I tolde thee of, that went to woe a wench, And being full stuft vp with fallow wit, And meddow matter, askt the pretty maide, How they solde corne last market day with them. Saying: indeed twas very deare wit them: And do ye heare, he had not need doe so, For she will Francis throwly trie your wit, Sirra sheel bow the mettall of your wits, And if they cracke she will not hold ye currant, Nay she will way your wits as men may angels, And if I lacke a graine, she will not chanke with ye, I cannot speake it but in passion, She is a wicked wench to make a iest, Aye me how full of floutes and mockes she is? Some Aquavitae reason to recouer, This sicke disourser, soond not prethy Philip, Tush, tush, I do not thinke her as thou saiest, Perhaps shees opinions darling Phillip: Wise in repute, the crowes bird o my friend, Some iudgements slaue themselues to small desart, And wondernize the birth of common wit, When their wone straungenes do but make that strange, And their ill errors do but make that good, And why should men debase to make that good, Perhaps such admiration winnes her wit. Well, I am glad to heare this bold prepare, For this encounter, forward hardy Franke, Yonders the window, with the candle int, Belike shees putting on her night attire, I told ye F ranke twas late, well I will call her, Mary softly that my mother may not heare: Mall, sister Mall. How now, whose there? Tis I, Tis I, who I? I quoth the dogge, or what? A christ crosse rowel?