Histriomastix, or The Player Whipped · chunk 6 of 25
Marston, John · published 1610 · first performed or written 1599 [1598-1599] (Annals) moral · Unknown T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.78 · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
The best that ever trod on stage. The Lascivious Knight, and Lady Nature. Have you cried the Play, masters? ay, ay, ay, no doubt we shall have good doings, but How proceed you in the new plot of the prodigal child? O sirs, my wit's grown no less plentiful than the time. there's two sheets done in folio, will cost two shillings in time. Shall we here a flirt before the audience come. I that you shall, I swear by the sun— sit down sirs, When Authors quill, in quivering hand, His tired arm did take: His wearied Muse, bade him devise, Some fine play for to make. And now my Masters in this bravado, I can read no more without Canadoe. What hoe? some Canadoe quickly, Enter the Prodigal Child; fill the pot I would say, Huffa, huffa, who calls for me? I play the Prodigal child in jollity. O detestable good. Enter to him Dame Virtue: My Son thou art a lost child, (This is a passion, note you the passion?) And hath many poor men of their goods beguiled: O prodigal child, and child prodigal. Read the rest sirs, I cannot read for tears, Fill me the pot I prithee fellow Gulch. Faith we can read nothing but riddles. My masters, what tire wears your lady on her head? four Squirrels tails tied in a true loves knot. O amiable good, 'tis excellent. But how shall we do for a Prologue for lords? I'll do't extempore. O might we here a spurt if need require. Why Lords we are here to show you what we are, Lords we are here although our clothes be bare, In steed of flowers, in season, ye shall gather Rhyme and Reason? I never pleased myself better, it comes off with such suavity. Well fellows, I never heard happier stuff, here's no new luxury or blandishment, But plenty of old England's mother's words. I st not pity this fellow's not employed in matters of State, But where's the Epilogue must beg the plaudite? Why man? The glass is run our play is done, Hence Time doth call, we thank you all. ay but how if they do not clap their hands. No matter so they thump us not, Come, come, we poets have the kindest wretches to our Ingles Why what's an Ingle man? One whose hands are hard as battledores with clapping at baldness. Then we shall have rare Ingling at the prodigal child. I an't be played upon a good night— let's give it out for Friday. Content. My masters; my Lord Mavortius is disposed to here what you can do. What fellows, shall we refuse the Town-play? Why his reward is worth the Maior & all the town. we'll make him merry i'faith, we'll be there. Come sirs, how shall we recreate ourselves, This plenteous time forbids abode at home. Let's Duck it with our Dogs to make us sport, And cross the water to eat some Cream; What hoe? Sculler. You do forget; Plenty affords us Oars.
seed 43: T16 · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
The best that euer trode on stage. The Lasciuious Knight, and Lady Nature. Haue you cry'd the Play, maisters? I, I, I, no doubt we shall haue good dooings, but How proceed you in the new plot of the prodigall childe? O sirs, my wit's grown no lesse plentiful then the time. Ther's two sheets done in follio, will cost two shillings in time. Shall we heere a flurt before the audience come. I that you shall, I sweare by the Sunne-sit down sirs, When Aucthours quill, in quiuering hand, His tyred arme did take: His wearied Muse, bad him deuise, Some fine play for to make. And now my Maisters in this brauadoe, I can read no more without Canadoe. What hoe? some Canadoe quickly, Enter the Prodigall Child; fill the pot I would say, Huffa, huffa, who callis for mee? I play the Prodigall child in iollytie. O detestable good. Enter to him Dame Vertue: My Sonne thou art a lost childe, (This is a passion, note you the passion?) And hath many poore men of their goods beguild: O prodigall childe, and childe prodigall. Read the rest sirs, I cannot read for teares, Fill mee the pot I prethe fellow Gulch. Faith we can read nothing but riddles. My maisters, what tire weares your lady on her head? Foure Squirrels tailes ti'de in a true loues knot. O amiable good, 'tis excellent. But how shall we doe for a Prologue for lords? I'le doo't extempore. O might we heere a spurt if need require. Why Lords we are heere to shew you what we are, Lords wee are heere although our cloths be bare, In steed of flowers, in season, yee shall gather Rime and Reason? I neuer pleas'd my selfe better, it comes off with such suauity. Well fellowes, I neuer heard happier stuffe, Heer's no new luxurie or blandishment, But plenty of old Englands mothers words. I st not pitty this fellow's not imploid in matters of State, But wher's the Epilogue must beg the plaudite? Why man? The glasse is run our play is done, Hence Time doth call, wee thanke you all. I but how if they doe not clap their hands. No matter so they thump vs not, Come, come, we poets haue the kindest wretches to our Ingles Why whats an Ingle man? One whose hands are hard as battle-dores with clapping at baldnesse. Then we shal haue rare Ingling at the prodigal child. I at be playd vpon a good night—lets giue it out for Friday. Content. My maisters; my Lord Mauortius is dispos'd to heere what you can doe. What fellowes, shall we refuse the Towne-play? Why his reward is worth the Maior & all the towne. Weele make him mery ifaith, weele be there. Come sirs, how shall we recreate our selues, This plentious time forbids aboad at home. Let's Duck it with our Dogs to make vs sport, And crosse the water to eate some Creame; What hoe? Sculler. You doe forget; Plenty affoords vs Oares.