Nashe, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1592 (Annals) comedy · Unknown T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns typicality 0.83 · 472 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Thou want'st no liquour, nor no flesh and blood. I pray thee may I ask without offence? How many tons of wine hast in thy paunch? methinks, that, built like a round church, Should yet have some of Iulius Caesar's wine: I warrant, 'twas not broached this hundred year. Hear'st, thou dow-belly, because thou talk'st, and talk'st, & dar'st not drink to me a black Iack, wilt thou give me leave, to broach this little kilderkin of my corpse, against thy back? I know thou art but a mitcher, & dar'st not stand me. A voni, mounsieur Winter, a frolic upsy freeze, cross, ho, super nagulum. Gramercy, Bacchus, as much as though I did. For this time thou must pardon me perforce. What, give me the disgrace? Go to, I say, I am no Pope, to pardon any man. Ran, ran, tarra, cold beer makes good blood. S. George for England: somewhat is better than nothing. Let me see, hast thou done me justice? why so: thou art a king, though there were no more kings in the cards but the knave. Summer, wilt thou have a demi culvering, that shall cry husty tusty, and make thy cup fly fine meal in the Element? No, keep thy drink, I pray thee, to thyself. This Pupillonian in the fools coat, shall have a cast of Martin's, & a whiff. To the health of Captain Rinocerotry: look to it, let him have weight and measure. What an ass is this? I cannot drink so much, though I should burst. Fool, do not refuse your moist sustenance; come, come, dog's head in the pot, do what you are borne to. If you will needs make me a drunkard against my will, so it is, i'll try what burden my belly is of. Crouch, crouch on your knees, fool, when you pledge god Bacchus. Ho, well shot, a toucher, a toucher: for quaffing Toy doth pass, in cup, in can, or glass. God Bacchus do him right, and dub him knight. Rise up Sir Robert Tospot. No more of this, I hate it to the death. No such deformer of the soul and sense, As is this swinish damned-born drunkenness. Bacchus, for thou abusest so earth's fruits, imprisoned live in cellars and in vaults, Let none commit their counsels unto thee: Thy wrath be fatal to thy dearest friends, Unarmed run upon thy foemen's swords, Never fear any plague, before it fall: Dropsies, and watery tympanies haunt thee, Thy lungs with surfeiting be putrefied, To cause thee have an odious stinking breath, Slaver and drivel like a child at mouth, be poor and beggarly in thy old age, Let thy own kinsmen laugh, when thou complain'st, And many tears gain nothing but blind scoffs. This is the guerdon due to drunkenness; Shame, sickness, misery, follow excess.
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)
Thou want'st no liquor, nor no flesh and bloud. I pray thee may I aske without offence? How many tunnes of wine hast in thy paunch? Me thinks, that, built like a round church, Should yet haue some of Iulius Caesars wine: I warrant, 'twas not broacht this hundred yere. Hear'st, thou dow-belly, because thou talkst, and talkst, & dar'st not drinke to me a black Iack, wilt thou giue me leaue, to broach this little kilderkin of my corps, against thy backe? I know thou art but a mycher, & dar'st not stand me. A voni, moūsieur Winter, a frolick vpsy freese, crosse, ho, super nagulū. Grammercy, Bacchus, as much as though I did. For this time thou must pardon me perforce. What, giue me the disgrace? Goe to, I say, I am no Pope, to pardō any man. Ran, ran, tarra, cold beere makes good bloud. S. George for Englād: somewhat is better then nothing. Let me see, hast thou done me iustice? why so: thou art a king, though there were no more kings in the cards but the knaue. Summer, wilt thou haue a demy culuering, that shall cry husty tusty, and make thy cup flye fine meale in the Element? No, keepe thy drinke, I pray thee, to thy selfe. This Pupillonian in the fooles coate, shall haue a cast of martins, & a whiffe. To the health of Captaine Rinocerotry: looke to it, let him haue weight and measure. What an asse is this? I cannot drinke so much, though I should burst. Foole, doe not refuse your moyst sustenance; come, come, dogs head in the pot, doe what you are borne to. If you will needs make me a drunkard against my will, so it is, ile try what burthen my belly is of. Crouch, crouch on your knees, foole, when you pledge god Bacchus. Ho, wel shot, a tutcher, a tutcher: for quaffing Toy doth passe, in cup, in canne, or glasse. God Bacchus doe him right, and dubbe him knight. Rise vp Sir Robert Tospot. No more of this, I hate it to the death. No such deformer of the soule and sence, As is this swynish damn'd-borne drunkennes. Bacchus, for thou abusest so earths fruits, Impris'ned liue in cellars and in vawtes, Let none commit their counsels vnto thee: Thy wrath be fatall to thy dearest friends, Vnarmed runne vpon thy foemens swords, Neuer feare any plague, before it fall: Dropsies, and watry tympanies haunt thee, Thy lungs with surfeting be putrified, To cause thee haue an odious stinking breath, Slauer and driuell like a child at mouth, Bee poore and beggerly in thy old age, Let thy owne kinsmen laugh, when thou complaynst, And many teares gayne nothing but blind scoffes. This is the guerdon due to drunkennes; Shame, sicknes, misery, followe excesse.