Middleton, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [1604-1606] (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T6 Money, debt and credit · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T6: money, master, pound, law, lawyer, chain, gentleman, gold, pay, pray.
Y'ave shown it here. And given the desperate hope? Delay not now, you'ave understood my love, I have a priest readye, this is the fittest season, no eye offends us, Let this kiss Restore thee to more wealth, me to more bliss. The Angels have provided for me. I have not Scope enough within my breast, To keep my joys contained: I'm Quomodo's heir: the Lands assurances, and all are mine (I have tripped his sons heels up) above the ground, His father left him: had I not encouragement? Do not I know what proves the Fathers pray? The Son near looks on't, but it melts away. Do not I know the wealth that's got by fraud? slaves share it like the riches of a Bawd. Why 'tis a curse unquenchable, near cools. knaves still commit their consciences to fools: And they betray who owed 'em, here's all the bonds, All Easie's writings, let me see: Now my desires wear crowns. My joys exceed, Man is near healthful, till his follies bleed. Oh, behold the Villain, who in all those shapes Confounded your estate. That slave, that villain. So many Acres of good meadow— Rascal. I hear you sir. Rogue, Shortyard, Blastfield, Sergeant, Deputy, cozener Hold, hold. I thirst the execution of his ears. Hate you that office, I'll strip him bare for punishment and shame. Why do but hear me sir, you will not think what I have done for you. Given his Son my Lands. Why look you, 'tis not so, your not told true, I have Cozened him again merely for you, Merely for you sir, 'twas my meaning then That you should wed her, and have all again. A my troth it's true sir: look you then here sir, you shall not miss a little scroll sir, pray sir, let not the City know me for a knave, there be richer men would envy my preferment if I should be known before 'em. Villain, my hate to more revenge is drawn, When slaves are found, 'tis their base Art to fawn, Within there—. How now? fresh warders. This is the other, bind him fast, have I found you Master Blastfield. This is the fruit of Craft, Like him that shoots up high, looks for the shaft And finds it in his forehead, so does hit The Arrow of our fate, wit destroys wit: The head the bodies bane, and his own bears, You hae Corn enough, you need not reap mine ears, Sweet Master Blastfield. I loathe his voice, away. What happiness was here, but are you sure you have all? I hope so my sweet wife. What difference there is in Husbands, not only in one thing, but in all. here's good deeds and bad deeds, the writings that keep my lands to me, and the bonds that gave it away from me. These my good deeds shall to more safety turn, And these my bad have their deserts and burn. I'll see thee again presently, read there.
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)
Y'aue ſhowne it heere. And giuen the deſperate hope? Delay not now, y'aue vnderſtood my loue, I haue a prieſt readye, this is the fitteſt ſeaſon, no eye offends vs, Let this kiſſe Reſtore thee to more wealth, me to more bliſſe. The Angels haue prouided for me. I haue not Scope ynough within my breſt, To keepe my ioyes containde: I'me Quomodoes heire: the Lands aſſurances, and all are mine (I haue tript his Sonnes heeles vp) aboue the ground, His father left him: had I not encouragement? Do not I knowe what proues the Fathers pray? The Sonne nere lookes on't, but it melts away. Doe not I knowe the wealth that's got by fraude? Slaue's ſhare it like the ritches of a Bawde. Why tis a curſe vnquenchable, nere cooles. Knaues ſtill commit their conſciences to fooles: And they betray who o'wde em, heeres all the bonds, All Eaſies writings, let me ſee: Now my deſires weare crownes. My ioyes exceede, Man is neere healthfull, till his follyes bleede. Oh, beholde the Villaine, who in all thoſe ſhapes Confounded your eſtate. That ſlaue, that villaine. So many Acres of good meadowe— Raſcall. I heare you ſir. Rogue, Shortyard, Blaſtfield, Serjeant, Deputy, couſner Holde, holde. I thirſt the execution of his eares. Hate you that office, Ile ſtrip him bare for puniſhment and ſhame. Why doe but heare me ſir, you will not thinke what I haue done for you. Giuen his Sonne my Lands. Why looke you, tis not ſo, your not tolde true, I haue Cooſned him agen meerely for you, Meerely for you ſir, twas my meaning then That you ſhould wed her, and haue all agen. A my troth 'its true ſir: looke you then heere ſir, you ſhall not miſſe a little ſcrowle ſir, pray ſir, let not the Cittie knowe me for a knaue, there be ritcher men would enuie my preferment if I ſhould be knowne before e'm. Villaine, my hate to more reuenge is drawne, When ſlaues are found, tis their baſe Arte to fawne, Within there—. How now? freſh warders. This is the other, binde him faſt, haue I found you Maiſter Blaſtfield. This is the fruite of Craft, Like him that ſhootes vp hye, lookes for the ſhaft And findes it in his fore-head, ſo does hit The Arrowe of our fate, wit deſtroyes wit: The head the bodyes bane, and his owne beares, You hae Corne enough, you neede not reape mine eares, Sweete Maiſter Blaſtfield. I loath his voice, away. What happyneſſe was heere, but are you ſure you haue all? I hope ſo my ſweete wife. What difference there is in Husbands, not onelye in one thing, but in all. Heeres good deedes and bad deedes, the writings that keep my lands to me, and the bonds that gaue it away from me. Theſe my good deedes ſhall to more ſafetie turne, And theſe my bad haue their deſarts and burne. Ile ſee thee agen preſently, reade there.