1 The Two Angry Women of Abingdon · chunk 44 of 51
Porter, Henry · published 1599 · first performed or written 1598(?) (Annals) comedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
'sounds man, and if thou hadst been blind, The cunny-borow thou needst must find: I tell thee Francis had it been my case, And I had been a wooer in thy place, I would have laid my head unto the ground, And scented out my wench's way like a Hound: I would have crept upon my knees all night, And have made the flint stones Links to give me light, Nay man I would. Good Lord what you would do, Well we shall see one day how you can woe. Come, come, we see that we have all been crossed. Therefore let's go, and seek them we have lost. Am I alone? doth not my mother come? Her torch I see not, which I well might see, If any way she were coming toward me, Why then belike she's gone some other way, And may she go till I bid her turn, Far shall her way be then, and little fair, For she hath hindered me of my good turn, God send her wet and weary ere the turn, I had been at Oxenford, and tomorrow, Have been released from all my maiden's sorrow. And tasted joy, had not my mother been, God I beseech thee make it her worst sin, How many maids this night lies in their beds, And dream that they have lost their maidenheads, Such dreams, such slumbers I had to enjoy, If waking malice had not them destroyed, A starved man with double death doth die, To have the meat might save him in his eye, And may not have it so am I tormented, To starve for joy I see yet am prevented, Well Frank, although thou wooed'st and quickly won, Yet shall my love to thee be never done, I'll run through hedge and ditch, through brakes & briars To come to thee, sole Lord of my desires, Short wooing is the best, an hour, not years, For long debating love is full of fears, But hark, I hear one tread, o wert my brother, Or Frank, or any man, but not my mother. O when will this same year of night have end? Long looked for days sun, when wilt thou ascend? Let not this these friend misty vale of night, Encroach on day, and shadow thy fair light, Whilst thou com'st tardy from my Thetes bed, Blushing forth golden hair and glorious red, O stay not long bright lantern of the day, To light my mist way feet to my right way? It is a man, his big voice tells me so, Much am I not acquainted with it tho, And yet mine ear sounds true distinguisher, Boys that I have been more familiar, With it then now I am, well, I do judge, It is not envies felon not of grudge, Therefore I'll plead acquaintance, higher his guiding, And buy of him some place of close abiding, Till that my mother's malice be expired, And we may joy in that is long desired, whoses there?
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)
Sownes man, and if thou hadst bin blinde, The cunny-borow thou needst must finde: I tell thee Francis had it bin my case, And I had bin a woer in thy place, I would haue laide my head vnto the ground, And sented out my wenches way like a Hound: I would haue crept vpon my knees all night, And hue made the flint stones Linckes to giue me light, Nay man I would. Good Lord what you would doe, Well we shall see one day how you can woe. Come, come, we see that we haue all bin crost. Therefore lets go, and seeke them we haue lost. Am I alone? doth not my mother come? Her torch I see not, which I well might see, If any way she were comming toward me, VVhy then belike shees gone some other way, And may she go till I bid her turne, Farre shall her way be then, and little faire, For she hath hindered me of my good turne, God send her wet and wearie ere the turne, I had beene at Oxenford, and to morrow, Haue beene releast from all my maidens sorrow. And tasted ioy, had not my mother bin, God I beseech thee make it her worst sinne, How many maides this night lyes in their beds, And dreame that they haue lost their maidenheads, Such dreames, such slumbers I had to enioyde, If waking mallice had not them destroide, A starued man with double death doth dye, To haue the meate might saue him in his eye, And may not haue it so am I tormented, To starue for ioy I see yet am preuented, VVell Franke, although thou woedst and quickly wonne, Yet shall my loue to thee be neuer done, Ile run through hedge and ditch, through brakes & briers To come to thee, sole Lord of my desires, Short woing is the best, an houre, not yeares, For long debating loue is full of feares, But heake, I heare one tread, o wert my brother, Or Franke, or any man, but not my mother. O when will this same yeare of night haue end? Long lookt for daies sunne, when wilt thou ascend? Let not this theese friend misty vale of night, Incroach on day, and shadow thy faire light, Whilst thou com'st tardy from my Thetes bed, Blushing foorth golden haire and glorious red, O stay not log bright lanthorne of the day, To light my mist way feete to my right way? It is a man, his big voice tels me so, Much am I not acquainted with it tho, And yet mine eare sounds true distinguisher, Boyes that I haue been more familiar, With it then now I am, well, I doe iudge, It is not enuies fellon not of grudge, Therefore Ile plead acquaintance, hyer his guiding, And buy of him some place of close abiding, Till that my mothers mallice be expired, And we may ioy in that is long desired, whoses there?