Mercury Vindicated from the Alchemists at Court · chunk 1 of 5
Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1616 [Jan 1] (Annals) masque · before the Court unassigned nearest T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho · 576 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Nor a deuoish vit a clowd to fesh 'hem out o' te bottome o' te vayter. But tey musht eene come and daunch i'teyr mantels now; and snow tee how tey can foot te fading and te fadow, and te phip adunboyne I trow. I pre dee now, let not ty sweet faysht ladies make a mocke on 'hem, and scorne to daunsh vit'hem now, becash tey be poore. Tey drinke no bonny clabbe, i' fayt, now It ish better ten vsquebagh to daunsh vit PHATRICK. By my faters hand tey vill daunsh very vell. I by St. PATRICK vill tey; for tey be nimble men. And will leape ash light, be creesh saue me, ash he tat veareste biggesht fether in ty court, king YAMISH. For all tey haue no good vindsh to blow tem heter, nor elementsh to presherue 'hem. Nor all te foure cornersh o' te world, to creepe out on. But tine owne Kingdomes. Tey be honesht men. And goot men: tine owne shubshects. Tou hasht very good shubshects in Ireland. A great good many, o'great goot shubshects. Tat loue ty mayesty heartily. And vil runne t'rough fire, and vater for tee, ouer t bog, and te Bannoke, be te graish o' got, and graish o' king, By got, tey vil fight for tee, king YAMISH, and for my mistresh tere. And my little mayshter. And te vfrow, ty daughter, that is in Tuchland. Tey vill spend ter heart, in rer belly for tee, as vell as ter legs, in ter heelsh. By creesh, tey vill shpend all teyr cowesh for tee. Pretee make mush on 'tem, Pretee, sweet faysh doe. Be not angry vit te honesh men, for te few rebelsh, & knauesh. Nor beleeue no tayles, king YAMISH. For, by got, tey loue tee in Ireland. Pray tee, bid 'hem velcome, and got make 'hem rish for tee. Tey vill make tem shelues honesht. Tou hasht not a hundret tousand sush men by my trote. No, nor forty, by my hand. By iustish Delounes hant, not twenty. By my Lo. deputish hant not ten, in all ti great Britayne. Shall I call hem to tee? Tey shit like poore men i' the porsh yonder. Shtay te peepe i'sh come! harke, harke. Let vsh daunsh ten. Daunsh DENNISE. By creesh sa' me I ha'forgot. A little till our mayshtersh be ready. How like tow tish YAMISH? And tey had fine cloyshs now, and liueries, like tine owne men and bee. But terugs make t'em shrug a little. Tey haue shit a great phoyle i' te cold, ant bee Isht not pitty te cloysh be drown'd now? Pre tee shee anoter daunsh and be not veary. He may be of your rudenesse. Hold your tongues. And let your courser manners seeke some place, Fit for their wildnesse. This is none, be gone. Aduance, immortall Bard, come vp and view The glad, ding face of that great king, in whom So many prophecies of thine are knit. This is that IAMES of which long since thou sung'st, Should end our countreyes most vnnaturall broyles; And if her eare, then deafned with the drum, Would stoupe but to the musique of his peace, Shee need not with the spheares change harmony. This is the man thou promis'd should redeeme: If she would loue his counsels as his lawes, Her head from seruitude, her feete from fall, Her fame from barbarisme, her state from want,
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)
Nor a deuoish vit a clowd to fesh 'hem out o' te bottome o' te vayter. But tey musht eene come and daunch i'teyr mantels now; and snow tee how tey can foot te fading and te fadow, and te phip adunboyne I trow. I pre dee now, let not ty sweet faysht ladies make a mocke on 'hem, and scorne to daunsh vit'hem now, becash tey be poore. Tey drinke no bonny clabbe, i' fayt, now It ish better ten vsquebagh to daunsh vit PHATRICK. By my faters hand tey vill daunsh very vell. I by St. PATRICK vill tey; for tey be nimble men. And will leape ash light, be creesh saue me, ash he tat veareste biggesht fether in ty court, king YAMISH. For all tey haue no good vindsh to blow tem heter, nor elementsh to presherue 'hem. Nor all te foure cornersh o' te world, to creepe out on. But tine owne Kingdomes. Tey be honesht men. And goot men: tine owne shubshects. Tou hasht very good shubshects in Ireland. A great good many, o'great goot shubshects. Tat loue ty mayesty heartily. And vil runne t'rough fire, and vater for tee, ouer t bog, and te Bannoke, be te graish o' got, and graish o' king, By got, tey vil fight for tee, king YAMISH, and for my mistresh tere. And my little mayshter. And te vfrow, ty daughter, that is in Tuchland. Tey vill spend ter heart, in rer belly for tee, as vell as ter legs, in ter heelsh. By creesh, tey vill shpend all teyr cowesh for tee. Pretee make mush on 'tem, Pretee, sweet faysh doe. Be not angry vit te honesh men, for te few rebelsh, & knauesh. Nor beleeue no tayles, king YAMISH. For, by got, tey loue tee in Ireland. Pray tee, bid 'hem velcome, and got make 'hem rish for tee. Tey vill make tem shelues honesht. Tou hasht not a hundret tousand sush men by my trote. No, nor forty, by my hand. By iustish Delounes hant, not twenty. By my Lo. deputish hant not ten, in all ti great Britayne. Shall I call hem to tee? Tey shit like poore men i' the porsh yonder. Shtay te peepe i'sh come! harke, harke. Let vsh daunsh ten. Daunsh DENNISE. By creesh sa' me I ha'forgot. A little till our mayshtersh be ready. How like tow tish YAMISH? And tey had fine cloyshs now, and liueries, like tine owne men and bee. But terugs make t'em shrug a little. Tey haue shit a great phoyle i' te cold, ant bee Isht not pitty te cloysh be drown'd now? Pre tee shee anoter daunsh and be not veary. He may be of your rudenesse. Hold your tongues. And let your courser manners seeke some place, Fit for their wildnesse. This is none, be gone. Aduance, immortall Bard, come vp and view The glad, ding face of that great king, in whom So many prophecies of thine are knit. This is that IAMES of which long since thou sung'st, Should end our countreyes most vnnaturall broyles; And if her eare, then deafned with the drum, Would stoupe but to the musique of his peace, Shee need not with the spheares change harmony. This is the man thou promis'd should redeeme: If she would loue his counsels as his lawes, Her head from seruitude, her feete from fall, Her fame from barbarisme, her state from want,