Blurt, Master Constable, or The Spaniard's Night Walk · chunk 11 of 34
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 [1601-1602] (Annals) romance · Children of Paul's (second) T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti typicality 0.77 · 461 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Is to throw her down. Are you so cunning Sir? O Lord Sir; and have so perfect a Master. Well Sir, you know the Gentlewoman that dwells in the midst of Saint Marks street. Midst of S. Marks street Sir? A pox on you; the flea-bitten faced Lady. Oh Sir, the freckle check Madonna, I know her signor, as well— Not as I do, I hope Sir. No Sir I de be loath to have such inward acquaintance with her as you have. Well sir slip go presently to her, and from me deliver to her own white hands, Fontinell's picture. Indeed Sir she loves to have her chamber hung with the pictures of men. She does, le keep my sister's eyes and his painted face asunder; tell her beside, the Mask holds and this the night, & nine the hour; say we are all for her away. And she's for you all, were you an Army. Fie, fie, fie, fie, by the light oath of my Fan, the weather is exceeding tedious and faint: Trivia, Simperina, stir, stir, stir, one of you open the Casements, tother take a ventoy and gently cool my face: fie, I ha' such an exceeding high colour, I so sweat; Simperina, dost hear? prithee be more compendious: why Simperina! Here madam. Press down my ruff before; away, fie, how thou blowest upon me, thy breath (God's me) thy breath, fie, fie, fie, fie, it takes off all the painting and colour from my cheek: In good faith I care not if I go and be sick presently; heigh ho, my head so aches with carrying this Bodkin: in troth I'll try if I can be sick. nam good sweet Lady. You know a company of Gallants will be here at night be not out of temper sweet mistress. In good troth if I be not sick I must be melancholy then: this same gown never comes on but I am so melancholy, & so heart-burnt: 'tis a strange garment, I warrant Simperina the foolish tailor that made it, was troubled with the stitch, when he composed it. That's very likely madam, but it makes you have oh a most in-conie body. No, no no, no by Saint Mark the waste is not long enough, (for I love a long & tedious waste, beside, I have a most ungodly middle in it; and fie, fie, fie, fie, it makes me bend i'th' back: oh let me have some Music. That's not the fault in your gown madam, but of your bawdy. Fa la la fa la la, indeed the bending of the back is the fault of the body la, la, la, la; fa la la, fa la la, la la lah. O rich! O rare!
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)
Is to throw her downe. Are you so cunning Sir? O▪ Lord Sir; and haue so perfit a Master. Well Sir, you know the Gentlewoman that dwels in the midst of Saint Markes streete. Midst of S. Markes streete Sir? A pox on you; the flea-bitten fac'd Ladie. Oh Sir, the freckle checke Madona, I know her Signior, as well— Not as I doe, I hope Sir. No Sir I de be loath to haue such inward acquaintance with her as you haue. Well sir slip goe presently to her, and from me deliuer to her owne white hands, Fontinels picture. Indeed Sir she loues to haue her chamber hung with the pictures of men. She does, le keepe my sisters eyes and his painted face a sunder; tell her besides, the Maske holdes and this the night, & nine the houre; say we are all for her away. And shee's for you all, were you an Armie. Fe, fie, fie, fie, by the light oath of my Fanne, the weather is exceeding tedious and faint: Triuia, Simperina, stir, stir, stir, one of you open the Case-ments, t'other take a ventoy and gentlie coole my face: fye, I ha such an exceeding hye culler, I so sweat; Simperina, dost heare? prethee be more compendious: why Simperina! Heere Madame. Presse downe my ruffe before; away, fie, howe thou blowst vpon me, th breath (gods me) thy breath, fie, fie, fie, fie, it takes off all the painting and culler from my cheeke: In good faith I care not if I goe and be sicke presentlie; hey ho, my head so akes with carrying this Bodkin: in troth Ile try if I can bee sicke. Na good sweet Ladie. You know a companie of Gallantes will be heere at night be not out of temper sweet mistris. In good troth if I bee not sicke I must be melancholye then: this same gowne neuer comes on but I am so melancholie, & so hart-burnt: tis a strange garment, I warrant Simperina the foolish Taylor that made it, was troubled with the stitch, when he compos'd it. That's very likelie Madame, but it makes you haue oh a most in-conie bodie. No, no no, no by Saint Marke the waste is not long enough, (for I loue a long & tedious waste, besides, I haue a most vngodlie middle in it; and fie, fie, fie, fie, it makes mee bend i'th backe: oh let me haue some Musicke. That's not the fault in your gowne Madame, but of your baudie. Fa la la fa la la, indeede the bending of the backe is the fault of the bodie la, la, la, la; fa la la, fa la la, la la lah. O rich! O rare!