1 The Two Angry Women of Abingdon · chunk 45 of 51
Porter, Henry · published 1599 · first performed or written 1598(?) (Annals) comedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
Are ye a maid? no question this is she, My man doth miss, faith since she lights on me, I do not mean till day to let her go, For what she is my man's love I will know, Hark ye maid, if maid, are ye so light, That you can see to wander in the night. Hark ye true man, if true, I tell you no, I cannot see at all which way I go. Fair maid be't so, say had ye near a fall, Fair man not so, no I had none at all. Could you not stumble on one man I pray? No, no, such block till now came in my way. Am I that block sweet tripe, then fall and try. The grounds too hard, a featherbed, not I. Why how and you had met with such a stump? Why if he had been your height I meant to jump? Are ye so nimble? Nimble as a do. Backed in a pie. Of ye. Good meat ye know. Ye hunt sometimes. I do. What take ye? dear. You'll near strike rascal? Yes when ye art there. Will ye strike me. Yes, will ye strike again? No sir, it fits not maids to fight with men. I wonder wench, how I thy name might know. Why you may find it in the Christcross row. Be my Schoolmistress, teach me how to spell it. No faith, I care not greatly if I tell it, My name is Marie Barnes. How wench, Mall Barnes? The very same. Why this is strange. I pray sir what's your name? Why sir Raph Smith doth wonder wench at this Why what's the cause thou art abroad so late? What sir Raph Smith, nay then I will disclose, All the whole cause to him, in him repose, My hopes, my love, God him I hope did send, Our loves and both our mothers hates to end, Gentle sir Raph if you my blush might see, You then would say I am ashamed to be Found like a wandering stray by such a knight, So far from home at such a time of night, But my excuse is good, love first by fate Is crossed, controlled, and sundered by fell hate, Frank Goursey is my love, and he loves me, But both our mother's hate and disagree, Our fathers like the match, and wish it done, And so it had, had not our mothers come, To Oxford we concluded both to go, Going to meet, they came, we parted so, My mother followed me, but I ran fast, Thinking who went from hate had need make haste, Take me she cannot though she still pursue, But now sweet knight, I do repose on you. Be you my Orator and plead my right, And get me one good day for this bad night.
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)
Are ye a maide? no question this is she, My man doth misse, faith since she lights on me, I doe not meane till day to let her goe, For what she is my mans loue I will know, Harke ye mayde, if mayde, are ye so light, That you can see to wander in the night. Harke ye true man, if true, I tell you no, I cannot see at all which way I goe. Fayre mayde ist so, say had ye nere a fall, Fayre man not so, no I had none at all. Could you not stumble on one man I pray? No, no, such blocke till now came in my way. Am I that blocke sweet tripe, then fall and try. The grounds too hard, a feather-bed, not I. Why how and you had met with such a stumpe? Why if he had been your height I meant to iumpe? Are ye so nimble? Nimble as a Doe. Backt in a pye. Of ye. Good meate ye know. Ye hunt sometimes. I do. What take ye? Deare. You'l nere strike rascall? Yes when ye art there. Will ye strike me. Yes, will ye strike againe? No sir, it fits not maides to fight with men. I wonder wench, how I thy name might know. Why you may finde it in the Christcrosse row. Be my Schoolemistresse, teach me how to spell it. No faith, I care not greatly if I tell it, My name is Marie Banes. How wench, Mall Barnes? The verie same. Why this is strange. I pray sir whats oure name? Why sir Raph Smith doth wonder wench at this Why whats the cause thou art abroad so late? What sir Raph Smith, nay then I will disclose, All the hole cause to him, in him repose, My hopes, my loue, God him I hope did send, Our loues and both our mothers hates to end, Gentle sir Raph if you my blush might see, You then would say I am ashamed to be Found like a wandring stray by such a knight, So farre from home at such a time of night, But my excuse is good, loue first by fate Is crost, controuled, and sundered by fell hate, Franke Goursey is my loue, and he loues me, But both our mothers hate and disagree, Our fathers like the match, and wish it don, And so it had, had not our mothers come, To Oxford we concluded both to go, Going to mete, they came, we parted so, My mother followed me, but I ran fast, Thinking who went from hate had need make hast, Take me she cannot though she still persue, But now sweet knight, I do repose on you. Be you my Orator and plead my right, And get me one good day for this bad night.