How a Man May Choose a Good Wife from a Bad · chunk 7 of 43
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 [c.1601-1602] (Annals) comedy · Worcester's Men unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 475 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
Continue that opinion, and be sure To die a virgin chaste, a maiden pure. It was my chance once in my wanton days To Court a wench, hark and I'll tell thee how: I came unto my Love, and she looked coy, I spoke unto my Love, she turned aside, I touched my Love, and 'gan with her to toy, But she sat mute for anger, or for pride: I strived and kissed my Love, she cried away: Thou wouldst have left her thus, I made her stay. I catched my Love, and wrung her by the hand, I took my Love and set her on my knee, And pulled her to me, o you spoil my band, You hurt me sir, pray let me go quoth she. I am glad quoth I, that you have found your tongue, And still my Love I by the finger wrong. I asked her if she loved me, she said no, I bade her swear, she straight calls for a book: Nay then thought I, 'tis time to let her go, I eased my knee, and from her cast a look, She leaves me wondering at these strange affairs, And like the wind she trips me up the stairs. I left the room below and up I went, Finding her thrown upon her wanton bed: I asked the cause of her sad discontent, Further she lies, and making room she said, Now sweeting kiss me, having time and place: So clings me too her with a sweet embrace. Is't possible, I had not thought till now That women could dissemble. M. Fuller Here dwells the sacred mistress of my heart, Before her door I'll frame a frivolous walk, And spying her, with her device some talk. What stir is this, let's step but out the way And hear the utmost what these people say. Thou art a knave, although thou be my son, Have I with care and trouble brought thee up, To be a staff and comfort to my age, A Pillar to support me, and a Crutch To lean on in my second infancy, And dost thou use me thus? thou art a knave. A knave, I mary, and an arrant knave: And sirrah, by old M. Arthur's leave, Though I be weak and old, I'll prove thee one. Sir, though it be my father's pleasure thus To wrong me with the scorned name of knave, I will not have you so familiar, Nor so presume upon my patience. Speak M. Arthur, is he not a knave? I say he is a knave. Then so say I. My Father may command my patience, But you sir that are but my Father in law, Shall not so mock my reputation, Sir you shall find I am an honest man. An honest man. ay sir, so I say.
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)
Continue that opinion, and be sure To die a virgin chaste, a mayden pure. It was my chance once in my wanton daies To Court a wench, harke and Ile tell thee how: I came vnto my Loue, and she lookt coy, I spake vnto my Loue, she turnd aside, I tucht my Loue, and gan with her to toy, But she sat mute for anger, or for pride: I striu'd and kist my Loue, she cried away: Thou woulst haue left her thus, I made her stay. I catcht my Loue, and wrung her by the hand, I tooke my Loue and set her on my knee, And puld her to me, ô you spoile my band, You hurt me sir, pray let me goe quoth she. I am glad quoth I, that you haue found your tongue, And still my Loue I by the finger wroong. I askt her if she lou'd me, she said no, I bad her sweare, she strait calls for a booke: Nay then thought I, tis time to let her goe, I easde my knee, and from her cast a looke, She leaues me wondring at these strange affaires, And like the wind she trips me vp the staires. I left the roome below and vp I went, Finding her throwne vpon her wanton bed: I askt the cause of her sad discontent, Further she lies, and making roome she sed, Now sweeting kisse me, hauing time and place: So clings me too her with a sweet imbrace. Ist possible, I had not thought till now That wemen could dissemble. M. Fuller Here dwels the sacred mistris of my hart, Before her doore Ile frame a friuolous walke, And spying her, with her deuise some talke. What stir is this, lets step but out the way And heare the vtmost what these people say. Thou art a knaue, although thou be my sonne, Haue I with care and trouble brought thee vp, To be a staffe and comfort to my age, A Pillar to support me, and a Crutch To leane on in my second infancie, And doest thou vse me thus? thou art a knaue. A knaue, I mary, and an arrant knaue: And sirra, by old M. Arthurs leaue, Though I be weake and old, Ile proue thee one. Sir, though it be my fathers pleasure thus To wrong me with the scorned name of knaue, I will not haue you so familiar, Nor so presume vpon my patience. Speake M. Arthur, is he not a knaue? I say he is a knaue. Then so say I. My Father may commaund my patience, But you sir that are but my Father in lawe, Shall not so mock my reputation, Sir you shall finde I am an honest man. An honest man. I sir, so I say.