Jack Drum's Entertainment (Katherine and Pasquil) · chunk 14 of 32
Marston, John · published 1601 · first performed or written 1600 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 484 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Your Drum will sound a call sir presently. And as I told you sir, my daughter Katherine Affected him right dearly: by my peace of soul, If he had lived, I could have heartily wished He had been my son in law, i'faith I could: But see the will of God. How now Drum, Where's my daughter? Sir, she is either invisible, or deaf, for I can neither see her, nor she hear me. body of me, my heart misgives me now, Look, call, search, run all about. My daughter gone? Go all and search her out. here's Pasquil ha? Is this the man that's dead? Let me entreat this favour, do not search Or be inquisitive why I feigned: Repute me worthy your better censure: and thus think My cause was urgent, the rest lie buried. Well, I would you had not feigned. Why would you have had me dead indeed? Oh no, but I have lost my child I fear, By your strange feigning, she no sooner heard The tidings of your death, but gone she was, And God knows whither. Ha what news now? 'tis easier to find wit in ballading, honesty in Brokers, Virginity in Shoreditch, than to hear of my Mistress. Broach me a fresh Butt of Canary Sack, Let's sing, drink, sleep, for that's the best relief: To drown all care, and overwhelm all grief. power Wine, sound Music, let our bloods not freeze, Drink Dutch like gallants, let's drink upsey freeze. Servant you'll go in too, and stay dinner? I in truth, for as the Itch is augmented By scratching, so is my love by seeing my mistress. How's this, how's this, My Katherin gone hence? Senses awake, and thou amazed soul Unwind thyself from out the Labyrinth Of gaping wonder, and astonishment. My Katherine departed? how? which way? Fool, fool, stand not debating, but pursue Haste to her comfort, for from thee doth spring (Wretch that thou art) her cause of sorrowing. Ha, ha, ha, tipsy, tipsy, tipsy, all turned whirligig, Iohn fo de king, Drum, and Timothy Twedle, are rare fine, ha for the heavens, i'faith: Drums lion drunk, and he dings the pots about, cracks the glasses, swaggers with his own shadow. Honest Timothy is maudlin drunk, and he weeps for kindness, and kisses the hilts of Jack Drums Dagger. Mounsieurs Goat drunk, and he shrugs, and scrubs, and he's it for a wench. Here they come reeling, I must pack, or we shall swagger, for they having a crack in their heads, and I a fault in my hands, we shall near agree. A Servingman quoth you? Heart, and if I serve any that's flesh and blood, would I might ne'er taste my liquore more: stand bare whilst he makes water, out upon't, I'll to Ireland, and there I'll Tan, ran, ty, ry, dan, Sa, sa, sa, sa: Nay 'tis the only life.
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)
Your Drum wil sound a call sir presently. And as I told you sir, my daughter Katherine Affected him right dearly: by my peace of soule, If he had liu'd, I could haue hartily wisht He had bene my sonne in lawe, I faith I could: But see the will of God. How now Drum, Where's my daughter? Sir, she is either inuisible, or deafe, for I can neither see her, nor she heare mee. Boddie of mee, my heart misgiues me now, Looke, call, search, run all about. My daughter gone? Go all and search her out. Heer's Pasquil ha? Is this the man thats dead? Let me intreat this fauour, do not search Or be inquisitiue why I fain'de: Repute me worthie your better censure: and thus think My cause was vrgent, the rest lie buried. Well, I would you had not fainde. Why would you haue had me dead indeed? Oh no, but I haue lost my child I feare, By your strange faining, she no sooner heard The tydings of your death, but gone she was, And God knowes whither. Ha what newes now? Tis easier to finde wit in ballating, honestie in Brokers, Virginitie in Shordich, then to heare of my Mistresse. Broach me a fresh Butt of Canary Sacke, Lets sing, drink, sleep, for thats the best reliefe: To drowne all care, and ouerwhelme all griefe. Powre Wine, sound Musick, let our bloods not freeze, Drinke Duch like gallants, lets drinke vpsey freeze. Seruant youle go in too, and stay dinner? I in truthe, for as the Itch is augmented By scratching, so is my loue by seeing my mistresse. How's this, how's this, My Katherin gone hence? Sences awake, and thou amazed soule Vnwinde thy selfe from out the Labyrinth Of gaping wonder, and astonishment. My Katherine departed? how? which way? Foole, foole, stand not debating, but pursue Haste to her comfort, for from thee doth spring (Wretch that thou art) her cause of sorrowing. Ha, ha, ha, tipsie, tipsie, tipsie, all turnd whirlegig, Iohn fo de king, Drum, and Timothy Twedle, are rare fine, ha for the heauens, Ifaith: Drums Lyon drunk, and he dings the pottes about, crackes the glasses, swaggers with his owne shadow. Honest Timothy is Mawdelin drunke, and he weepes for kindnesse, and kisses the hilts of Iacke Drums Dagger. Mounsieurs Goat drunke, and he shrugges, and skrubbes, and hees it for a wench. Heere they come reeling, I must packe, or we shall swagger, for they hauing a cracke in their heades, and I afault in my hands, we shall nere agree. A Seruingman quoth you? Hart, and if I serue any thats flesh and blood, would I might ne're taste my liquore more: stand bare whilest hee makes water, out vppont, Ile to Ireland, and there Ile Tan, ran, ty, ry, dan, Sa, sa, sa, sa: Nay tis the onely life.