S., S. · published 1616 · first performed or written 1615 [c.1614-1615] (Annals) comedy · Queen Anne's Men unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
The fury of his madness, envies some, That surges from the poisoned avarice Of his swollen heart: his broken resolutions, Wherein his traitor-tongue can scarce forbear The protestation. Give me leave to fear. What will you counsel me? That must be studied. Thus— Listen— We'll try what mischiefs he can warp: With wooden wasters learn to play at sharp. Oh my back, my back— How do you, Sir? Oh son, son, worse than ever. The Gout was but a stitch to this. Oh the Colic, the Colic and stone. There be two of them master, ask the widow else. Sure it will rend my bowels out. It's just: The stone i'th' bladder now should make him smart That has so long been sick of stone i'th' heart. Oh that I knew where my old Physician lived. Keep on your habit. Our walk's turned Paul's, I think. Zlid, if our third party were here, we would venture on 'em all. theyare but welsh freeze; they would shrink at the sense of iron. Let's muffle up our villains with the shadow Of some great conference: if a cheat be offered, We'll not refuse: but now to compass it, Must not be done by force of arms, but wit. Son Benjamin, you must to Goldington, To view young Bruster's lands: theyare offered me This morn in mortgage. Hark you— Thirsty, come hither. Ha'you any drink there? No; but come drink thyself drunk with Poetry. Faith, Poetry now a days will scarce make a man drink. I had as lief be a pot as a Poet: then I should sometimes be full of good liquor. Oh, your Poet is too full of that, it makes him thread bare. Sirrah, I ha'made a Sonnet here to my Mistress; she ne'er wrought such a one on her Sampler. Lay thine ear close to my musical tongue, I shall ravish her. You shall be hanged for't then. Open thine ears, like an Oyster a sunning Even as the bird, which we Chameleon call, doth live on air for aye: So my kind heart, ever like a stock-dove shall feed on thy love all day. ay, and all night too. ay, and all night too: but that night would make the verse too long. Now I talk of night, let me see what time of day it is. I have business, must not be rhymed away. Pray y' Sir, how speaks your watch? One? mine lies inclining to two You have a pretty interpreter of the time there. Who made it, French or Dutch? You need not doubt me, Sir, I am the new Parson of Saint Peter's in Bedford. Sir, then as I may say, have joy in your new Benefice, for bellypiece you must ha' none. Pray let's peruse your watch, see you mine. Fezz' Sir, y' have a brave wash there. Ihill warrant the king's wash-maker made it. Beseech you master Nice, let me see master Parson wash. Master Parson will you sell your wash, Ihill give you good cash for 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)
The fury of his madneſſe, Enuies ſome, That ſurges from the poyſon'd auarice Of his ſwolne heart: his broken reſolutions, Wherein his traitor-tongue can ſcarce forbeare The proteſtation. Giue me leaue to feare. What will you counſell me? That muſt be ſtudy'd. Thus—Liſten—We'll trie what miſcheefes he can warpe: With woodden waſters learne to play at ſharpe. Oh my backe, my backe— How do you, Sir? Oh ſonne, ſonne, worſe then euer. The Gowt was but a ſtitch to this. Oh the Collicke, the Collicke and ſtone. There be two of them maſter, aske the widdow elſe. Sure it will rend my bowels out. It's iuſt: The ſtone ith' bladder now ſhould make him ſmart That has ſo long bene ſicke of ſtone ith' heart. Oh that I knew where my old Phyſician liu'd. Keepe on your habite. Our walke's turn'd Pouls, I thinke. Zlid, if our third party were here, wee would venter on 'hem all. Th'are but welſh freeze; they would ſhrinke at the ſenſe of yron. Let's muffle vp our villaines with the ſhadow Of ſome great conference: if a cheate be offer'd, We'll not refuſe: but now to compaſſe it, Muſt not be done by force of armes, but wit. Sonne Beniamin, you muſt to Goldington, To view yong Bruſters lands: th'are offer'd me This morne in morgage. Harke you— Thirſty, come hither. Ha'you any drink there? No; but come drinke thy ſelfe drunke with Poetrie. Faith, Poetrie now a daies will ſcarce make a man drink. I had as liefe be a pot as a Poet: then I ſhould ſometimes be full of good liquour. Oh, your Poet is too full of that, it makes him thred bare. Sirrah, I ha'made a Sonnet here to my Miſtreſſe; ſhe n'ere wrought ſuch a one on her Samplar. Lay thine eare cloſe to my muſicall tongue, I ſhall rauiſh her. You ſhall be hang'd for't then. Open thine eares, like an Oyſter a ſunning Euen as the bird, which we Camelion call, doth liue on aire for aye: So my kinde heart, euer like a stocke-Doue ſhall feede on thy loue all day. I, and all night too. I, and all night too: but that night would make the verſe too long. Now I talke of night, let me ſee what time of day it is. I haue buſineſſe, muſt not be rim'd away. Pray y' Sir, how ſpeakes your watch? One? mine lies inclining to two You haue a prettie interpreter of the time there. Who made it, French or Dutch? You need not doubt me, Sir, I am the new Parſon of Saint Peters in Bedford. Sir, then as I may ſay, haue ioy in your new Benefice, for belly-peece you muſt ha'none. Pray' lets peruſe your watch, ſee you mine. Fezz 'Sir, y' haue a braue waſh there. Chill warrant the Kings waſh-maker made it. Beſeech you mozter Nice, let me ſee maſter Parſon waſh. Maſter Paſon will you zell your waſh, chill giue you good caſh for it.