Armin, Robert · published 1609 · first performed or written 1606 [c.1606-1608] (Annals) comedy · Children of the King's Revels T13 Knights, squires and ladies typicality 0.77 · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T13: knight, raph, lady, knights, george, master, squire, rafe, pray, god.
Then part, and every one be silent. There is a feast appointed at the knights. Our marriage dinner, is it? A gallant one, much cost is threatened. And the good old knight unbuckles from his back, the liberal load of honour, does proclaim triumphs, and welcome unto all, calls for his wife, charges her care, commands his servant Iames to invite his guests, which in a roll stands quoted, there's a new come pothecary, and he bribes, even grace herself in this assembly, and does promise his furtherance in the business, on the sudden you are missed, daggers and devils the knight cries where's my daughter? one up ascends to search the chambers, another runs to seek for this lost daughter. I knowing more than much in this her absence, singled myself to warn you of his search, hither will he come, for he fears young Filbon, missing the suitors, calling for the merchant, I answered not (being absent) in this heat: the Welsh man, where is he? none can be found, cries out he knows not what, and all his word is now, a plot, a plot, a plot. What will ye do? Kiss and part, till fit occasion of our next salute, Filbon farewell, my husband think on me, I am thy treasure but thou bear'st the key. I will home. And I will see the rest, what will you sir do? Nay I ha' done enough, I am undone in myself, Hei mihi quod nullos, I must do this deed, 'twas I pauca the rest, I'll home sir, I. What rests for Welsh sir Robert Morgan, by God was cragge de pen, and the hangman calls to me, da hum a, da hum a? I will be at this feast in some disguise. I'll fit ye sir, 'tis here, I am touch right, hic & ubique, everywhere. Now smiles the instant, & wraths wrinkles seem, As smoothed curls upon a wanton stream, My hopes grow big, and their delivery, Is by our midwife time brought to true birth, I will not be a pointing stock toth' world, No, if this gossip rumor publish it, It shall be christened with revenge and death, Why when, are we grown sluggards now? Tardy in bounty, shall we niggard it? Be quick, carry those sweet meats in, Bid them that in this business have to do, That they attend this rich confectionary, With no common care, the cost commands more love And duty, sir we are fitting to occasion, Would all your guests were come. 'tis the feasts duty to attend, Thou art a willing mischief, hast thou fitted our purpose to the proof? Haue I, thinke you I am flacke? Pushed on with hope of beauty and reward, She dies had she a life more dear. Then the last spring, sole comfort of the year. But I will cover and prepare.
seed 43: T20 · seed 44: T17 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Then part, and euery one be silent. There is a feast appointed at the knights. Our marriage dinner, is it? A gallant one, much cost is threatned. And the good old knight vnbuckles from his backe, the liberall loade of honour, dos proclaime triumphs, and welcome vnto all, calles for his wife, charges her care, commands his seruant Iames to inuite his guests, which in a rolle stands quoted, theres a new come pothecarie, and he bribes, euen grace her selfe in this assembly, and dos promise his furtherance in the businesse, on the sodaine you are mist, daggers and diuels the knight cries wheres my daughter? one vp ascends to search the chambers, another runs to seeke for this lost daughter. I knowing more then much in this her absence, singled my selfe to warne you of his search, hether will hee come, for he feares yong Filbon, missing the futers, calling for the marchant, I answered not (being absent) in this heat: the welch man, where is he? none can be found, cries out he knowes not what, and all his word is now, a plott, a plott, a plott. What will ye doe? Kisse and part, till fit occasion of our next salute, Filbon farewell, my husband thinke on me, I am thy treasure but thou bear'st the keie. I will home. And I will see the rest, what will you sir doe? Nay I ha done enough, I am vndone in my selfe, Hei mihi quod nullos, I must doe this deede, twas I pauca the rest, Ile home sir, I. What rests for welch sir Robert Morgan, by God was cragge de pen, and the hangman calles to me, da hum a, da hum a? I will be at this feast in some disguise. Ile fit ye sir, tis here, I am tutch right, hic & vbique, euery where. Now smlles the instant, & wrathes wrinckles seeme, As smoothed curles vpon a wanton streame, My hopes grow big, and their diliuery, Is by our midwife time brought to true birth, I will not be a pointing stocke tot'h world, No, if this gossip rumor publish it, It shall be christned with reuenge and death, Why when, are we growne sluggards now? Tardy in bountie, shall we niggard it? Be quicke, carry those sweete meats in, Bid them that in this businesse haue to doe, That they attend this rich confectionary, With no common care, the cost cōmands more loue And duetie, sir we are fitting to occasion, Would all your guests were come. Tis the feasts duetie to attend, Thou art a willing mischiefe, hast thou fitted our purpose to the proofe? Haue I, thinke you I am flacke? Pusht on with hope of beautie and reward, She dies had she a life more deare. Then the last spring, sole comfort of the yeare. But I will couer and prepare.