The Roaring Girl, or Moll Cutpurse · chunk 18 of 47
Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1611 · first performed or written 1611 (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men · Fortune unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 462 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
My life for yours and baffle 'em to sir,— why they are the same jades believe it sir, that have drawn all your famous whores to Ware. Nay then they know their business, they need no more instructions. they're so used to such journeys sir, I never use whip to 'em; for if they catch but the scent of a wench once, they run like devils. Fine Cerberus, that rogue will have the start of a thousand ones, for whilst others trot afoot, he'll ride prancing to hell upon a coach-horse. Stay, 'tis now about the hours of her appointment, but yet I see her not, hark what's this, one, two three, three by the clock at Savoy, this is the hour, and Grays-Inn fields the place, she swore she'd meet me: ha yonder's two Inns a Court-man with one wench, but that's not she, they walk toward Islington out of my way, I see none yet dressed like her, I must look for a shag ruff, a freeze jerkin, a shortsword, and a safeguard, or I get none: why Moll prithee make haste, or the Coachman will curse us anon. Oh here's my Gentleman: if they would keep their days as well with their Mercers as their hours with their harlots, no bankrupt would give seven score pound for a sergeant's place, for would you know a catchpole rightly derived, the corruption of a Citizen, is the generation of a sergeant, how his eye hawks for venery. Come are you ready sir. Ready, for what sir. Do you ask that now sir, why was this meeting pointed. I thought you mistook me sir, You seem to be some young barrister, I have no suit in law— all my land's sold I praise heaven for't; 'thas rid me of much trouble, Then I must wake you sir, where stands the coach, whose's this, Moll: honest Moll. So young, and purblind, your an old wanton in your eyes I see that. thouart admirably suited for the three pigeons at Brainford, I'll swear I knew thee not. I'll swear you did not: but you shall know me now. No not here, we shall be spied efaith, the coach is better, come. Stay. What wilt thou untruss a point Moll. Yes, here's the point that I untruss, 'thas but one tag, 'twill serve though to tie up a rogue's tongue. How. (here's her pace, There's the gold with which you hired your hackney, She racks hard, and perhaps your bones will feel it, Ten angels of mine own, I've put to thine, win 'em, & wear 'em, Hold Moll, Mistress Mary. Draw or I'll serve an execution on thee Shall lay thee up till dooms day. Draw upon a woman, why what dost mean Moll?
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)
My life for yours and baffle em to sir,—why they are the same iades beleeue it sir, that haue drawne all your famous whores to Ware. Nay then they know their businesse, they neede no more instructions. The're so vsd to such iourneis sir, I neuer vse whip to em; for if they catch but the sent of a wench once, they runne like diuels. Fine Cerberus, that rogue will haue the start of a thousand ones, for whilst others trot a foot, heele ride prauncing to hell vpon a coach-horse. Stay, tis now about the hourse of her appointment, but yet I see her not, harke whats this, one, two three, three by the clock at Sauoy, this is the houre, and Graies-Inne fields the place, shee swore she'ed meete mee: ha yonders two Innes a Courtmen with one wench, but thats not shee, they walke toward Islington out of my way, I see none yet drest like her, I must looke for a shag ruffe, a freeze ierken, a shortsword, and a safeguard, or I get none: why Mol prethee make hast, or the Coachman will cursse vs anon. Oh heeres my Gentleman: if they would keepe their daies as well with their Mercers as their houres with their harlots, no bankrout would giue seuen score pound for a seriants place, for would you know a catchpoole rightly deririu'd, the corruption of a Cittizen, is the generation of a seriant, how his eye hawkes for venery. Come are you ready sir. Ready, for what sir. Do you aske that now sir, why was this meeting pointed. I thought you mistooke me sir, You seeme to be some yong barrister, I haue no suite in law—all my land's sold I praise heauen for't; t'has rid me of much trouble, Then I must wake you sir, where stands the coach, Whose this, Mol: honest Mol. So young, and purblind, your an old wanton in your eyes I see that. Th'art admirably suited for the three pigions at Brainford, Ile sweare I knew thee not. Ile sweare you did not: but you shall know me now. No not here, we shall be spyde efaith, the coach is better, come. Stay. What wilt thou vntrusse a point Mol. Yes, heere's the point that I vntrusse, 'thas but one tag, 'twill serue tho to tye vp a rogues tongue. How. (here's her pace, There's the gold with which you hir'd your hackney, Shee rackes hard, and perhaps your bones will feele it, Ten angels of mine own, I'ue put to thine, win em, & weare em, Hold Moll, Mistresse Mary. Draw or Ile serue an execution on thee Shall lay thee vp till doomes day. Draw vpon a woman, why what dost meane Mol?