Chapman, George / Jonson, Ben / Marston, John · published 1605 · first performed or written 1605 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 518 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Who would you speak with, Sir? I would speak with one Security, that is prisoner here. You're welcome Sir. Stay there i'll call him to you. Master Security. Who calls? Here's a Gentleman would speak with you. What is he? Is't one that grafts my forehead now I am in prison, and comes to see how the horns shoot up, and prosper. You must pardon him Sir: The old man is a little crazed with his imprisonment. What say you to me, Sir? Look you here. My learned Counsel, M. Bramble! Cry you mercy, Sir: when saw you my wife? she is now at my house, Sir, and desired me that I would come to Visit you and inquire of you your Case, that we might work some means to get you forth. My Case, M. Bramble, is stone walls, and iron grates; you see it, this is the weakest part on't. And, for getting me forth, no means but hang myself, and so to be carried forth, from which they have here bound me, in intolerable bands. Why but what is't you are in for, Sir? For my Sins, for my sins Sir, whereof Marriage, is the greatest. O, had I never married, I had never known this Purgatory, to which Hell is a kind of cool Bathe in respect: My wives confederacy Sir, with old Touchstone, that she might keep her Jubilee, and the Feast of her new-moon. Do you understand me Sir? Good Sir, go in and talk with him. The Light does him harm, and his example will be hurtful to the weak Prisoners. Fit, Father Security, that you'll be still so profane, will nothing humble you? What's he? O he is a rare young man. Do you not know him? Not I. I never saw him. I can remember. Why, it is he that was the gallant Prentice of London, M. Touchstones man. Who quicksilver? ay, this is he. Is this he? They say, he has been a Gallant indeed. O, the royal est fellow, that ever was bred up i'the City. He would play you his thousand pound, a night at Dice; keep Knights and Lords Company; go with them to bawdy houses; had his fix men in a Livery; kept a stable of Hunting horses; and his Wench in her velvet Gown, and her Cloth of silver. Here's one Knight with him here in Prison. And how miserably he is changed! O, that's voluntary in him; he gave away all his rich clothes, assoon as ever he came in here, among the Prisoners: and will eat o'the Basket, for humility. Why will he do so? Alas he has no hope of life. He mortifies himself. He does but linger on, till the Sessions. O, he has penned the best thing, that he calls his Repentance, or his Last Farewell, that ever you heard: He is a pretty Poet, and for Prose— You would wonder how many Prisoners he has helped out, with penning Petitions for 'em, and not take a penny. Look, this is the Knight, in the rug Gown. Standby.
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)
Who would you ſpeake with, Sir? I would ſpeake with one Securitie, that is priſoner here. You'are welcome Sir. Stay there ile call him to you. Maiſter Securitie. Who call's? Here's a Gentleman would ſpeake with you. What is he? Is't one that grafts my forehead now I am in priſon, and comes to ſee how the Hornes ſhoote vp, and proſper. You muſt pardon him Sir: The old man is a little craz'd with his impriſonment. What ſay you to me, Sir? Looke you here. My learned Counſaile, M. Bramble! Crye you mercie, Sir: when ſawe you my wife? Shee is now at my houſe, Sir, and deſir'd mee that I would come to Viſite you and inquire of you your Caſe, that we might worke ſome meanes to get you foorth. My Caſe, M. Bramble, is ſtone walles, and yron grates; you ſee it, this is the weakeſt part on't. And, for getting me forth, no meanes but hang my ſelfe, and ſo to be carryed foorth, from which they haue here bound me, in intollerable bands. Why but what is't you are in for, Sir? For my Sinnes, for my Sinnes Sir, whereof Mariage, is the greateſt. O, had I neuer marryed, I had neuer knowne this Purgatorie, to which Hell is a kinde of coole Bathe in reſpect: My wiues confederacie Sir, with olde Touchstone, that ſhee might keepe her Iubilaee, and the Feaſt of her New-Moone. Doe you vnderſtand me Sir? Good Sir, goe in and talke with him. The Light dos him harme, and his example will bee hurtfull to the weake Priſoneis. Fit, Father Securitie, that you'le bee ſtill ſo prophane, will nothing humble you? What's he? O hee is a rare yong man. Doe you not know him? Not I. I neuer ſaw him. I can remember. Why, it is he that was the gallant Prentiſe of London, M. Touchſtones man. Who Quickeſiluer? I, this is hee. Is this hee? They ſay, he has beene a Gallant indeede. O, the royall eſt fellow, that euer was bred vp i'the Citie. He would play you his thouſand pound, a night at Dice; keepe Knights and Lords Companie; go with them to baudie houſes; had his fixe men in a Liuerie; kept a ſtable of Hunting horſes; and his Wench in her veluet Gowne, and her Cloth of ſiluer. Heres one Knight with him here in Priſon. And how miſerably he is chaung'd! O, that's voluntary in him; he gaue away all his rich clothes, aſſoone as euer hee came in here, among the Priſoners: and will eate o'the Basket, for humilitie. Why will he doe ſo? Alas hee has no hope of life. Hee mortifies himſelfe. He dos but linger on, till the Seſſions. O, he has pen'd the beſt thing, that hee calles his Repentance, or his Laſt Fare-well, that euer you heard: Hee is a pretie Poet, and for Proſe—You would wonder how many Priſoners he has help't out, with penning Petitions for 'hem, and not take a penny. Looke, this is the Knight, in the rugge Gowne. Standby.