Anonymous · published 1608 · first performed or written 1602 [1599-1604] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men · Globe T13 Knights, squires and ladies typicality 0.84 · 518 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T13: knight, raph, lady, knights, george, master, squire, rafe, pray, god.
'tis correspondent or so, there's not a Tartarian Nor a Carrier, shall breathe upon your geldings, They have villainous rank feet, the rogues, And they shall not sweat in my linen. Knights and Lords too have been drunk in my house, I thank the destinies. prithee good sinful Innkeeper, will that corruption thine Ostler look well to my geldings. Hay, a pox a these rushes. You Saint Dennis, your geldings shall walk without doors, and cool his feet for his master's sake by the body of S George I have an excellent intellect to go steal some venison now when wast thou in the forest? Away you stale mess of white broth: Come hither sister, let me help you. Mine Host is not Sir Richard Mounchensey come yet according to our appointment when we last dined here? The knight's not yet apparent marry here's a forerunner that summons a parley, and saith, he'll be here top and top-gallant presently. 'tis well good mine host, go down and see breakfast be provided. Knight, thy breath hath the force of a woman, it takes me down, I am for the baser element of the kitchen: I retire like a valiant soldiers face point blank to the foeman; or like a Courtier that must not show the Prince his posteriors; vanish to know my canvasadoes and my interrogatories, for I serve the good Duke of Norfolk. How doth my Lady, are you not weary Madam? Come hither, I must talk in private with you, My daughter Milliscent must not overhear. ay, whispering, pray God it tend my good, Strange fear assails my heart, usurps my blood. You know our meeting with the knight Mounehensey, Is to assure our daughter to his heir. 'tis without question. Two tedious winters have passed over since first, These couple loved each other, and in passion glued first their naked hands with youthful moisture, Just so long on my knowledge. And what of this? This morning should my daughter lose her name, And to Mounchensey's house convey our arms, Quartered within his scutcheon; th'affiance made Twixt him and her, this morning should be sealed. I know it should. But there are crosses wife, here's one in Waltham, Another at the Abbey; and the third At Cheshunt, and 'tis ominous to pass Any of these without a paternoster: Crosses of love still thwart this marriage, Whilst that we two like spirits walk in night, About those stony and hard hearted plots. O God, what means my father? For look you wife, the riotous old knight, Hath o'errun his annual revenue, In keeping jolly Christmas all the year, The nostrils of his chimney are still stuffed, With smoke more chargeable than Cane-tobacco, His hawks devour his fattest dogs whilst simple, His leanest curs eat him Hound's carrion Besides, I heard of late his younger brother, Or Turky merchant hath sure suck'de the knight, By means of some great losses on the sea, That you conceive me, before God all nought, His seat is weak, thus each thing rightly scanned, You'll see a flight wife, shortly of his land.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T17 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Tis correspondent or so, there's not a Tartarian Nor a Carrier, shall breath vpon your geldings, They haue villanous rancke feete, the rogues, And they shall not sweat in my linnen. Knights and Lords too haue bene drunke in my house, I thanke the destinies. Pre'the good sinful Inkeeper, wil that corruption thine Ostler looke well to my geldings. Hay, a poxe a these rushes. You Saint Dennis, your geldings shall walke without doores, and coole his feete for his masters sake by the body of S George I haue an excellent intellect to go steale some venison now when wast thou in the forrest? Away you stale messe of white broth: Come hither sister, let me helpe you. Mine Host is not Sir Richard Mounchensey come yet according to our appointment when we last dinde here? The knight's not yet apparent marry heere's a forerunner that summons a parle, and saith, heele be here top and top-gallant presently. Tis well good mine host, goe downe and see breakfast be prouided. Knight, thy breath hath the force of a woman, it takes me downe, I am for the baser element of the kitchin: I retire like a valiant souldiers face point blanke to the foe-man; or like a Courtier that must not shew the Prince his posteriors; vanish to know my canuasadoes and my interrogatories, for I serue the good Duke of Norfolke. How doth my Lady, are you not weary Madam? Come hither, I must talke in priuate with you, My daughter Milliscent must not ouer-heare. I, whispring, pray God it tend my good, Strange feare assailes my heart, vsurps my blood. You know our meeting with the knight Mounehensey, Is to assure our daughter to his heire. Tis without question. Two tedious winters haue past ore since first, These couple lou'd each other, and in passion Glewd first their naked hands with youthfull moysture, Iust so long on my knowledge. And what of this? This morning should my daughter lose her name, And to Mounchenseys house conuey our armes, Quartered within his scutchion; th'affiance made Twixt him and her, this morning should be sealde. I know it should. But there are crosses wife, heere's one in Waltham, Another at the Abby; and the third At Cheston, and tis ominous to passe Any of these without a pater-noster: Crosses of loue still thwart this marriage, Whilst that we two like spirits walke in night, About those stony and hard hearted plots. O God, what meanes my father? For looke you wife, the riotous old knight, Hath o'rerun his annual reuenue, In keeping iolly Christmas all the yeere, The nostrilles of his chimny are still stuft, With smoake more chargeable then Cane-tobacco, His hawkes deuoure his fattest dogs whilst simple, His leanest curres eato him hounds carrion Besides, I heard of late his yonger brother, Or Turky merchant hath sure suck'de the knight, By meanes of some great losses on the sea, That you conceiue mee, before God all naught, His seate is weake, thus each thing rightly scand, You'le see a flight wife, shortly of his land.