Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1616 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1616] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 467 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
O sir you have pierced me thorough. Here I vow a recantation to those malicious faults I ever did against you. Never more will I despise your learning never more pin cards and coney tails upon your Cassock, never again reproach your reverend nightcap, and call it by the mangy name of murrain, never your reverend person more, and say, you look like one of Baal's Priests a hanging; never again, when you say grace, laugh at you, nor put you out at prayers: never cramp you more with the great Book of Martyrs; nor when you ride, get soap and thistles for you. No my Roger, these faults shall be corrected and amended, as by the tenor of my tears appears. Now cannot I hold if I should be hanged, I must cry to. Come to thine own beloved, & do even what thou wilt with me, sweet, sweet, Abi. I am thine own for ever: here's my hand, when Ro. proves a recreant, hang him i'th' bell-ropes. Why how now Mr. Roger, no prayers down with you tonight? did you hear the bell ring? You are courting, your flock shall fat well for it. I humbly ask your pardon: I'll clap up Prayers (but stay a little) and be with you again. How dare you being so unworthy a Fellow, Presume to come to move me any more? Ha, ha, ha. What ails the fellow. The fellow comes to laugh at you. I tell you Lady, I would not for your Land, be such a coxcomb, such a whining Ass, as you decreed me for when I was last here. I joy to hear you are wise Sir, 'tis a rare jewel In an elder Brother: pray be wiser yet. methinks I am very wise: I do not come a-wooing; Indeed I'll move no more love to your Ladyship. What make you here then? Only to see you, and be merry Lady: that's all my business. Faith let's be very merry. where's little Roger? he's a good fellow: an hour or two well spent in wholesome mirth is worth a thousand of these puling passions. 'tis an ill world for Lovers. They were never fewer. I thank God there's one less for me Lady. You were never any Sir. Till now; and now, I am the prettiest fellow. You talk like a tailor Sir. methinks your faces are no such fine things now. Why did you tell me you were wise. Lord what a lying age is this, where will you mend these faces? A hog's face soused is worth a hundred of 'em. Sure you had some Sow to your Mother. She brought such fine white pigs as you: fit for none but parson's Lady. 'tis well you will allow us our Clergy yet.
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)
O sir you haue pierst me thorow. Heere I vow a recantation to those malitious faults I euer did against you. Neuer more will I despise your learning neuer more pin cardes and cunny tailes vpon your Cassock, neuer againe reproach your reuerend nightcap, and cal it by the mangie name of murrin, neuer your reuerend person more, and say, you looke like one of Baals Priests a hanging; neuer againe, when you say grace, laugh at you, no put you out at prayers: neuer crampe you more with the great Booke of Martyrs; nor when you ride, get sope and thistles for you. No my Roger, these faults shall be corrected and amended, as by the tenor of my teares appeares. Now cannot I hold if I should bee hang'd, I must crie to. Come to thine own beloued, & doe euen what thou wilt withme, sweet, sweet, Abi. I am thine own for uer: heers my hand, whē Ro. proues a recreant, hang him i'th Bel-ropes. Why how now Mr. Roger, no prayers downe with you to night? did you heare the bell ring? You are courting, your slock shall fat well for it. I humblie aske your pardon: Ile clap vp Praiers (but staic a little) and be with you againe. How dare you being so vnworthie a Fellow, Presume to come to moue me anie more? Ha, ha, ha. What ailes the fellow. The fellow comes to laugh at you. I tell you Lady, I would not for your Land, be such a Coxecome, such a whining Asse, as you decreed me for when I was last heere. I ioy to heare you are wise Sir, tis a rare Iewell In an elder Brother: praye be wiser yet. Me thinks I am very wise: I doe not come a woeing; Indeed Ile moue no more loue to your Ladiship. What make you heere then? Onely to see you, and be merry Ladie: thats all my businesse. Faith lets be verie merrie. Wher's little Roger? he's a good fellow: an hower or two well spent in wholsome mirth is worth a thousand of these puling passions. Tis an ill world for Louers. They were neuer fewer. I thanke God ther's one lesse for me Ladie. You were neuer any Sir. Till now; and now, I am the prettiest fellow. You talke like a Taylor Sir. Me thinkes your faces are no such fine things now. Why did you tell mee you were wise. Lord what a lying age is this, where wil you mend these faces? A hogs face soust is worth a hundred of vm. Sure you had some Sow to your Mother. She brought such fine white pigs as you: fit for none but Parsons Ladie. Tis wel you will alow vs our Cleargie yet.