Englishmen for My Money, or A Woman Will Have Her Will · chunk 29 of 43
Haughton, William · published 1616 · first performed or written 1598 [Feb 18-May 9, payment] (Annals) comedy · Admiral's (Nottingham's) Men unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Go to then. M. Heigham, oh sweet M Higham, doth my Father think that his unkindness can part you & poor Laurentia? No, no, I have found a drift to bring you to my Chamber, if you have but the heart to venture it. Ventre, salic go to de see, and be de see, and over de see and in de see voer my sweet Low. Then you dare go into a Basket; for I know no other means to enjoy your company, then so: for my Father hath the Keys of the Door. salic climb up tot you? sal ick fly up tot you? salic, wat segdy? Bid him do it Sister, we shall see his cunning. Oh no, so you may catch a fall. There M. Heigham, Put yourself into that Basket, and I will draw you up: But no words I pray you, for fear my Sister hear you. No, no; no word: Oh de feet wench, Ick come, Ick come. Are you ready master Heigham? ja ick my sout Lady. Merrily then my Wenches. How heavy the Ass is: Master Heigham, is there any in the Basket but yourself? Neit, neit, dare be no man. Are you up sir? Neit, neit. Nor never are you like to climb more higher: Sisters, the Woodcock's caught, the Fool is caged. My sout Lady I be nuc neit up, pull me totv. When can you tell; what master Vandal, A wether beaten soldier an old wencher, Thus to be over reached by three young Girls: Ah sirrah now we'll brag with Mistress Moore, To have as fine a parrot as she hath, Look sisters what a pretty fool it is: What a green greasy shining Coat he hath, An Almond for parrot, a Rope for parrot. Do you moe que me seger seger, I sal seg your vader. Do and you dare, you see here is your fortune, Disquiet not my father; if you do, I'll send you with a vengeance to the ground, Well we must confess we trouble you, And over watching makes a wiseman mad, Much more a fool, there's a Cushion for you. To bore you through the nose. To lay your head on. Couch in your Kennel sleep and fall to rest, And so good night for London maids scorn still, A Dutch-man should be seen to curb their will. Hott ye Daughter, hott ye¿ gods se ker kin? will ye no let me come tot you? ick bid you let me come tot you watt sal ick don, ick would neit vor un hundred pound Alvaro & Delion, should see me open dit manner, well what sal ick don, ick mout neit call: vor de Wenshes will cut de rope and break my neck; ick sal here bleaven till de morning, & dan ick sal call to mester Pisaro, & make him shafe & shit his dauctors: Oh de skellum Frisco, Oh des cruel Hores.
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Goe to then. M. Heigham, oh ſweete M Higham, doth my Father thinke that his vnkindnes can part you & poore Laurentia? No, no, I haue found a drift to bring you to my Chamber, if you haue but the heart to venter it. Ventre, ſalick goe to de ſee, and be de ſee, and ore de ſee and in de ſee voer my ſweete Louue. Then you dare goe into a Basket; for I know no other meanes to inioy your companie, then ſo: for my Father hath the Keyes of the Dore. Salick climb vp tot you? ſal ick fly vp tot you? ſalick, wat ſegdy? Bid him doe it Siſter, wee ſhall ſee his cunning. Oh no, ſo you may catch a fal. There M. Heigham, Put your ſelfe into that Basket, and I will draw you vp: But no words I pray you, for feare my Siſter heare you. No, no; no word: Oh de ſeete Wenſhe, Ick come, Ick come. Are you ready maiſter Heigham? Ia ick my ſout Lady. Merily then my Wenches. How heauie the Aſſe is: Maiſter Heigham, is there any in the Basket but your ſelfe? Neit, neit, dare be no man. Are you vp ſir? Neit, neit. Nor neuer are you like to climbe more higher: Siſters, the Woodcock's caught, the Foole is cag'd. My ſout Lady I be nuc neit vp, pul me totv. When can you tell; what maiſter Ʋandalle, A wether beaten ſoldier an old wencher, Thus to be ouer reach'd by three young Girles: Ah ſirra now weele bragge with Miſtres Moore, To haue as fine a Parret as ſhe hath, Looke ſiſters what a pretty foole it is: What a greene greaſie ſhyning Coate he hath, An Almonde for Parret, a Rope for Parret. Doe you moc que me ſeger ſeger, I ſal ſeg your vader. Doe and you dare, you ſee here is your fortune, Diſquiet not my father; if you doe, Ile ſend you with a vengeance to the ground, Well we muſt confeſſe we trouble you, And ouer watching makes a wiſeman madde, Much more a foole, theres a Cusſhon for you. To bore you through the noſe. To lay your head on. Couch in your Kennell ſleape and fall to reſt, And ſo good night for London maydes skorne ſtill, A Dutch-man ſhould be ſeene to curbe their will. Hort ye Daughter, hort ye▪ gods ſe ker kin? will ye no let me come tot you? ick bid you let me come tot you watt ſal ick don, ick woud neit vor vn hundred pounde Aluaro & Delion, ſhould ſee me ope dit maner, well wat ſal ick don, ick mout neit cal: vor de Wenſhes wil cut de rope and breake my necke; ick ſal here bleauen til de morning, & dan ick ſal cal to meſter Piſaro, & make him ſhafe & ſhite his dauctors: Oh de skellum Friſco, Oh des cruell Hores.