The Shoemaker's Holiday, or The Gentle Craft · chunk 9 of 38
Dekker, Thomas · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 [Jul 15, payment] (Annals) comedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men · before the Court unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Ik wéet niet wat yow seg ich vestaw you niet. Why thus man, Ich verste v niet quoth a. Yaw, yaw, yaw, ick can dat well doen. Yaw, yaw, he speaks yawing like a Jack daw, that gapes to be fed with cheese curds, O he'll give a villainous pull a Can of double Beer, but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drink first, because we are the eldest journeyman. What is thy name? Hans, Hans, Meulter. Give me thy hand, th' art welcome, Hodge entertain him, Fyrk bid him welcome, come Hans, run wife, bid your maids, your Crullibubs, make ready my fine men's breakfasts: to him Hodge. Hans, thouart welcome, use thyself friendly, for we are good fellows, if not thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger than a Giant. Yea and drunk with, wert thou Gargantua, my master keeps no cowards, I tell thee: he, boy, bring him an heel-block, here's a new journeyman. Oich wersto, you Ich moet een halue dozen Cans betaelen: here boy nempt dis skilling, tap eens fréelicke. Quick snipper-snapper, away Fyrk, scour thy throat, thou shalt wash it with Casulian liquor, come my last of the fives, give me a Can, have to thee Hans, here Hodge, here Fyrk, drink you mad Greeks, and work like true Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre the Shoemaker: here Hans, and thouart welcome. Lo dame you would have lost a good fellow that will teach us to laugh, this beer came hopping in well. Simon it is almost seven. Is't so dame clapper dudgeon, is't seven o'clock, and my men's breakfast not ready? trip and go yow soused cunger, away, come you mad Hyperboreans, follow me Hodge, follow me Hans, come after my fine Fyrk, to work, to work a while and then to breakfast. Soft, yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master have no more wit, but to call you afore me, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder journeyman. cozen, beat every brake, the game's not far, This may with winged feet he fled from death, Whilst the pursuing hounds scenting his steps: Find out his high way to destruction, Besides, the miller's boy told me even now, He saw him take sail, and he hallowed him, Affirming him so embossed, That long he could not hold. If it be so, 'tis best we trace these meadows by old Ford. How now boy, where's the dear? speak, sawst thou him? O, yea I saw him scape through a hedge, and then over a ditch, then at my Lord Majors pale, over he skipped me and in he went me, and holla the hunters cried, and there boy there boy, but there he is a mine honesty. Boy God a-mercy, cozen let's away, I hope we shall find better sport today. Why Sibyl wilt thou prove a forester?
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)
Ik wéet niet wat yow seg ich vestaw you niet. Why thus man, Ich verste v niet quoth a. Yaw, yaw, yaw, ick can dat wel doen. Yaw, yaw, he speakes yawing like a Iacke daw, that gapes to be fed with chéese curdes, O héele giue a villanous pul at a Can of double Béere, but Hodge and I haue the vantage, we must drinke first, because wee are the eldest iourneyman. What is thy name? Hans, Hans, Meulter. Giue me thy hand, th' art welcome, Hodge entertaine him, Fyrk bid him welcome, come Hans, runne wife, bid your maids, your Crullibubs, make readie my fine mens breakefasts: to him Hodge. Hans, th'art welcome, vse thy selfe friendly, for we are good fellowes, if not thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger then a Giant. Yea and drunke with, wert thou Gargantua, my maister keepes no cowards, I tel thee: hee, boy, bring him an heele-blocke, heers a new iourneyman. Oich wersto, you Ich moet een halue dossen Cans betaelen: here boy nempt dis skilling, tap eens fréelicke. Quicke snipper snapper, away Fyrk, scowre thy throate, thou shalt wash it with Casulian licour, come my last of the fiues, giue me a Can, haue to thée Hans, here Hodge, here Fyrk, drinke you mad Gréeks, and worke like true Troians, and pray for Simon Eyre the Shoomaker: here Hans, and th'art welcome. Lo dame you would haue lost a good fellow that wil teach vs to laugh, this béere came hopping in wel. Simon it is almost seuen. Is't so dame clapper dudgeon, is't seuen a clocke, and my mens breakefast not readie? trip and goe yow sowst cunger, away, come you madde Hiperboreans, follow me Hodge, follow me Hans, come after my fine Fyrk, to worke, to worke a while and then to breakfast. Soft, yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master haue no more wit, but to call you afore mee, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder iourneyman. Cosen, beate euery brake, the game's not far, This may with winged féete he fled from death, Whilst the pursuing hounds senting his steps: Find out his high way to destruction, Besides, the millers boy told me euen now, He saw him take saile, and he hallowed him, Affirming him so embost, That long he could not hold. If it be so, Tis best we trace these meddowes by old Ford. How now boy, wheres the déere? speak, sawst thou him? O, yea I saw him scape through a hedge, and then ouer a ditch, then at my Lord Maiors pale, ouer he skipt me and in he went me, and holla the hunters cride, and there boy there boy, but there he is a mine honestie. Boy God amerey, cosen lets away, I hope we shal find better sport to day. Why Sibill wilt thou proue a forrester?