The Shoemaker's Holiday, or The Gentle Craft · chunk 29 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 T28 Marriage-making: weddings, brides and ma · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T28: married, marriage, wedding, day, bride, father, wife, luce, love, husband.
Yes, when I kiss your wife, ha, ha, here's no craft in the Gentle Craft, I came hither of purpose with shoes to sir Roger's worship, whilst Rose his daughter be coney-catched by Hauns: soft now, these two gulls will be at Saint faiths church tomorrow morning, to take master Bridegroom, and mistress Bride napping, and they in the mean time shall chop up the matter at the Savoy: but the best sport is, sir Roger Otly will find my fellow lame, Rafe's wife going to marry a gentleman, and then he'll stop her in steed of his daughter; oh brave, there will be fine tickling sport: soft now, what have I to do? oh I know now a mess of shoemakers meat at the wool sack in I vie lane, to cozen my gentleman of lame Rafe's wife, that's true, alack, alack girls, hold out tack, for now smocks for this tumbling shall go to wrack. This is the morning then, stay my bully my honest Hauns, is it not? This is the morning that must make us two happy, or miserable, therefore if you Away with these iffes and ands Hauns, and these et caeteraes, by mine honour Rowland Lacie none but the king shall wrong thee: come, fear nothing, am not I Sim Eyre? Is not Sim Eyre Lord mayor of London? fear nothing Rose, let them all say what they can, dainty come thou to me: laughest thou? Good my lord, stand her friend in what thing you may. Why my sweet lady Madgy, think you Simon Eyre can forget his fine dutch journeyman? No vah. Fie I scorn it, it shall never be cast in my teeth, that I was unthankful. Lady Madgy, thou hadst never covered thy Saracens head with this french flap, nor loaden thy bum with this farthingale, 'tis trash, trumpery, vanity, Simon Eyre had never walked in a red petticoat, nor wore a chain of gold, but for my fine Journeyman's portigues, and shall I leave him? No: Prince am I none, yet bear a princely mind. My Lord, 'tis time for us to part from hence. Lady Madgy, lady Madgy, take two or three of my piecrust eaters, my buff-jerkin varlets, that do walk in black gowns at Simon Eyre's heels, take them good lady Madgy, trip and go, my brown Queen of Periwigs, with my delicate Rose, and my jolly Rowland to the Savoy, see them linked, countenance the marriage, and when it is done, cling, cling together, you Bamborow Turtle Doves, I'll bear you out, come to Simon Eyre, come dwell with me Hauns, thou shalt eat minced pies, and marchpane. Rose, away cricket, trip and go, my Lady Madgy to the Savoy, Hauns, wed, and to bed, kiss and away, go, vanish. Farewell my lord. Make haste sweet love. she'd fain the deed were done. Come my sweet Rose, faster than Dear we'll run.
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)
Yes, when I kisse your wife, ha, ha, heres no craft in the Gentle Craft, I came hither of purpose with shooes to sir Rogers worship, whilst Rose his daughter be coniecatcht by Hauns: soft nowe, these two gulles will be at Saint Faithes church to morrow morning, to take master Bride-groome, and mistris Bride napping, and they in the meane time shal chop vp the matter at the Sauoy: but the best sport is, sir Roger Otly wil find my felow lame, Rafes wife going to marry a gentleman, and then heele stop her in stéede of his daughter; oh braue, there wil be fine tickling sport: t now, what haue I to doe? oh I know now a messe of shoomakers meate at the wooll sack in I vie lane, to cozen my gentleman of lame Rafes wife, thats true, alacke, alacke girles, holde out tacke, for nowe smockes for this tumbling shall goe to wracke. This is the morning then, stay my bully my honest Hauns, is it not? This is the morning that must make vs two happy, or miserable, therefore if you Away with these iffes and ands Hauns, and these et caeteraes, by mine honor Rowland Lacie none but the king shall wrong thée: come, feare nothing, am not I Sim Eyre? Is not Sim Eyre Lord mayor of London? feare nothing Rose, let them al say what they can, dainty come thou to me: laughest thou? Good my lord, stand her friend in what thing you may. Why my swéete lady Madgy, thincke you Simon Eyre can forget his fine dutch Iourneyman? No vah. Fie I scorne it, it shall neuer be cast in my teeth, that I was vnthankeful. Lady Madgy, thou hadst neuer couerd thy Saracens head with this french flappe, nor loaden thy bumme with this farthingale, tis trash, trumpery, vanity, Simon Eyre had neuer walkte in a redde petticoate, nor wore a chaine of golde, but for my fine Iourneymans portigues, and shall I leaue him? No: Prince am I none, yet beare a princely minde. My Lorde, tis time for vs to part from hence. Lady Madgy, lady Madgy, take two or thrée of my pie-crust eaters, my buffe-ierkin varlets, that doe walke in blacke gownes at Simon Eyres héeles, take them good lady Madgy, trippe and goe, my browne Quéene uf Perriwigs, with my delicate Rose, and my iolly Rowland to the Sauoy, see them linckte, countenaunce the marriage, and when it is done, cling, cling together, you amborow Turtle Doues, Ile beare you out, come to Simon Eyre, come dwell with me Hauns, thou shalt eate minede pies, and marchpane. Rose, away cricket, trippe and goe, my Lady Madgy to the Sauoy, Hauns, wed, and to bed, kisse and away, go, vanish. Farewel my lord. Make haste sweet loue. Shéede faine the deede were done. Come my swéete Rose, faster than Déere wéele runne.