Anonymous · published 1600 · first performed or written 1600 [1599-1600] (Annals) pastoral; romance · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
Terlitelo, Terlitelo, terlitelee, terlo, So merrily this shepherds Boy His horn that he can blow, Early in a morning, late, late, in an evening, And ever sat this little Boy, So merrily piping. Can you blow the little horn? we'll, well, and very well. And can you blow the little horn, Amongst the leaves green? Fortune my foe, why dost thou frown on me? And will my fortune never better be: Wilt thou I say, for ever breed my pain? And wilt thou not restore my joys again? Cannot a man be merry in his own walk, But a must be thus encumbered? I am disposed to be melancholy, And I cannot be private, for one villain or other. How the devil stumbled this case of rope-ripes into my way? Sirrah, what art thou? and thou? I am Page to a Courtier. And I a Boy to a Shepherd. Thou art the Apple-squire to an Eawe, And thou sworn brother to a bale of false dice. What art thou? I am a Boy to a Ranger. An Outlaw by authority: one that never sets mark of his own goods, nor never knows how he comes by other men's. That never knows his cattle, but by their horns. Sirrah, so you might have said of your master's sheep. I marry: this takes fire like touch powder, And goes off with a huffe. They come of crick-cracks, and shake their tails like a squib. Ha you Rogues, the very steel of my wit, shall strike fire from the flint of your understandings: have you not heard of me? Yes, if you be that Ioculo that I take you for, we have heard of your exploits, for cozening of some seven, and thirty Alewives, in the Villages here about. A wit, as nimble as a sempster's needle, or a girls finger at her busk point. Your jest goes too low sir. O but 'tis a tickling jest. Who would have thought to have found this in a plain villain, that never wore better garment, than a green jerkin? O Sir, though you Courtiers have all the honour, You have not all the wit. Soft sir, 'tis not your wit can carry it away in this company. Sweet Rogues, your company to me, is like music to a wench at midnight: when she lies alone, and could wish, yea marry could she. And thou art as welcome to me, as a new poking stick to a Chamber maid. But soft, who comes here? By the Moon we sport and play, With the night begins our day: As we dance the dew doth fall, Trip it little urchins all: Lightly as the little be, Two by two, and three by three: And about go we, and about go we. What Mammets are these? O they be the Fairies that haunt these woods. O we shall be pinched most cruelly.
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)
Terlitelo, Terlitelo, terlitelee, terlo, So merrily this ſhepheards Boy His horne that he can blow, Early in a morning, late, late, in an euening, And euer ſat this little Boy, So merrily piping. Can you blow the little horne? Weell, weell, and very weell. And can you blow the little horne, Amongſt the leaues greene? Fortune my foe, why doeſt thou frowne on mee? And will my fortune neuer better bee: Wilt thou I ſay, for euer breed my paine? And wilt thou not reſtore my Ioyes againe? Cannot a man be merry in his owne walke, But a muſt be thus encombred? I am diſpoſed to be melancholly, And I cannot be priuate, for one villaine or other. How the diuel ſtumbled this caſe of rope-ripes into my way? Sirrha, what art thou? and thou? I am Page to a Courtier. And I a Boy to a Shepheard. Thou art the Apple-ſquier to an Eawe, And thou ſworne brother to a bale of falſe dice. What art thou? I am a Boy to a Raunger. An Out-lawe by authoritie: one that neuer ſets marke of his own goods, nor neuer knowes how he comes by other mens. That neuer knowes his cattell, but by their hornes. Sirrha, ſo you might haue ſaid of your maſters ſheep. I marry: this takes fier like touch powder, And goes off with a huffe. They come of crick-cracks, and ſhake their tayles like a ſquib. Ha you Rogues, the very ſteele of my wit, ſhall ſtrike fier from the flint of your vnderſtandings: haue you not heard of me? Yes, if you be that Ioculo that I take you for, we haue heard of your exployts, for coſoning of ſome ſeuen, and thirtie Alewiues, in the Villages here about. A wit, as nimble as a Sempſters needle, or a girles finger at her Buske poynt. Your ieſt goes too low ſir. O but tis a tickling ieſt. Who wold haue thought to haue found this in a plaine villaine, that neuer woare better garment, then a green Ierkin? O Sir, though you Courtiers haue all the honour, You haue not all the wit. Soft ſir, tis not your witte can carry it away in this company. Sweet Rogues, your companie to me, is like muſick to a wench at midnight: when ſhe lies alone, and could wiſh, yea marry could ſhe. And thou art as welcom to me, as a new poking ſtick to a Chamber mayd. But ſoft, who comes here? By the Moone we ſport and play, With the night begins our day: As we daunce the deaw doth fall, Trip it little vrchins all: Lightly as the little Bee, Two by two, and three by three: And about go we, and about go wee. What Mawmets are theſe? O they be the Fayries that haunt theſe woods. O we ſhall be pincht moſt cruelly.