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 T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
Burnt? soldiers bind him. Tortures shall wring both hat and purse from you, Villain, i'll be revenged for that base scorn, Thy hellhound brother clapped upon my head. Aud so will Longauyle. Away with him. Drag him to yonder tower, there shackle him, And in a pair of Stocks, lock up his heels, And bid your wishing Cap deliver you. Give us the purse and Hat, we'll set thee free, Else rot to death and starve. Oh tyranny, you need not scorn the badge which you did bear: Beasts would you be, though horns you did not wear. Drag hence the cur: come noble Longavile, One's sure, and were the other fiend as fast, Their pride should cost their lives: their purse and Hat Shall be both ours, we'll share them equally. That will be some amends for arming me. Peace, Longavile, yonder the gallant comes. You're well encountered. Thanks, Lord Longavile. The king expects your presence at the court. And thither am I going. Pips fine, fine apples of Tamasco, ha, ha, ha. Wert thou that Irishman that cozened us? Pips fine, ha, ha, ha, no not I: not Shadow. Were not your Apples delicate and rare? The worst that ere you sold; Sirs, bind him fast. What, will you murder me? help, help, some help. Help, help, help. Follow that Dog, and stop his balling throat. Villains, what means this barbarous treachery? We mean to be revenged for our disgrace. And stop the golden current of thy waist. Murder, they murder me, O call for help. Thy voice is spent in vain, come, come, this purse, This wellspring of your prodigality. Are you appointed by the king to this? No, no, rise, spurn him up: know you who's this? My brother Ampedo? Alas, what fate Hath made thy virtues so infortunate? Thy riot and the wrong of these two Lords, Who (causeless) thus do starve me in this prison. Strive not you're best, villains, lift in his legs. Traitors to honour, what do you intend? That riot shall in wretchedness have end. Question thy brother with what cost he's fed, And so assure thou shalt be banqueted. In want, in misery, in woe and care, Poor Ampedo his fill hath surfeited: My want is famine, bolts my misery, My care and woe should be thy portion. Give me that portion, for I have a heart Shall spend it freely, and make bankrupt The proudest woe that ever wet man's eye. Care with a mischief? wherefore should I care? Have I rid side by side by mighty kings, Yet be thus bridled now? I'll tear these fetters. Murder, cry murder, Ampedo, aloud. To bear this scorn our Fortunes are too proud. O folly, thou hast power to make flesh glad, When the rich soul in wretchedness is clad. Peace, fool, am not I Fortune's minion? These bands are but one wrinkle of her frown, This is her Evening mask, her next morn's eye Shall overshine the Sun in majesty.
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)
Burnt? Souldiers bind him. Tortures shall wring both hat and purse from you, Uillaine, ile be reueng'd for that base scorne, Thy hell-hound brother clapt vpon my head. Aud so will Longauyle. Away with him. Drag him to yonder towre, there shackle him, And in a paire of Stockes, locke vp his héeles, And bid your wishing Cap deliuer you. Giue vs the purse and Hat, wéele set thée frée, Els rot to death and starue. Oh tyranny, you néed not scorne the badge which you did beare: Beasts would you be, though hornes you did not weare. Drag hence the cur: come noble Longauyle, One's sure, and were the other fiend as fast, Their pride should cost their liues: their purse and Hat Shall be both ours, wéele share them equally. That will be some amends for arming me. Peace, Longauyle, yonder the gallant comes. Y'are well encountred. Thankes, Lord Longauyle. The king expects your presence at the court. And thither am I going. Pips fine, fine apples of Tamasco, ha, ha, ha. Wert thou that Irishman that cozend vs? Pips fine, ha, ha, ha, no not I: not Shaddow. Were not your Apples delicate and rare? The worst that ere you sold; Sirs, bind him fast. What, wil you murder me? helpe, help, some helpe. Helpe, helpe, helpe. Follow that Dog, and stop his balling throate. Uillaines, what meanes this barbarous trechery? We meane to be reueng'd for our disgrace. And stop the golden current of thy wast. Murder, they murder me, O call for helpe. Thy voice is spent in vaine, come, come, this purse, This wel-spring of your prodigalitie. Are you appointed by the king to this? No, no, rise, spurne him vp: know you who's this? My brother Ampedo? Alas, what fate Hath made thy vertues so infortunate? Thy ryot and the wrong of these two Lords, Who (causelesse) thus do starue me in this prison. Striue not y'are best, villaines, lift in his legs. Traitors to honor, what doe you intend? That ryot shall in wretchednesse haue end. Question thy brother with what cost hées fed, And so assure thou shalt be banquetted. In want, in miserie, in woe and care, Poore Ampedo his fill hath surfeted: My want is famine, bolts my miserie, My care and woe should be thy portion. Giue me that portion, for I haue a heart Shall spend it fréely, and make bankrowt The proudest woe that euer wet mans eye. Care with a mischiefe? wherefore should I care? Haue I rid side by side by mightie kings, Yet be thus bridled now? Ile teare these fetters. Murder, crie murder, Ampedo, alowd. To beare this scorne our Fortunes are too proud. O folly, thou hast powre to make flesh glad, When the rich soule in wretchednesse is clad. Peace, foole, am not I Fortunes minion? These bands are but one wrincle of her frowne, This is her Euening maske, her next mornes eye Shall ouer-shine the Sunne in maiestie.