Barry, Lording · published 1611 · first performed or written 1608 [1608-1610(?)] (Annals) comedy · Children of the King's Revels T45 Widows, wooing and remarriage typicality 0.82 · 532 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T45: widow, widows, hoord, master, gentlemen, wife, randalls, wit, mistress, married.
To let me tell thee, I'll love thee while I live, For this attempt give me that lusty lad, That wins his widow with his well drawn blade, And not with oaths and words: a widow's wooing, Not in bare words but should consist in doing, I take thee to my husband. I thee to wife, Now to thy bed and there we'll end this strife. Warm blood the young man's slave, the old man's God Makes me so stir thus soon, it stirs i'faith, And with a kind of Itching pricks me on, To bid my bride boun jour, O this desire, Is even another filched promethian fire, By which we old men live, performance then, I that's poor old men's bane, that in old men, Comes limping off more lame God knows then he, Which in a close, a hot and dangerous fight, Has been dismembered and craves by letter patents, Yet scarce a woman that considers this, Women have tricks firks and farthingales, A generation are they full of subtlety, And all most honest where they want the means. To be otherwise. Therefore I'll have an eye My widow goes not oft to visit kinsfolks, By birth she is a Ninny, and that I know, Is not in London held the smallest kindred, I must have wits and brains, come on my friends, Out with your tools, and to't, a strain of mirth. And a pleasant song to wake the widow. Musicians, minstrels, foot rogues, For God's love leave your filthy squeaking noise And get you gone, the widow and myself, Will scamble out the shaking of the sheets, Without your music, we have no need of fiddlers, To our dancing, foot have you no manners, Cannot a man take his natural rest. For your scraping, I shall wash your gut-strings. If you but stay a while; yet honest rascals, If you'll let us have the other crash The widow and I'll keep time, there's for your pains, How's this? will the widow and you keep time, What trick? what quiddit? what figare is this? My cashiered Son speak from the widows chamber, And in his shirt ha, sure she is not there, 'tis so she has took him in for pity, And now removes her chamber I will home, On with my neatest robes, perfume my beard, Eat cloves, Eringoes and drink some aquavita. To sweeten breath and keep my weame from wambling. Then like the month of March, come blustering in, Marry the widow shake up this springal, And then as quiet as a sucking lamb, Close by the widow will I rest all night, As for my breath I have crotchets and devices, ladies' rank breaths are often helped with spices. Come straw apace, Lord shall I never live, To walk to Church on flowers. O 'tis fine, To see a bride trip it to Church so lightly, As if her new chopines would scorn to bruise A silly flower: and now I prithee tell me, What flower thinkest thou is likest to a woman? A marigold I think. Why a marry gold: Because a little heat makes it to spread, And open wide his leaves.
seed 43: T40 · seed 44: T40 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
To let me tell thee, Ile loue thee while I liue, For this attempt giue me that lusty lad, That winnes his widdow with his well drawne blade, And not with oaths and words: a widdows woing, Not in bare words but should consist in doing, I take thee to my husband. I thee to wife, Now to thy bed and there weele end this strife. Warme bloud the yong mans slaue, the ould mans God Makes me so stirre thus soone, it stirs isayth, And with a kind of Itching pricks me on, To bid my bride boun Iour, O this desire, Is euen another filtcht promethian fire, By which we old men liue, performance then, I thats poore old mens baine, that in old men, Comes limping off more lame God knowes then he, Which in a close, a hot and dangerous fight, Has bin dismembred and craues by letter patents, Yet scarce a woman that considers this, Women haue tricks fiks and farthinggales, A generation are they full of subtilty, And all most honest where they want the meanes. To be otherwise. Therefore Ile haue an eie My widdow goes not oft to visit kinsfolkes, By birth she is a Ninny, and that I know, Is not in London held the smalest kindred, I must haue wits and braines, come on my friends, Out with your tooles, and toot, a strane of mirth. And a pleasant song to wake the widdow. Musitions, mnistrills, foote rogues, For Gods loue leaue your filthy squeaking noyse And get you gone, the widdow and my selfe, Will scamble out the shaking of the sheets, Without your musicke, we haue no need of fidlers, To our dauncing, foote haue you no manners, Cannot a man take his naturall rest. For your scraping, I shall wash your gut-strings. If you but stay a while; yet honest rascalls, If youle let vs haue the tother crash The widdow and Ile keepe time, theres for your paines, Hows this? will the widdow and you keepe time, What trycke? what quiddit? what figare is this? My casheerd Sonne speake from the widdowes chamber, And in his shirt ha, sure she is not there, Tis so she has tooke him in for pitty, And now remoues her chamber I will home, On with my neatestrobes, perfume my beard, Eate cloues, Eringoes and drinke some aquauita. To sweeten breath and keepe my weame from wambling. Then like the moneth of March, come blustring in, Marry the widdow shake vp this springall, And then as quiet as a sucking lambe, Close by the widdow will I rest al night, As for my breath I haue crotchets and deuises, Ladies ranke breaths are often healpt with spices. Come straw a pace, Lord shall I neuer liue, To walke to Church on flowers. O tis fine, To see a bride tryp it to Church so lightly, As if her new choppines would scorne to bruze A silly flower: and now I prethee tell me, What flower thinkest thou is likest to a woman? A marigold I thinke. Why a mary gold: Because a little heate makes it to spred, And open wide his leaues.