Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T6: money, master, pound, law, lawyer, chain, gentleman, gold, pay, pray.
The whole Nest are fled! What sort of Birds were they? A kind of choughs, Or thievish Daws, Sir, that have picked my purse Of Eight-score, and ten Pounds, within these five weeks, Beside my first Materials; and my Goods, That lie i'the Cellar: which I am glad, they have left, I may have home yet. Think you so Sir? I. By order of Law, Sir, but not otherwise. Not mine own stuff? Sir, I can take no knowledge, That they are yours, but by public means. If you can bring certificate, that you were gulled of 'em, Or any formal Writ, out of a Court, That you did cozen yourself; I will not hold them. I'll rather loose'hem. That you shall not, Sir, By me, in troth. Upon these termesthey ' are yours. What should they ha' been, Sir, turned into Gold all? No. I cannot tell. It may be they should. What then? What a great loss in hope have you sustained? Not I, the Common wealth has. ay, he would ha'built The City new; and made a Ditch about it Of Silver, should have run with Cream from Hogsden: That, every Sunday in More-fields, the Younkers, And Tits, and Tomboys should have fed on gratis. I will go mount a Turnep-cart, and preach The end o'the world within these two months. Surly, What! in a Dream? Must I needs cheat myself, With that same foolish vice of Honesty! Come let us go, and hearken out the Rogues. That Face I'll mark for mine, if ere I meet him. If I can hear of him, Sir, I'll bring you word, Unto your lodging: for in troth, they were strangers To me, I thought 'em honest, as myself, Sir. 'Tis well, the Saints shall not lose all yet. Go, And get some Carts— For what, my zealous Friends? To bear away the portion of the Righteous, Out of this den of thieves. What is that portion? The goods, sometimes the Orphans, that the Brethren Bought with their Silver pence. What, those i'the Cellar, The Knight, Sir Mammon claims? I do defy The wicked Mammon, so do all the Brethren, Thou profane man.. I ask thee, with what conscience Thou canst advance that Nemrod, against us, That have the seal? Were not the Shillings numbered, That made the Pounds? were not the Pounds told out, Upon the second day of the fourth week, In the eight month, upon the table dormant, The year, of the last patience of the Saints, Six hundred and ten. Mine earnest vehement Butcher, And Deacon also, I cannot dispute with you, But, if you get you not away the sooner, I shall confute you, with a Cudgel. Sir. Be patient Ananias. I am strong, And will stand up, well girt, against an Host, That threaten Gad in exile. I shall send you To Amstredam, to your Cellar.
nodes 3910–3980 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 52 of 53 in this edition
Length
482 words · 684 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T6 — Money, debt and creditcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.805 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T9 · seed 44: T10 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
The whole Nest are fledde! What sort of Birds were they? A kinde of Choughes, Or theeuish Dawes, Sir, that haue pickt my purse Of Eight-score, and ten Pounds, within these fiue weekes, Beside my first Materials; and my Goods, That lye i'the Cellar: which I am glad, they haue left, I may haue home yet. Thinke you so Sir? I. By order of Law, Sir, but not otherwise. Not mine owne stuffe? Sir, I can take no knowledge, That they are yours, but by publique meanes. If you can bring certificate, that you were gull'd of 'hem, Or any formall Writ, out of a Court, That you did cosen your selfe; I will not hold them. I'll rather loose'hem. That you shall not, Sir, By me, in troth. Vpon these termesthey' are yours. What should they ha' beene, Sir, turn'd into Gold all? No. I cannot tell. It may be they should. What then? What a great losse in hope haue ou sustain'd? Not I, the Common wealth has. I, he would ha'built The Citie new; and made a Ditch about it Of Siluer, should haue runne with Creame from Hogsden: That, euery Sunday in More-fields, the Younkers, And Tits, and Tom-boyes should haue fed on gratis. I will goe mount a Turnep-cart, and preach The end o'the world within these two months. Surly, What! in a Dreame? Must I needes cheat my selfe, With that same foolish vice of Honesty! Come let vs goe, and hearken out the Rogues. That Face I'll marke for mine, if ere I meete him. If I can heare of him, Sir, I'll bring you word, Vnto your lodging: for in troth, they were strangers To me, I thought 'hem honest, as my selfe, Sir. 'Tis well, the Saints shall not loose all yet. Goe, And get some Carts— For what, my zealous Friends? To beare away the portion of the Righteous, Out of this denne of Theeues. What is that portion? The goods, sometimes the Orphanes, that the Brethren Bought with their Siluer pence. What, those i'the Cellar, The Knight, Sir Mammon claimes? I doe defie The wicked Mammon, so doe all the Brethren, Thou prophane Man. I aske thee, with what conscience Thou canst aduance that Nemrod, against vs, That haue the seale? Were not the Shillings numbred, That made the Pounds? were not the Pounds told out, Vpon the second day of the fourth weeke, In the eight month, vpon the table dormant, The yeare, of the last patience of the Saints, Sixe hundred and tenne. Mine earnest vehement Botcher, And Deacon also, I cannot dispute with you, But, if you get you not away the sooner, I shall confute you, with a Cudgell. Sir. Be patient Ananias. I am strong, And will stand vp, well girt, against an Host, That threaten Gad in exile. I shall send you To Amstredam, to your Cellar.