Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1619 · first performed or written 1610 [c.1610-1611] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 477 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
I thank you sir, when I have seen you placed madam, I must attend the King, but the mask done, i'll wait on you again. Stand back there, room for my Lord Melantius, pray bear back, this is no place for such youths and their trulls, let the doors shut again, no; do your heads itch, i'll scratch them, so now thrust and hang, again, who is't now, I cannot blame my Lord Calianax for giving way, would he were here, he would run raging amongst them, and break a dozen heads in the twinkling of an eye, what's the news now? I pray you can you help me to the speech of the master Cook? If I open the door i'll cook some of your calves heads. Peace rogues?— again,— who is't? Melantius? Let him not in. O my Lord a must, make room there for my Lord, is your Lady placed. Yes sir, I thank you, my Lord Calianax, well met, Your causeless hate to me I hope is buried. Yes I do service for your sister here, That brings mine own poor child to timeless death, She loves your friend Amintor, such another false hearted Lord as you. You do me wrong, A most unmanly one, and I am slow In taking vengeance, be well advised. It may be so, who placed the Lady there. I did. My Lord she must not sit there. Why? The place is kept for women of more worth. More worth than she, it misbecomes your age, And place to be so womanish, forbear, What you have spoke I am content to think The palsy shook your tongue to. 'tis well if I stand here to place men's wenches. I shall quite forget this place, thy age, my safety, and through all cut that poor sickly week thou hast to live, away from thee. Nay I know you can fight for your whore. Bate me the King, and be of flesh and blood A lies that says it, thy mother at fifteen Was black and sinful to her. Good my Lord. Some god pluck threescore years from that fond man, That I may kill him, and not stain mine honour, It is the curse of soldiers that in peace, They shall be braved by such ignoble men, As (if the land were troubled,) would with tears And knees beg succour from 'em, would the blood (That sea of blood) that I have lost in fight, Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee Apt to say less, and able to maintain, Shouldst thou say more,— This Rhodes I see is nought But a place privileged to do men wrong. ay, you may talk your pleasure. What wild wrong Has stirred my worthy friend, who is as slow To fight with words as he is quick of hands,
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)
I thanke you sir, when I haue seene you placed madam, I must attend the King, but the maske done, ile waite on you againe. Stand backe there, roome for my Lord Melantius, pray beare back, his is no place for such youthes and their truls, let the dores shut agen, no; do your heads itch, ile scratch them, so now thrust and hang, againe, who i'st now, I cannot blame my Lord Calianax for giuing way, would he were here, he would run raging amongst them, and breake a dozen heads in the twinckling of an eye, what's the newes now? I pray you can you helpe mee to the speech of the maister Cooke? If I open the dore ile cooke some of your calues heads. Peace rogues? — againe, — who i'st? Melantius? Let him not in. O my Lord a must, make roome there for my Lord, is your Lady plast. Yes sir, I thanke you, my Lord Calianax, well met, Your causelesse hate to me I hope is buried. Yes I doe seruice for your sister here, That brings mine owne poore child to timelesse death, She loues your friend Amintor, such another false hearted Lord as you. You doe me wrong, A most vnmanly one, and I am slow In taking vengeance, be well aduis'd. It may be so, who plac'd the Lady there. I did. My Lord she must not sit there. Why? The place is kept for women of more worth. More worth then she, it misbecomes your age, And place to be so womanish, forbeare, What you haue spoke I am content to thinke The palsey hooke your tongue to. Tis well if I stand here to place mens wenches. I shall quite forget this place, thy age, my safety, and through all cut that poore sickly weeke thou hast to liue, away from thee. Nay I know you can fight for your whore. Bate me the King, and be of flesh and blood A lies that sayes it, thy mother at fifteene Was black and sinfull to her. Good my Lord. Some god pluck threescore yeares from that fond man, That I may kill him, and not staine mine honor, It is the curse of souldiers that in peace, They shall be braued by such ignoble men, As (if the land were troubled,) would with teares And knees beg succor from 'em, would the blood (That sea of blood) that I haue lost in fight, Were running in thy veines, that it might make thee Apt to say lesse, and able to maintaine, Shouldst thou say more,— This Rhodes I see is nought But a place priuiledg'd to doe men wrong. I, you may talke your pleasure. What vilde wrong Has sturd my worthy friend, who is as slow To sight with words as he is quick of hands,