The Shoemaker's Holiday, or The Gentle Craft · chunk 35 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 T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
The kings most excellent majesty is new come, he sends me for thy honour: one of his most worshipful Peers, bade me tell thou must be merry, and so forth: but let that pass. Is my Sovereign come? vanish my tall shoemakers, my nimble brethren, look to my guests the prentices: yet stay a little, how now Hans, how looks my little Rose? Let me request you to remember me, I know your honour easily may obtain, Free pardon of the king for me and Rose, And reconcile me to my uncles grace. Have done my good Hans, my honest journeyman, look cheerly, I'll fall upon both my knees till they be as hard as horn, but I'll get thy pardon. Good my Lord have a care what you speak to his grace. Away you I slington whitepot, hence you happerarse, you barley pudding full of maggots, you broiled carbonado, avaunt, avaunt, avoid Mephistopheles: shall Sim Eyre leave to speak of you Lady Madgy? vanish mother Miniver cap, vanish, go, trip and go, meddle with your partlets, and your pishery-pashery, your flewes and your whirligigs, go, rub, out of mine alley: Sim Eyre knows how to speak to a Pope, to Sultan Soliman, to Tamburlaine and he were here: and shall I melt? shall I droop before my Sovereign? no, come my Lady Madgy, follow me Hauns, about your business my frolic freebooters: Firk, frisk about, and about, and about, for the honour of mad Simon Eyre Lord Maior of London. hay for the honour of the shoemakers. Well Lacie though the fact was very foul, Of your revolting from our kingly love, And your own duty, yet we pardon you, Rise both, and mistress Lacie, thank my Lord Maior For your young bridegroom here. So my dear liege, Sim Eyre and my brethren the gentlemen shoemakers shall set your sweet majesties image, cheek by jowl by Saint Hugh, for this honour you have done poor Simon Eyre, I beseeth your grace pardon my rude behaviour, I am a handicrafts man, yet my heart is without craft, I would be sorry at my soul, that my boldness should offend my king. Nay, I pray thee good lord Maior, be even as merry as if thou wert among thy shoemakers, It does me good to see thee in this humour. sayst thou me so my sweet Dioclesian? then hump, Prince am I none, yet am I princely borne, by the Lord of Ludgate my Liege, I'll be as merry as a pie. Tell me in faith mad Eyre, how old thou art. My Liege a very boy, a stripling, a younker, you see not a white hair on my head, not a grey in this beard, every hair I assure thy majesty that sticks in this beard, Sim Eyre values at the king of Babylon's ransom, Tama cham's beard was a rubbing brush to't: yet I'll shave it off, and stuff tennis balls with it to please my bully king.
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)
The kings most excelent maiesty is new come, hée sends me for thy honor: one of his most worshipful Péeres, bade me tel thou must be mery, and so forth: but let that passe. Is my Soueraigne come? vanish my tall shoomakers, my nimble brethren, looke to my guests the prentises: yet stay a little, how now Hans, how lookes my little Rose? Let me request you to remember me, I know your honour easily may obtaine, Frée pardon of the king for me and Rose, And reconcile me to my vncles grace. Haue done my good Hans, my honest iorneyman, looke chéerely, Ile fall vpon both my knees till they be as hard as horne, but Ile get thy pardon. Good my Lord haue a care what you speake to his grace. Away you I slington whitepot, hence you happerarse, you barly pudding ful of magots, you broyld carbonado, auaunt, auaunt, auoide Mephostophilus: shall Sim Eyre leaue to speake of you Ladie Madgie? vanish mother Miniuer cap, vanish, goe, trip and goe, meddle with your partlets, and your pishery pasherie, your flewes and your whirligigs, go, rub, out of mine alley: Sim Eyre knowes how to speake to a Pope, to Sultan Soliman, to Tamburlaine and he were here: and shal I melt? shal I droope before my Soueraigne? no, come my Ladie Madgie, follow me Hauns, about your businesse my frolicke frée-booters: Firke, friske about, and about, and about, for the honour of mad Simon Eyre Lord Maior of London. Hey for the honour of the shoomakers. Well Lacie though the fact was verie foule, Of your renolting from our kingly loue, And your owne duetie, yet we pardon you, Rise both, and mistris Lacie, thanke my Lord Maior For your yong bridegroome here. So my déere liege, Sim Eyre and my brethren the gentlemen shoomakers shal set your swéete maiesties image, cheeke by iowle by Saint Hugh, for this honour you haue done poore Simon Eyre, I beséeth your grace pardon my rude behauiour, I am a handicrafts man, yet my heart is without craft, I would be sory at my soule, that my boldnesse should offend my king. Nay, I pray thée good lord Maior, be euen as mery as if thou wert among thy shoomakers, It does me good to see thee in this humour. Saist thou me so my swéete Dioclesian? then hump, Prince am I none, yet am I princely borne, by the Lord of Ludgate my Liege, Ile be as merrie as a pie. Tel me infaith mad Eyre, how old thou art. My Liege a verie boy, a stripling, a yonker, you sée not a white haire on my head, not a gray in this beard, euerie haire I assure thy maiestie that stickes in this beard, Sim Eyre values at the king of Babilons ransome, Tama Chams beard was a rubbing brush toot: yet Ile shaue it off, and stuffe tennis balls with it to please my bully king.