Beaumont, Francis · published 1613 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Nay George, you must consider Mistress Lucy's feet are tender, and, beside, 'tis dark, and I promise you truly, I do not see how he should get out of Waltham forest with her yet. Nay coney, what wilt thou lay with me that Raph has her not yet. I will not lay against Raph honey, because I have not spoken with him, but look George, peace, here comes the merry old Gentleman again. When it was grown to dark midnight, And all were fast asleep, In came Margaret's grimely Ghost, And stood at William's feet. I have money, and meat and drink before hand, till tomorrow at noon, why should I be sad? methinks I have half a dozen jovial spirits within me, I am three merry men, and three merry men, To what end should any man be sad in this world? give me a man that when he goes to hanging cries, troll the black bowl to me: and a woman that will sing a cath in her Travel. I have seen a man come by my door, with a serious face, in a black cloak, without a hatband, carrying his head as if he looked for pins in the street, I have looked out of my window half a year after, and have spied that man's head upon London-bridge: 'tis vile, never trust a Tailor that does not sing at his work, his mind is of nothing but filching. Mark this George, 'tis worth noting: Godfrey my Tailor, you know, never sings, and he had fourteen yards to make this Gown, and I'll be sworn Mistress Pennistone the draper's wife had one made with twelve. 'Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood, More than wine, or sleep, or food. Let each man keep his heart at ease, No man dies of that disease. He that would his body keep From diseases, must not weep, But whoever laughs and sings, Never he his body brings Into fevers, gouts, or rheums, Or lingeringly his longs consumes: Or meets with aches in the bone, Or catarrhs, or griping stone: But contented lives for aye, The more he laughs, the more he may. Look George, how sayst thou by this George? is't not a fine old man? Now God's blessing a'thy sweet lips. When wilt thou be so merry George? Faith thou art the frowningst little thing when thou art angry, in a Country. Peace Coney, thou shalt see him taken down too I warrant thee; here's Luce's father come now. As you came from Walsingham, from that holy land, there met you not with my truelove by the way as you came Oh Master Merrithought! my daughter's gone. This mirth becomes you not, my daughters gone. Why an if she be, what care I? Or let her come or go, or tarry. Mock not my misery, it is your son, Whom I have made my own, when all forsook him, Has stolen my only joy, my child away.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T21 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Nay George, you must consider Mistresse Lucies feete are tender, and, besides, 'tis darke, and I promise you tuely, I doe not see how hee should get out of Waim forrest with her yet. Nay Cunny, what wilt thou laie with me that Raph has her not yet. I will not lay against Raph hunny, because I haue not spoken with him, but looke George, peace, heere comes the merry old Gentleman againe. When it was growne to darke midnight, And all were fast asleepe, In came Margarets grimely Ghost, And stood at VVilliams feete. I haue mony, and meate and drinke before hand, till to morrow at noone, why should I be sad? mee thinkes I haue halfe a dozen Iouiall spirits within mee, I am three merry men, and three merry men, To what end should any man be sad in this world? giue me a man that when hee goes to hanging cries, troule the blacke bowle to mee: and a woeman that will sing a cath in her Trauell. I haue seene a man come by my dore, with a serious face, in a blacke cloake, without a hat-band, carrying his head as if hee lookt for pinnes in the streete, I haue lookt out of my window halfe a yeare after, and haue spide that mans head vpon London-bridge: 'tis vile, neuer trust a Tailor that does not sing at his worke, his mind is of nothing but filching. Marke this George, tis worth noting: Godfrry my Tailor, you know, neuer sings, and hee had foureteene yards to make this Gowne, and I'le be sworne Mistresse Pennistone the Drapers wife had one made with twelue. 'Tis mirth that fils the veines with bloud, More then wine, or sleepe, or food. Let each man keepe his heart at ease, No man dies of that disease. He that would his body keepe From diseases, must not weepe, But who euer laughes and sings, Neuer he his body brings Into feuers, gouts, or rhumes, Or lingringly his longs consumes: Or meets with aches in the bone, Or Catharhes, or griping stone: But contented liues for aye, The more he laughes, the more he may. Looke George, how saist thou by this George? is't not a fine old man? Now Gods blessing a'thy sweet lips. When wilt thou be so merry George? Faith thou art the frowningst little thing when thou art angry, in a Countrey. Peace Coney, thou shalt see him taken downe too I warrant thee; here's Luces father come now. As you came from Walsingham, frō that holy land, there met you not with my tru-loue by the way as you came Oh Maister Merri-thought! my daughter's gone. This mirth becomes you not, my daughters gone. Why an if she be, what care I? Or let her come or go, or tarry. Mocke not my misery, it is your sonne, Whom I haue made my owne, when all forsooke him, Has stolne my onely ioy, my childe away.