Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
You're pleasant, Sir. How now? WHat says, my dainty Dolkin? Yonder Fishwife Will not away. And there's your Giantess, The Bawd of Lambeth. heart, I cannot speak with'hem. Not, afore night, I have told'hem, in a voice, Through the Trunk, like one of your Familiars. But I have spied Sir Epicure Mammon. Where? Coming along, at far end of the lane, Slow of his feet, but earnest of his tongue, To one, that's with him. Face, Go you, and shift, Dol, you must presently make ready, too. Why, what's the matter? O, I did look for him With the suns rising.' Marvel, he could sleep. This is the day, I am to perfect for him The Magisterium, our great work, the Stone; And yield it, made, into his hands: Of which, He has, this month, talked, as he were possessed on't, And, now, he's dealing pieces on't, away. Me thinks, I see him, entering Ordinaries, Dispensing for the pox; and Plaguy-houses, Reaching his dose; Walking More-fields for Lepers; And offering Citizens wives Pomander Bracelets, As his preservative, made of the Elixir; Searching the spital, to make old Bawds young; And the High ways, for Beggars, to make rich. I see no end of his labours. He will make Nature ashamed, of her long sleep, when Art, Who's but a Stepdame, shall do more, than she, In her best love to Mankind, ever could. If his Dream last, he'll turn the Age, to Gold. COme on, Sir. Now, you set your foot, on Shore In Novo Orb; Here's the rich Pern: And there within, Sir, are the golden Mines Great Salomon's Op●. He was sailing to't Three years, but we have reached it in ten Months. This is the day, wherein, to all my friends, I will pronounce the happy word, Be rich. This day, you shall be Specta●ssimi. You shall no more deal with the hollow Die, Or the frail Card. No more be at charge of keeping The Livery-punke, for my young Heir, that must Seal, at all hours, in his shirt. No more If he deny, ha'him beaten to't, as he is That brings him the commodity. No more Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger Of velvet entrails, for a rude spun cloak, To be displayed at Madam Augusta's, make The sons of Sword, and Hazard fall before The golden Calf, and on their knees, whole nights, Commit I dolatry with Wine, and Trumpet's Or go a feasting, after Drum and Ensign. No more of this. You shall start up young Viceroys, And have your Punks, and Punquettees, my Surly. And unto thee, I speak it first, Berich. Where is my Subtle, there? Within Hough? Sir. he'll come to you, by and by.
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)
You'are pleasant, Sir. How now? VVHat say's, my dainty Dolkin? Yonder Fish-wife Will not away. And there's your Giantesse, The Baud of Lambeth. Hart, I cannot speake with'hem. Not, afore night, I haue told'hem, in a voice, Thorough the Trunke, like one of your Familiars. But I haue spied Sir Epicure Mammon. Where? Comming along, at far end of the lane, Slow of his feete, but earnest of his tongue, To one, that's with him. Face, Goe you, and shift, Dol, you must presently make ready, too. Why, what's the matter? O, I did looke for him With the sunnes rising. 'Meruaile, he could sleepe. This is the day, I am to perfect for him The Magisterium, our great worke, the Stone; And yeeld it, made, into his hands: Of which, He has, this month, talk'd, as he were possess'd on't, And, now, hee's dealing peeces on't, away. Me thinkes, I see him, entring Ordinaries, Dispensing for the poxe; and Plaguy-houses, Reaching his dose; Walking More-fields for Lepers; And offring Citizens Wiues Pomander Bracelets, As his preseruatiue, made of the Elixir; Searching the Spittle, to make old Baudes yong; And the High waies, for Beggars, to make rich. I see no end of his labours. He will make Nature asham'd, of her long sleepe, when Art, Who's but a Step-dame, shall doe more, then shee, In her best loue to Man-kinde, euer could. If his Dreame last, Hee'l turne the Age, to Gold. COme on, Sir. Now, you set your foote, on Shore In Nouo Orbe; Here's the rich Pern: And there within, Sir, are the golden Mines Great Salomon's Op. He was sayling to't Three yeares, but we haue reach'd it in ten Months. This is the day, wherein, to all my friends, I will pronounce the happy word, Be rich. This day, you shall be Spectassimi. You shall no more deale with the hollow Die, Or the fraile Card. No more be at charge of keeping The Liuery-punke, for my yong Heyre, that must Seale, at all howers, in his shirt. No more If he deny, ha'him beaten to't, as he is That brings him the commoditie. No more Shall thirst of satten, or the couetous hunger Of veluet entrayles, for a rude spun cloake, To be displayd at Madam Augusta's, make The sonnes of Sword, and Hazard fall before The golden Calfe, and on their knees, whole nights, Commit I dolatry with Wine, and Trumpets Or goe a feasting, after Drum and Ensigne. No more of this. You shall start vp yong Vice-roies, And haue your Punques, and Punquettees, my Surly. And vnto thee, I speake it first, Berich. Where is my Subtle, there? Within Hough? Sir. Hee'll come to you, by and by.