Udall, Nicholas · published 1562 · first performed or written 1537 [Oct 12-24] (Annals) comedy unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
I say arise who so ever will fight I am to battle here ready dyghte Come hither other swain or knight Let me see who dare present him to my sight Here with my club readye I stand if any will come to take them in hand There is no hope left in my breast To bring my son unto better rest He will do nothing at my request He regardeth me no more than a best I see no remedy, but still I will pray To god, my son to guide in his way That he may have a prasperous iourning And to be save at his returning Son, god above grant this my oration That when in battle thou shalt have concertation with your enemies, other fare or near No wound in them nor in you may appear So that ye neither kill nor be killed Mother thy petition I pray god be fulfilled For then no knaves blood shall be spilled Fellows keep my counsel, by the mass I do but crack I will be gentle enough and no busenesse make But yet I will make her believe that I am a man think you that I will fight? no no but with the can Except I find my enemy on this wise that he be a sleep or else can not arise If his arms and his feet be not fast bound I will not proffer a stripe for a thousand pound Far well mother and tarry here no longer For after proves of chivalry I do both thirst & hunger I will hear the knaves as flat as a conger What how long shall I tarry? be your hearts in your hose will there none of you in battle me appose Come prove me why stand you so in doubt have you any wild blood, that ye would have let out A lack that a man's strength can not be knwen Because that he lacketh enemies to be overthrown But what a monster do I see now Coming hitherward with an armed brow what is it? ah it is a sow No by god's body it is but a grestle And on the back it hath never a bristle It is not a cow, ah there I fail For then it should have a long tail. What the devil I was blind, it is but a snail I was never so afraid in east nor in south My heart at the first sight was at my mouth Mary sir fie, fie, fie, I do sweat for fear I thought I had craked but to timely here Hens thou be'st and pluck in thy horns Or I swear by him that crowned was with thorns I will make the drink worse than good ale in that corns Haste thou nothing else to do But come with horns and face me so How, how my servants, get you shield and spear And let us weary and kill this monster here
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)
¶ I saye aryse who so euer wyll fighte I am to battayle here readye dyghte Come hyther other swayne or knyghte Let me see who dare presente him to my syghte Here with my clubbe readye I stande yf anye wyll come to take them in hand ¶ There is no hope left in my brest To bring my sonne vnto better rest He wyll do nothinge at my request He regardeth me no more thē a best I see no remedye, but styll I wyll praye To god, my sonne to gyde in his waye That he maye haue a prasperous iournynge And to bee saue at his returnynge Sonne, god aboue graunte thys my oration That when in battaile thou shalt haue concertacion with your ennemies, other fare or nere No wounde in them nor in you may appere So that ye nother kyll nor be kylled ¶ Mother thy peticion I praye god be fulfylled For then no knaues bloude shall be spilled Felowes kepe my counsell, by the masse I doo but crake I wyll be gentyll enoughe and no busenesse make But yet I wyll make her beleue that I am a man thincke you that I wyll fight? no no but wyth the can Excepte I finde my enemye on thys wyse that he be a slepe or els can not aryse Yf his armes and his fete be not fast bounde I wyll not profer a stripe for a thousande pound Fare well mother and tarrye here no longer For after proues of chiualry I do both thyrste & honger I wyll heare the knaues as flatte as a conger What how long shal I tary? be your hartes in your hose will there none of you in battayl me appose Come proue me whye stande you so in doubte haue you any wylde bloude, that ye would haue let oute A lacke that a mans strengthe can not be knwen Because that he lacketh ennemies to be ouerthowen But what a monster do I see nowe Comminge hetherwarde with an armed browe what is it? ah it is a sowe No by gods body it is but a grestle And on the backe it hath neuer a brystle It is not a cow, ah there I fayle For then it should haue a long tayle. What the deuyll I was blynde, it is but a snayle I was neuer so afrayde in east nor in south My harte at the fyrste syght was at my mouth Mary syr fy, fy, fy, I do sweate for feare I thoughte I had craked but to tymely here Hens thou beest and plucke in thy hornes Or I sweare by him that crowned was with thornes I will make the drincke worse than good ale in yt cornes Haste thou nothynge elles to doo But come wyth hornes and face me so Howe, how my seruauntes, get you shelde and spere And let vs werye and kyll thys monster here