Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
His naughty company and play at dice, Did me first to stealing entice. He was with me at robberies, I say it to his face, yet can I say more in time & space, Thou hast said to much, I beshrew thy horsons face Hang him my Lord, out of the way, The thief careth not what he doth say Let me be hangman, I will teeth him a sleight, For fear of talking. I will strangle him straight, Tarry here that list, for I will go. No no my friend, not so, I thought always ye should not be good, And now it will prove, I see by the rood, Take him and lay him in irons strong, We will talk with you more ere it be long, He that layeth hands on me in this place, Iche lay my brawling iron on his face: By gog's blood I defy thy worst, If thou shouldest hang me I were a cursed. I have been at as low an ebb as this, And quickly a loft again by gisse: I have more friends than ye think I have, I am entertained of all men like no slave: Yea, within this month I may say to you, I will be your servant, and your master to. ye, creep into your breast, will ye have it so? A way with them both, lead them away, At his death tell me what he doth say, For then be like he will not lie, I care not for you both, no not a sly: If no man have here, more matter to say I must go hence some other way. Ha ha, though I come in rudely be not aghast, I must work a feat in all the haste. I have caught two birds, I will set for the dame, If I catch her in my clutche, I will her tame. Of all this while know ye not my name? I am right worshipful master worldly shame, The matter that I come now about, Is even this, I put you out of dought. There is none Xantippe, a cursed shrew, I think all the world doth her know, Such a jade she is, and so cursed a queen, She would out scold the devil's dame I ween. Sirs this fine woman, had babes three, Twain the dearest darlings that might be, Ishmael and fair Dalila, these two, With the lout Barnabas, I have nothing to do. Always good, that these tidlynges do might, Swear, lie, steal, scold or fight: Cards, dice, kiss, clip and so forth, All this our Mammy would take in good worth. Now sir, Dalila my daughter is dead of the pocks And my son hanged in chains, & waveth his locks These news will I tell her, and the matter so frame That she shall be thine own master worldly shame, Ha ha ha.
nodes 405–461 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 8 of 10 in this edition
Length
484 words · 632 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T47 — Knaves, thieves and bawdscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.825 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
His naughtye company and playe at dice, Dyd me first to stealyng entice. He was wt me at roberies, I say it to his face, yet can I say more in tyme & space, Thou hast said to much, I beshrew thi horsons face Hange him my Lord, out of the way, The thief careth not what he doth say Let me be hangman, I wil teathe him a sleight, For feare of talkyng. I wil strangle him streight, Tary here that lyst, for I wyl go. No no my frend, not so, I thought alwayes ye should not be good, And now it wil proue, I se by the rood, Take him and lay him in yrons stronge, We wil talke with you more ere it be longe, He that layeth handes on me in this place, Iche lay my brawlyng yron on his face: By gogs bloud I defye thy worst, If thou shouldest hange me I were a curst. I haue bene at as low an ebbe as this, And quyckely a loft again by gisse: I haue mo frendes then ye thynke I haue, I am entertained of all men lyke no slaue: Yea, within this moneth I may say to you, I wyl be your seruaunt, and your maister to. ye, crepe into your brest, wyl ye haue it so? A way with them both, leade them away, At his death tell me what he doth say, For then be lyke he wyll not lye, I care not for you both, no not a sly: If no man haue here, more matter to say I must go hence some other way. Hah ha, though I come in rudely be not agast, I must worke a feate in al the hast. I haue caught two byrdes, I wyll set for the dame, If I catche her in my clutche, I wyl her tame. Of all thys while know ye not my name? I am right worshipfull maister wordly shame, The matter that I come now about, Is euen thys, I put you out of dought. There is none Xantippe, a curst shrew, I thynke al the world doth her knowe, Suche a iade she is, and so curst a quene, She would out scold the devils dame I wene. Sirs thys fine woman, had babes three, Twayne the derest darlinges that might be, Ismael and faire Dalila, these two, With the loute Barnabas, I haue nothyng to do. Alwas good, that these tidlynges do might, Sweare, lye, steale, scolde or fight: Cardes, dyce, kysse, clippe and so furth, All this our Mammy would take in good worth. Now sir, Dalila my daughter is dead of y• pockes And my son hanged in chaynes, & waueth his lockes These newes wil I tel her, and the matter so frame That she shal be thyne owne mayster worldly shame, Hah ha ha.