1 The Two Angry Women of Abingdon · chunk 46 of 51
Porter, Henry · published 1599 · first performed or written 1598(?) (Annals) comedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 529 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
Alas good heart, I pity thy hard hap, And I'll employ all that I may for thee, Frank Goursey wench, I do commend thy choice, Now I remember I met one Francis As I did seek my man, then that was he, And Philip too, belike like that was thy brother, why now I find how I did lose myself, And wander up & down, mistaking so, Give me thy hand Mall, I will never leave. Till I have made your mother's friends again, And purchased to ye both your hearts delight, And for this same one bad, many a good night, 'twill not be long ere that Aurora will. Decked in the glory of a golden sun, Open the crystal windows of the East, To make the earth enamoured of thy face, When we shall have clear light to see our way, Come, night being done, expect a happy day. O what a race this peevish girl hath led me? How fast I ran and now how weary I am, I am so out of breath I scarce can speak. What shall I do? and cannot overtake her, It is late and dark, and I am far from home. May there not thieves lie watching here about, Intending mischief unto them they meet, There may, and I am much afraid of them, Being alone without all company, I do repent me of my coming forth, And yet I do not, they had else been married, And that I would not for ten times more labour. But what a winter of cold fear I stole, freezing my heart lest danger should betide me, What shall I do to purchase company? I hear some hollow here about the fields, Then here I'll set my Torch upon this hill, Whose light shall Beacon-like conduct them to it, They that have lost their way seeing a light, Will come to it, well, here i'll lie unseen, For it may be seen far off in the night, And look who comes, and choose my company, Perhaps my daughter may first come to it. Where am I now? nay where was I ever now, Nor now, nor then, nor where I shall be, know I, I think I am going home I may as well Be going from home, 'tis so very dark, I cannot see how to direct a step, I lost my pursuing of my son, My son escaped me too, now all alone, I am enforced to wander up and down, Barnes' wife's abroad pray God that she: May have as good a dance, nay ten times worse, Oh but I fear she hath not, she hath light To see her way, O that some bridge would break That she might fall into some deep digged ditch, And either break her bones or drown herself, I would these mischiefs I could wish to her, Might light on her, but soft I see a light, I will go near, 'tis comfortable, After this nights sad spirits dulling darkness, How now? What is it set to keep itself? A plague on't, is she there? O how it cheers & quickens up my thoughts,
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)
Alas good heart, I pitty thy hard hap, And Ile employ all that I may for thee, Franke Goursey wench, I doe commend thy choyse, Now I remember I met one Francis As I did seeke my man, then that was he, And Philip too, like that was thy brother, why now I find how I did loose my self, And wander vp & down, mistaking so, Giue me thy hand Mall, I will neuer leaue. Till I haue made your mothers friends againe, And purchast to ye both your hearts delight, And for this same one bad, many a good night, Twill not be long ere that Aurora will. Deckt in the glory o a goldon sunne, Open the christall windowes of the East, To make the earth enamourde of thy face, When we shall haue cleare light to see our way, Come, night being done, expect a happy day. O what a race this peeuish girle hath led me? How fast I ran and now how weary I am, I am so out of breath I scarce can speake. What shall I doe? and cannot ouertake her, It is late and darke, and I am far from home. May there not theeues lye watching heere about, Intending mischiefe vnto them they meete, There may, and I am much affrayde of them, Being alone without all company, I doe repent me of my comming foorth, And yet I do not, they had else been married, And that I would not for ten times more labour. But what a winter of colde feare I stole, Freecing my heart least danger should betide me, What shal I do to purchase company? I heare some hollow here about the fields, Then here Ile set my Torch vpon this hill, Whose light shall Beacon-like conduct them to it, They that haue lost theyr way seeing a light, Will come to it, well, here ile lye vnseene, For it may be seene farre off in the night, And looke who comes, and chuse my company, Perhaps my daughter may first come to it. Where am I now? nay where was I euer now, Nor now, nor then, nor where I shall be, know I, I thinke I am going home I may as well Be going from home, tis so very darke, I cannot see how to direct a step, I lost my pursuing of my sonne, My sonne escapt me too, now all alone, I am enforst to wander vp and downe, Barnses wife's abroad pray God that she: May haue as good a daunce, nay ten times worse, Oh but I feare she hath not, she hath light To see her way, O that some bridge would breake That she might fall into some deep digd ditch, And eyther breake her bones or drowne her selfe, I would these mischiefes I could wish to her, Might light on her, but soft I see a light, I will go neere, tis comfortable, After this nights sad spirits dulling darknes, How now? What is it set to keep it selfe? A plague ont, is she there? O how it cheares & quickens vp my thoughts,