Greene's Tu Quoque, or The City Gallant · chunk 7 of 47
Cooke, John · published 1614 · first performed or written 1611 (Annals) comedy · Queen Anne's Men unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Heroickly spoken by this Candle, 'tis pity thou wert not made a Lord. A Lord! by this Light I do not think but to be Lord Maior of London before I die, and have three Pageants carried before me, besides a Ship and an Unicorn; prentices may pray for that time, for whensoever it happens, I will make another Shrove-Tuesday for them. Young master Rash has sent you a quart of Maligoe. M: Rash! 'zounds how does he know I am here? Nay, I know not sir. Know not! it comes through you and your rascally glib-tongued companions, 'tis my Master's son, a fine gentleman he is, & a boon companion, I must go so him. Boy, fill us a cup of your maligo, we'll drink to M. Spendall in his absence, there's not a finer spirit of a Citizen within the walls, here master Pursnet you shall pledge him. I'll not refuse it were it puddle: by Styx he is a bountiful Gentleman, and I shall report him so: here M Tickleman, shall I charge you? Do your worst Sergeant, I'll pledge my young Spendall a whole sea, as they say, fa la la la la, would the Music were here again, I do begin to be wanton, hippocras sirrah, and a dry biscuit; here bawd, a carouse. Bawd! i'faith you begin to grow light i'th' head, I pray, no more such words, for if you do, I shall grow into distempers. Distempers! hang your distempers, be angry with me and thou dar'st, I pray, who feeds you, but I? who keeps the featherbeds from the Brokers, but I? 'tis not your sausage face, thick clouted cream rampallion at home, that snuffles in the nose like a decayed Bagpipe. Nay, sweet Mistress Tickleman, be concordant, reverence Antiquity. Save you, sweet creatures of beauty, save you: How now old Belzebub, how dost thou? Belzebub! Belzebub in thy face. Nay, good words Mistress Swearman, he's a young Gallant, you must not weigh what he says. I would my lamentable complaining Lover had been here, here had been a Supersede as for his melancholy, and i'faith Frank I am glad my father has turned over his shop to thee, I hope I, or any friend of mine, shall have so much credit with thee, as to stand in thy books for a suit of Satin. For a whole piece, if you please, any friend of yours shall command me to the last remnant. Why God a mercy Francke, what, shall's to dice? Dice or drink, here's forty crowns, as long as that will last, any thing. Why there spoke a jingling Boy. A pox of money, 'tis but rubbish, and he that hoards it up, it but a Scavenger: if there be cards i'th' house, let's go to Primero. Primero! why I thought thou hadst not been so much gamester as to play at it.
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)
Heroickly spoken by this Candle, t'is pity thou wert not made a Lord. A Lord! by this Light I doe not thinke but to bee Lord Maior of London before I die, and haue three Pageants carried before me, besides a Shippe and an Vnicorne; prentices may pray for that time, for whensoeuer it happens, I will make another Shrouetuesday for them. Yong master Rash has sent you a quart of Maligoe. M: Rash! zownds how does he know I am here? Nay, I know not sir. Know not! it comes through you and your rascally glib-tongu'd companions, t'is my Masters sonne, a fine gentleman he is, & a boon companion, I must go soe him. Boy, fill vs a cup of your maligo, wee'l drinke to M. Spndall in his absence, there's not a finer spirit of a Cittizen within the walles, here master Pursnet you shall pledge him. Ile not refuse it were it puddle: by Stix hs is a bountifull Gentleman, and I shall report him so: heere M Tickleman, shall I charge you? Doe your worst Sergeant, Ile pledge my yoong Spndall a whole sea, as they say, fa la la la la, would the Musicke were heere againe, I doe beginne to be wanton, Ipocras sirra, and a drie bisket; here bawd, a carowse. Bawd! I faith you beginne to grow light ith head, I pray, no more such words, for if you doe, I shall grow into distempers. Distempers! hang your distempers, be angry with me and thou dr'st, I pray, who feedes you, but I? who keepes the feather-beddes from the Brokers, but I? tis not your sawsege face, thicke clowted creame rampallion at home, that snuffles in the nose like a decayed Bagge-pipe. Nay, sweete Mistris Tickle-man, be concordant, reuerence Antiquitie. Saue you, sweete creatures of beauty, saue you: How now olde Belzebub, how dost thou? Belzebub! Belzebub in thy face. Nay, good words Mistris Swearman, hee's a young Gallant, you must not weigh what he sayes. I would my lamentable complayning Louer had beene heere, heere had beene a Supersede as for his melancholy, and yfaith Francke I am glad my father has turn'd ouer his shop to thee, I hope I, or any friend of mine, shall haue so much credite with thee, as to stand in thy bookes for a suite of Sattin. For a whole peece, if you please, any friend of yours shall command me to the last remnant. Why God a mercy Francke, what, shall's to dice? Dice or drincke, heere's forty crownes, as long as that will last, any thing. Why there spoke a gingling Boy. A pox of money, t'is but rubbish, and he that hoord's it vp, it but a Scauenger: if there be cardes ith house, let's goe to Primero. Primero! why I thought thou hadst not been so much gamster as to play at it.