The Shoemaker's Holiday, or The Gentle Craft · chunk 37 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 · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T28: married, marriage, wedding, day, bride, father, wife, luce, love, husband.
I am, dread Sovereign. Then upon thy life, I charge thee, not to call this woman wife. I thank your grace. O my most gracious Lord! Nay Rose, never woo me, I tell you true, Although as yet I am a bachelor, Yet I believe I shall not marry you. Can you divide the body from the soul, Yet make the body live? Yea, so profound? I cannot Rose, but you I must divide: Fair maid, this bridegroom cannot be your bride. Are you pleased Lincoln? Oteley, are you pleased? Yes my Lord. Then must my heart be eased, For credit me, my conscience lives in pain, Till these whom I divorced be joined again: Lacy, give me thy hand, Rose, lend me thine. Be what you would be: kiss now: so, that's fine, At night (lovers) to bed: now let me see, Which of you all mislikes this harmony? will you then take from me my child perforce? Why tell me Oteley, shines not Lacy's name, As bright in the worlds eye, as the gay beams Of any citizen? Yea but my gracious Lord, I do mislike the match far more than he, Her blood is too too base. no more, Dost thou not know, that love respects no blood? Cares not for difference of birth, or state, The maid is young, well borne, fair, virtuous, A worthy bride for any gentleman: Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoop To bare necessity: and as I hear, Forgetting honours, and all courtly pleasures, To gain her love, became a shoemaker. As for the honour which he lost in France, Thus I redeem it: Lacie, kneel thee down, Arise sir Rowland Lacie: tell me now, Tell me in earnest Oteley, canst thou chide? Seeing thy Rose a lady and a bride. I am content with what your Grace hath done. And I my liege, since there's no remedy. Come on then, at shake hands, I'll have you friends, Where there is much love, all discord ends, What says my mad Lord Maior to all this love? O my liege, this honour you have done to my fine journeyman here, Rowland Lacie, and all these favours which you have shown to me this day in my poor house, will make Simon Eyre live longer by one dozen of warm summers more than he should. Nay, my mad Lord Maior (that shall be thy name) If any grace of mine can length thy life, One honour more I'll do thee, that new building, Which at thy cost in Cornhill is erected, Shall take a name from us, we'll have it called, The Leaden hall, because in digging it, You found the lead that covereth the same. I thank your Majesty. God bless your Grace. Lincoln, a word with you. How now my mad knaves? Peace, speak softly, yonder is the 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)
I am, dread Soueraigne. Then vpon thy life, I charge thée, not to call this woman wife. I thanke your grace. O my most gratious Lord! Nay Rose, neuer wooe me, I tel you true, Although as yet I am a batchellor, Yet I beléèue I shal not marry you. Can you diuide the body from the soule, Yet make the body liue? Yea, so profound? I cannot Rose, but you I must diuide: Faire maide, this bridegroome cannot be your bride. Are you pleasde Lincolne? Oteley, are you pleasde? Yes my Lord. Then must my heart be easde, For credit me, my conscience liues in paine, Til these whom I deuorcde be ioyned againe: Lacy, giue me thy hand, Rose, lend me thine. Be what you would be: kisse now: so, thats fine, At night (louers) to bed: now let me sée, Which of you all mislikes this harmony? Wil you then take from me my child perforce? Why tell me Oteley, shines not Lacies name, As bright in the worldes eye, as the gay beames Of any citizen? Yea but my gratious Lord, I do mislike the match farre more than he, Her bloud is too too base. no more, Dost thou not know, that loue respects no bloud? Cares not for difference of birth, or state, The maide is yong, wel borne, faire, vertuous, A worthy bride for any gentleman: Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoope To bare necessitie: and as I heare, Forgetting honors, and all courtly pleasures, To gaine her loue, became a shooemaker. As for the honor which he lost in France, Thus I redéeme it: Lacie, knéele thée downe, Arise sir Rowland Lacie: tell me now, Tell me in earnest Oteley, canst thou chide? Séeing thy Rose a ladie and a bryde. I am content with what your Grace hath done. And I my liege, since theres no remedie. Come on then, at shake hands, Ile haue you frends, Where there is much loue, all discord ends, What sayes my mad Lord Maior to all this loue? O my liege, this honour you haue done to my fine iourneyman here, Rowland Lacie, and all these fauours which you have showne to me this daye in my poore house, will make Simon Eyre liue longer by one dozen of warme summers more then he should. Nay, my mad Lord Maior (that shall be thy name) If any grace of mine can length thy life, One honour more Ile doe thee, that new building, Which at thy cost in Cornehill is erected, Shall take a name from vs, wéele haue it cald, The Leaden hall, because in digging it, You found the lead that couereth the same. I thanke your Maiestie. God blesse your Grace. Lincolne, a word with you. How now my mad knaues? Peace, speake softly, yonder is the king.