S., W. · published 1602 · first performed or written 1600 [c.1599-1602] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 523 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
Now gentlemen imagine, that young Cromwell, In Antwerp Ledger for the English merchants: And Banister to shun this Bagot's hate, Hearing that he hath got some of his debts, Is fled to Antwerp, with his wife and children, Which Bagot hearing is gone after them: And thither sends his bills of debt before, To be revenged on wretched Banister, What doth fall out, with patience sit and see, A just requital of false treachery. Thus far my reckoning doth go straight & even, But Cromwell this same plodding fits not thee: Thy mind is altogether set on travel, And not to live thus cloistered like a Nun, It is not this same trash that I regard, Experience is the jewel of my heart. I pray sir are you ready to dispatch me. Yes here's those sums of money you must carry, You go so far as Frankford do you not. I do sir. Well prithee make all the haste thou canst, For there be certain English gentlemen: Are bound for Venice, and may happily want, And if that you should linger by the way: But in hope that you'll make good speed, There's two Angels to buy you spurs and wands. I thank you sir this will ad wings indeed. Gold is of power would make an eagle's speed. What gentlewoman is this that grieves so much, It seems she doth address herself to me. God save you sir, pray is your name master Cromwell. My name is Thomas Cromwell gentlewoman. Know you not one Bagot sir, that's come to Antwerp. No trust me, I never saw the man, But here are bills of debt I have received, Against one Banister a Merchant fallen into decay. Into decay indeed, long of that wretch, I am the wife to woeful Banister: And by that bloody villain am pursued, From London here to Antwerp, My husband he is in the governors hands: And God of heaven knows how he'll deal with him, Now sir your heart is framed of milder temper, Be merciful to a distressed soul, And God no doubt will treble bless your gain. Good mistress Banister, what I can, I will, In any thing that lies within my power. O speak to Bagot that same wicked wretch, An angels voice may move a damned devil. Why is he come to Antwerp as you here? I heard he landed some two hours since. Well mistress Banister assure yourself. I'll speak to Bagot in your own behalf: And win him to all the pity that I can, Mean time, to comfort you in your distress, Receive these Angels to relieve your need, And be assured that what I can effect: To do you good, no way I will neglect. That mighty God that knows each mortal's heart, Keep you from trouble sorrow grief and smart. Thanks courteous woman, For thy hearty prayer: It grieves my soul to see her misery, But we that live under the work of fate, May hope the best, yet knows not to what state Our stars and destinies hath us assigned, Fickle is fortune and her face is blind.
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)
Now gentlemen imagine, that young Cromwell, In Antwarpe Ledger for the English Marchantes: And Banister to shunne this Bagots hate, Hearing that he hath got some of his debts, Is fled to Antwarpe, with his wife and children, Which Bagot hearing is gone after them: And thether sendes his billes of debt before, To be reuenged on wretched Banister, What doth fall out, with patience sit and see, A iust requitall of false trecherie. Thus farre my reckoning doth go straight & euen, But Cromwell this same ployding fits not thee: Thy minde is altogether set on trauell, And not to liue thus cloystered like a Nunne, It is not this same trash that I regard, Experience is the iewell of my hart. I praie sir are you readie to dispatch me. Yes heres those summes of monie you must carie, You goe so farre as Frankford do you not. I doe sir. Well prethie make all the hast thou canst, For there be certaine English gentlemen: Are bound for Venice, and may hapilie want, And if that you should linger by the way: But in hope that youle make good speed, Theres two Angels to buie you spurres and wandes. I thanke you sir this will ad winges indeede. Golde is of power would make an Eagles speed. What gentlewoman is this that greeues so much, It seemes she doth adresse her selfe to me. God saue you sir, praie is your name maister Cromwell. My name is Thomas Cromwell gentlewoman. Know you not one Bagot sir, thats come to Antwarpe. No trust me, I neuer saw the man, But here are billes of debt I haue receiued, Against one Banister a Marchant fallen into decaie. Into decaie indeede, long of that wretch, I am the wife to wofull Banister: And by that bloudie villaine am persu'de, From London here to Antwarpe, My husband he is in the gouernours handes: And God of heauen knowes how heele deale with him, Now sir your hart is framed of milder temper, Be mercifull to a distressed soule, And God no doubt will trebell blesse your gaine. Good mistris Banister, what I can, I will, In any thing that lies within my power. O speake to Bagot that same wicked wretch, An Angells voyce may mooue a damned diuell. Why is he come to Antwarpe as you here? I hard he landed some two houres since. Well mistris Banister assure your selfe. Ile speake to Bagot in your owne behalfe: And winne him to all the pittie that I can, Meane time, to comfort you in your distresse, Receiue these Angells to releeue your neede, And be assured that what I can effect: To doe you good, no way I will neglect. That mighty God that knowes each mortalles hart, Keepe you from trouble sorrow griefe and smart. Thankes courteous woman, For thy hartie praier: It greeues my soule to see her miserie, But we that liue vnder the worke of fate, Maie hope the best, yet knowes not to what state Our starres and destinies hath vs asignde, Fickle is fortune and her face is blinde.