Dekker, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [Nov 9-30, payment] (Annals) romance · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men · before the Court unassigned nearest T37 Riches, poverty and covetousness · 524 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T37: wealth, riches, money, god, rich, poverty, men, learning, poor, ic.
ay, master, and we are both forsworn, as all such wooden knights be, for we both took an oath (mary it was not corporal) you may see by our cheeks, that we would not fast twenty four hours to amend, and we have tasted no meat since the clock told two dozen. That lacks not much of twenty four, but I wonder when that half faced Moon of thine will be at the full. The next quarter, not this, when the sign is in Taurus. Ho that's to say, when thou eatest bull beef. But Shadow, what day is today? Fasting day. What day was yesterday? Fasting day too. Will tomorrow be so too? ay, and next day too That will be rare, you slave: For a lean diet makes a fat wit. I had rather be a fool & wear a fat pair of cheeks. Now am I prouder of this poverty, which I know is mine own, than a waiting gentlewoman is, of a frizzled groatsworth of hair, that never grew on her head: Sirrah Shadow, now we can all three swear like puritans at one bare word: this want makes us like good bowlers, we are able to rub out and shift in every place. That's not so, we have shifted ourselves in no place this three months: marry, we rub out in every corner, but here follows no amendment either of life or of livery. Why, brother Ampedo, art thou not yet tired with riding post? Come, come, light from this loggerheaded jade, and walk a foot, and talk with your poor friends. Nay by my troth he is like me; if his belly be empty, his heart is full. The famine of Gold gnaws his covetous stomach, more than the want of good victuals: Thou hast looked very devilishly ever since the good Angel left thee: come, come, leave this broad brim fashions, because the world frowns upon thee, wilt not thou smile upon us? Did but the bitterness of mine own fortunes Infect my taste, I could paint over my cheeks With ruddy-coloured smiles: 'tis not the want Of costly diet or desire of gold, Enforce this rupture in my wounded breast. Oh no, our Father (if he live) doth lie. Under the Iron foot of misery, And (as a Dove gripped in a falcons claw) There pant'th for life being most assured of death. Brother, for him my soul thus languisheth. 'tis not for my old Master that I languish. I am not enamoured of this painted Idol, This strumpet world; for her most beauteous looks Are poisoned baits, hung upon golden hooks, When fools do swim in wealth, her Cynthian beams Will wanton dance on the silver streams: But when this squint-eyed age sees virtue poor, And by a little spark sits shivering, Begging at all, relieved at no man's door, She miles on her (as the Sun shines on fire) To kill that little heat, and with her frown Is proud, that she can tread poor virtue down: Therefore her wrinkled brow makes not mine sour, Her gifts are toys, and I deride her power.
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)
I, master, and wee are both forsworne, as all such woodden knights be, for we both tooke an oath (mary it was not corporall) you may sée by our chéekes, that we would not fast twentie fowre houres to amend, and we haue tasted no meate since the clocke told two dozen. That lackes not much of twentie fowre, but I wonder when that halfe faced Moone of thine wil be at the ful. The next quarter, not this, whē the signe is in Taurus. Ho thats to say, when thou eat'st bull beefe. But Shadow, what day is to day? Fasting day. What day was yester-day? Fasting day too. Will tomorrow be so too? I, and next day too That will be rare, you slaue: For a leane dyet makes a fat wit. I had rather be a foole & weare a fat paire of chéekes. Now am I prowder of this pouertie, which I know is mine owne, then a wayting gentlewoman is, of a frizled groatesworth of haire, that neuer grewe on her head: Sirrha Shadow, now we can all thrée sweare like puritans at one bare word: this want makes vs like good bowlers, we are able to rub out and shift in euery place. Thats not so, we haue shifted our selues in no place this thrée moneths: marrie, we rub out in euery corner, but here followes no amendement either of life or of liuerie. Why, brother Ampedo, art thou not yet tir'd with riding post? Come, come, light from this logger-headed Iade, and walke a foote, and talke with your poore friends. Nay by my troth he is like me; if his belly be emptie, his heart is full. The famine of Gold gnawes his couetous stomacke, more then the want of good victuals: Thou hast lookt very deuilishly euer since the good Angel left thée: come, come, leaue this broad brim fashions, because the world frownes vpon thée, wilt not thou smile vpon vs? Did but the bitternes of mine owne fortunes Infect my taste, I could paint ore my chéekes With ruddy-coloured smiles: tis not the want Of costly dyet or desire of gold, Inforce this rupture in my wounded brest. Oh no, our Father (if he liue) doth lie. Under the Iron foote of miserie, And (as a Doue gript in a Faulcons claw) There pant'th for life being most assur'd of death. Brother, for him my soule thus languisheth. Tis not for my old Master that I languish. I am not enamoured of this painted Idoll, This strumpet world; for her most beautious lookes Are poysned baits, hung vpon golden hookes, When fooles doe swim in wealth, her Cynthian beames Will wantonly daunce on the siluer streames: But when this squinteide age sées vertue poore, And by a litle sparke sits shiuering, Begging at all, relieu'd at no mans doore, She miles on her (as the Sunne shines on fire) To kill that little heate, and with her frowne Is proud, that she can treade poore vertue downe: Therefore her wrinckled brow makes not mine sowre, Her gifts are toyes, and I deride her power.