Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Go get the hence, thy mouth full of horse dung. Now pretty sister, what sport shall we devise? Thus palting to school, I think us unwise In summer die for thirst, in winter for cold, And still to live in fear of a churl, who would? Not I by the mass, I had rather he hanged were Then I would sit quaking like a mome for fear I am son burned in summer, in winter the cold, Maketh my limbs gross, and my beauty decay, If I should use it, as they would I should, I should never be fair woman I dare say. No sister no, but I can tell, Where we shall have good cheer, Lusty companions two or three, At good wine, ale and bier. Oh good brother let us go, I will never go more to to school, Shall I never know, What pastime meaneth? yes, I will not be such a fool. Have with the Dalila, Far well our school, Away with book and all, I will set my heart, On a merry pin, What ever shall be fall. Lord what folly is in youth? How unhappy be children now a days? And the more pity, to say the truth. Their parents maintain them in evil ways: Which is a great cause that the world decays, For children brought up in idleness and play, Unthrifty and desobedient, continue always, A neighbour of mine hath children here by, Idle, desobedyent, proud, wanton and nice. As they come by, they do shrewd turns daily, Their parents so to suffer them surely, be not wise They laugh me to scorn, when I tell them mine advise, I will speak which their elders & warn them neighbourly Never in better time, their mother is here by, God save you gossip, I am very fain, That you chance now to come this way, I long to talk with you a word or twain, I pray you take it friendly that I shall say: Ishmael your son, and your daughter Dalila. Do me shrewd turns, daily more and more, Chide and beat my children, it grieveth me sore. They swear, curse & scold, as they go by the way, Giving other ill ensample to do the same, To gods displeasure, and their hurt an other day, chastise them for it, or else ye be to blame: tush tush, if ye have no more than that to say, Ye may hold your tongue and get ye a way, Alas poor souls, they sit a school all day, In fear of a churl, & if a little they play, He beateth them like a devil: when they come home Your mestresship would have me lay on, If I should beat them so oft as men complain, By the mass with in this month, I should make them lame
seed 43: T48 · seed 44: T49 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Go get the hence, thy mouth full of horse donge. Now prety syster, what sport shall we deuyse? Thus paltyng to scole, I thynke vs vnwyse In sommer dye for thryst, in wynter for colde, And styl to liue in feare of a churle, who would? Not I by the masse, I had rather he hanged were Then I would syt quakyng like a mome for feare I am sonne burned in sommer, in winter the colde, Maketh my limmes grosse, and my beauty decay, If I should vse it, as they would I should, I should neuer be fayre woman I dare say. No syster no, but I can tell, Where we shal haue good chiere, Lusty companyons two or three, At good wyne, ale and biere. Oh good brother let vs go, I wyll neuer go more to to scoole, Shall I neuer knowe, What pastyme meaneth? yes, I wyll not be suche a foole. Haue with the Dalila, Fare well our scoole, Away with boke and all, I wyll set my heart, On a mery pynne, What euer shall be fall. Lorde what folly is in youth? Howe vnhappy be chyldren now a dayes? And the more pitye, to say the truth. Theyr parentes mainteyn them in euyll wayes: Which is a great cause that the world decayes, For chyldren brought vp in ydlenes and play, Unthrifty and desobedient, continue alway, A neyghbour of myne hath chyldren here by, Ydle, desobedyent, proude, wanton and nyce. As they come by, they do shrewed turnes daily, Their parentes so to suffer them surely, be not wise They laugh me to scorne, whē I tel thē mine aduise, I wil speake wt their elders & warne thē neighborly Neuer in better tyme, their mother is here by, God saue you gossyp, I am very fayne, That you chaunce now to come thys way, I longe to talke with you a word or twayne, I pray you take it frendly that I shall say: Ismael your sonne, and your daughter Dalila. Do me shrewde turnes, dayly more and more, Chide and beat my chyldren, it greueth me sore. They sweare, curse & scold, as they go by ye way, Giuyng other yll ensample to do the same, To gods displeasure, and theyr hurt an other day, Chastyce them for it, or els ye be to blame: Tusshe tusshe, if ye haue no more then that to saye, Ye maye holde your tonge and get ye a waye, Alas poore soules, they sit a scoole all day, In feare of a churle, & yf a lytle they play, He beateth them lyke a deuyl: when they come home Your mestresship would haue me lay on, If I should beate them so oft as men complayne, By ye masse wt in this month, I shuld make thē lame