Marston, John · published 1606 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
And never hope to be reconciled, never dream to be reconciled, never Never, alas good Fawn what wouldst wish me to do now? Faith go hang yourself my Don. that's best sure. Nay that's too good, for I'll do worse than that, Ile marie again; where canst pick out a morsel for me Fawn? There is a modest matron like creature— What years Fawn. Some four score wanting one. A good sober age, is she wealthy? Very wealthy. Excellent. She has three hairs on her scalp and four teeth in her head, a brow wrinkled and puckered like old parchment half burnt, she has had eyes, no woman's jaw-bones are more apparent, her sometimes envious lips, now shrink in, and give her nose and her chin leave to kiss each other very moistly; as for her reverend mouth it seldom opens, but the very breath that flies out of it, infects the fowls of the air, and makes them drop down dead, her breasts hang like cobwebs, her flesh will never make you cuckold, her bones may. But is she wealthy Very wealthy, And will she ha' me art sure? No sure, she will not have you, why do you think that a waiting woman of three bastards, a strumpet nine times carted or a hag whose eyes shoot poison, that has been an old witch, and is now turning into a gib-cat will ha' you? mary Don. Zucone the contempt of women, and the shame of men, that has afflicted, contemned, so choice a perfection as Dona Zoya's. Alas Fawn I confess, what wouldst ha' me do? Hang yourself you shall not, marry you cannot, i'll tell ye what you shall do, there is a ship of fools setting forth, if you make good means & entreat hard, you may obtain a passageman, be masters mate I warrant yow. Fawne, thou art a scurvy bitter knave, and dost flout Dons to their faces, 'twas thou flatteredst me to this, and now thou laugh'st at me, dost? though indeed I had a certain proclivity, but thou madest me resolute, dost grin and girn? O yow comforters of life, helps in sickness, joys in death, & preservers of us, in our children, after death, women, have mercy on me. O my Don, that God made no other means of procreation but by these women, I speak it not to vex you. O Fawn, thou hast no mercy in thee, dost thou leer on me? well, i'll creep upon my knees to my wife, dost laugh at me? dost girn at me? dost smile? dost leer on me, dost thou? O I am an Ass, true, I am a Coxcomb, well, I am mad, good: A mischief on your cogging tongue, your soothing throat, your oily jaws, your supple hams, your dissembling smiles, and O the grand Devil on you all: when mischief favours our fortunes, and we are miserably, though justly wretched More pity, comfort, and more help we have In foes professed, then in a flattering knave.
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)
And neuer hope to be reconcild, neuer dreame to bee reconcild, neuer Neuer, alas good Fawne what woldst wish me to do now? Faith go hang your selfe my Don. thats best sure. Nay thats too good, for Ile do worse then that, Ile marie againe; where canst pick out a morsell for me Fawne? There is a modest matron like creature— What yeeres Fawne. Some fower score wanting one. A good sober age, is she wealthy? Very wealthy. Excellent. Shee has three haires on her scalpe and fower teeth in her head, a browe wrinckled and puckred like old parchment halfe burnt, she haz had eies, no womans jaw-bones are more apparant, her sometimes enuious lips, now shrink in, and giue her nose and her chin leaue to kisse each other verie moistlye; as for her reuerend mouth it seldome opens, but the very breath that flies out of it, infects the fowls of the aire, and makes them drop down dead, her brests hang like cobwebs, her flesh will neuer make you cuckold, her bones may. But is she welthy Very wealthie, And will she ha mee art sure? No sure, she will not haue you, why do you thinke that a waiting woman of three bastards, a strumpet nine times carted or a hag whose eies shoot poison, that has beene an ould witch, and is now turning into a gib-cat wil ha you? mary Don. Zucone the contempt of women, and the shame of men, that has afflicted, contemnd, so choise a perfection as Dona Zoyas. Alas Fawne I confesse, what wouldst ha me do? Hang your selfe you shal not, marrie you cannot, ile tell yee what you shal do, there is a ship of fooles setting foorth, if you make good meanes & intreat hard, you may obtaine a passageman, be maisters mate I warrant yow. Fawne, thou art a scuruie bitter knaue, and dost flout Dons to their faces, twas thou flatteredst me to this, and now thou laugh'st at me, dost? though indeede I had a certaine procliuity, but thou madest me resolute, dost grinne and gearne? O yow comforters of life, helpes in sicknesse, ioyes in death, & preseruers of vs, in our children, after death, women, haue mercie on me. O my Don, that God made no other meanes of procreation but by these women, I speake it not to vexe you. O Fawne, thou hast no mercy in thee, dost thou leere on me? vvel, ile creepe vpon my knees to my vvife, dost laugh at me? dost gearne at me? dost smile? dost leere on me, dost thou? O I am an Asse, true, I am a Coxcombe, vvel, I am mad, good: A mischeife on your cogging tongue, your soothing throat, your oylie iavves, your supple hammes, your dissembling smiles, and O the graund Diuill on you all: vvhen mischiefe fauours our fortunes, and vve are miserably, tho iustly vvretched More pittie, comfort, and more helpe vve haue In foes profest, then in a flattering knaue.