Middleton, Thomas · published 1608 · first performed or written 1606 [1604-1607] (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T42 English historical figures: a mixed clus · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T42: harry, percy, lord, king, god, falstalffe, frances, mowbray, life, mortimer.
Pray pardon me sir, alas my visitation cannot help her. Oh yet the kindness of a thing wife; still she holds the same rare temper; take my man I say. I would not take your man sir, though I did purpose going. No? thy reason? The world's condition is itself so vild Sir, 'tis apt to judge the worst, of those deserve not, 'tis an ill-thinking age, and does apply All to the form of it own Luxury, This censure flies from one, that, from another, That man's her Squire, says he; her Pimp, the tother, she's of the stamp, a third, fourth, I ha' known her: I've heard this, not without a burning cheek: Then our attires are taxed, our very gate Is called in question, where a husband's presence Scatters such thoughts, or makes 'em sink for fear Into the hearts that breed 'em, nay surely if I went Sir, I would entreat your company. Mine? prithee wife, I have been there already. That's all one; although you bring me but toth' door Sir, I would entreat no farther. thou'rt such a wife; why I will bring thee thither then, but not go up I swear. I'faith you shall not, I do not desire it sir. Why then content. Give me your hand you will do so Sir. Why there's my lip I will. Why then I go Sir. With me or no man, incomparable such a woman. Lady? Ha, what news? there's one Sir Bounteous Progress newly alighted from his foot-cloth, and his Mare waits at door, as the fashion is. 'slid, 'tis the knight that privately maintains me, a little short-old. spiny Gentleman, in a great doublet. The same, I know 'em. he's my sole Revenue, meat, drink, and raiment; my good Physician work upon him, I'm weak. Enough. Why, where be these Ladies? these plump soft delicate creatures? ha? Who would you visit sir? Visit, who? what are you with the plague in your mouth? A Physician sir. Then you are a loose-liver Sir, I have put you to your purgation. But you need none, you're purged in a worse fashion, Ah, Sir Bounteous. How now? what art thou? Sweet Sir Bounteous. passion of me, what an alteration's here? Rosamond sick old Harry? her's a sight able to make an old man shrink, I was lusty when I came in, but I am down now i'faith, mortality, yea? this puts me in mind of a hole seven foot deep, my grave, my grave, my grave, hist, master Doctor a word sir, hark, 'tis not the Plague? is't? The Plague Sir, no? Good. He ne'er asks whether it be the Pox or no, and of the twain that had been more likely. How now my wench? how dost? Huh, weak Knigh, huh. She says true, he's a weak Knight indeed.
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)
Pray pardon me ſir, alas my viſitation cannot helpe her. Oh yet the kindnes of a thing wife; ſtill ſhe holds the ſame rare temper; take my man I ſay. I would not take your man ſir, tho I did purpoſe going. No? thy reaſon? The worlds condition is it ſelfe ſo vild Sir, Tis apt to iudge the worſt, of thoſe deſerue not, Tis an ill-thinking age, and do's apply All to the forme of it owne Luxurie, This cenſure flies from one, that, from another, That man's her Squire, ſayes he; her Pimpe, the tother, Shee's of the ſtampe, a third, fourth, I ha knowne her: Iu'e heard this, not without a burning cheeke: Then our attires are taxt, our very gate Is cal'd in queſtion, where a husbands preſence Scatters ſuch thoughts, or makes e'm ſinke for feare Into the hearts that breed e'm, nay ſurely if I went Sir, I would entreat your company. Mine? prethee wife, I haue beene there alreadle. That's all one; altho you bring mee but to'th doore Sir, I would intreat no farther. Thu'rt ſuch a wife; why I will bring thee thither then, but not goe vp I ſweare. Yfaith you ſhall not, I doe not deſire it ſir. Why then content. Giue me your hand you will doe ſo Sir. Why ther's my lip I will. Why then I goe Sir. With me or no man, incomparable ſuch a woman. Lady? Ha, what newes? Ther's one Sir Bounteous Progreſſe newly alighted from his footecloth, and his Mare waites at doore, as the faſhion is. Sli'd, 'tis the knight that priuately maintaines mee, a little ſhort-olde. ſpinye Gentleman, in a great dublet. The ſame, I know e'm. Hee's my ſole Reuenew, meate, drinke, and rayment; my good Phiſitian worke vpon him, Im'e weake. Ynough. Why, where bee theſe Ladies? theſe plump ſoft delicate creatures? ha? Who would you viſit ſir? Viſit, who? what are you with the plague in your mouth? A Phiſitian ſir. Then you are a looſe-liuer Sir, I haue put you to your purgation. But you need none, you'r purg'd in a worſe faſhiō, Ah, Sir Bounteous. How now? what art thou? Sweet Sir Bounteous. Paſhion of me, what an alteration's here? Roſamond ſicke old Harry? her's a ſight able to make an olde man ſhrinke, I was luſty when I came in, but I am downe now yfaith, mortalitie, yea? this puts mee in mind of a hole ſeauen foote deepe, my graue, my graue, my graue, hiſt, maſter Doctor a word ſir, harke, tis not the Plague? iſt? The Plague Sir, no? Good. He ne're askes whether it bee the Poxe or no, and of the twaine that had beene more likely. How now my wench? how do'ſt? Huh, weake Knigh, huh. She ſaies true, hee's a weake Knight indeed.