Middleton, Thomas / Rowley, William · published 1620 · first performed or written 1620 (Annals) masque · Prince Charles's Men (first) T39 Profit, conscience and dishonest dealing typicality 0.71 · 516 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T39: conscience, lucre, usury, lucar, fraud, dissimulation, simony, london, lady, nemo.
Faith, and that's the worst disguise a man can walk in; thou wert better have appeared drunk in good clothes, much better: there's no superfluities shame a man; as to be over-brave, overbold, over-swearing, over-lying, over-whoring, these add still to his repute; 'tis the poor indigence, the want, the lank deficiency; as when a man cannot be brave, dares not be bold, is afraid to swear, wants maintenance for a lie, and money to give a whore a supper: this is pauper, cuius modicum non satis est; nay, he shall never be rich with begging neither, which is another wonder; because many beggars are rich. Oh Cavina Facundia! this dog-eloquence of thine will make thee somewhat one day, Scholar; couldst thou turn but this prose into rhyme, there were a pitiful living to be picked out of it. I could make Ballads for a need. Very well sir; and I'll warrant thee thou shalt never want subject to write of: One hangs himself today, another drowns himself tomorrow, a Sergeant stabbed next day, here a Pettifogger ath' Pillory, a Bawd in the Carts nose, and a Pander in the tail: Hic Mulier, Haec Vir, Fashions, Fictions, Felonies, Fooleries, a hundred havens has the Ballad-monger to traffic at, and new ones still daily discovered. Prithee Soldier, no further this way, I participate more of Heraclitus than Democritus, I could rather weep the sins of the people then sing 'em. Shall I set thee down a course to live? Faith, a course living I think must serve my turn; but why hast thou not found out thine own yet? Tush, that's resolved on, beg; when there's use for me, I shall be brave again, hugged, and beloved: we are like Winter garments, in the height And hot blood-of Summer, put off, thrown by For moth-meat, never so much as thought on, Till the Drum strikes up storms again; and then, Come, my well-lined Soldier, (with valour, Not Valour) keep me warm; Oh, I love thee; we shall be trimmed and very well brushed then: If we be faced with Fur, 'tis tolerable; For we may pillage then and steal our prey, And not be hanged for't; when the least fingering In peaceful Summer chokes us: A Soldier, At the best, is even but the forlorn hope Unto his Country, sent desperately out And never more expected: if he come, Peace's war, perhaps, the Law providently Has provided for him, some house or lands May be suspensed in wrangling controversy And he be hired to keep possession: For there may be swords drawn, he may become The abject second to some stinking Baily; Oh, let him serve the Pox first, and die a Gentleman. Come, I know my ends, but would fain provide for thee: Canst thou make? What? I have no handicraft, man. Cuckolds, make Cuckolds, 'tis a pretty trade In a peaceful City; 'tis women's work, man, And they are good paymasters. I dare not: 'Tis a work of supererogation, and the Church forbids it. Prithee, what's Latin for a Cuckold, Scholar? I could never learn yet.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T39 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Faith, and that's the worst disguise a man can walke in; thou wert better haue appeard drunke in good cloathes, much better▪ there's no superfluities shame a man; as to be ouer-braue, ouer-bold, ouer-swearing, ouer-lying, ouer-whoring, these adde still to his repute; 'tis the poore indigence, the want, the lanke deficiencie; as when a man cannot be braue, dares not be bold, is afraid to sweare, wants maintenance for a lye, and money to giue a whore a supper: this is pauper, cuius modicum non satis est; nay, hee shall neuer be rich with begging neither, which is another wonder; because many beggers are rich. Oh Cauina Facundia! this dog-eloquence of thine wil make thee somewhat one day, Scholler; couldst thou turne but this prose into rime, there were a pittifull liuing to bee pickt out of it. I could make Ballads for a need. Very well sir; and Ile warrant thee thou shalt neuer want subiect to write of: One hangs himselfe to day, another drownes himselfe to morrow, a Serieant stabd next day, heere a Petti-fogger ath' Pillory, a Bawd in the Carts nose, and a Pander in the taile: Hic Mulier, Haec Vir, Fashions, Fictions, Fellonies, Fooleries, a hundred hauens has the Ballad-monger to traffique at, and new ones still daily discouered. Prethee Soldier, no further this way, I participate more of Heraclitus then Democritus, I could rather weepe the sinnes of the people then sing vm. Shall I set thee downe a course to liue? Faith, a coorse liuing I thinke must serue my turne; but why hast thou not found out thine owne yet? Tush, thats resolu'd on, beg; when there's vse for me, I shall bee braue agen, hugg'd, and belou'd: Wee are like Winter garments, in the height And hot blood-of Summer, putoff, throwne by For moths-meate, neuer so much as thought on, Till the Drum strikes vp stormesagen; and then, Come, my well-lin'd Soldier, (with valour, Not Valure) keepe me warme; Oh, I loue thee; Wee shall bee trim'd and very well brusht then: If wee be fac'd with Fur, 'tis tolerable; For we may pillage then and steale our prey, And not bee hangd for't; when the least fingring In peacefull Summer choakes vs: A Soldier, At the best, is euen but the forlorne hope Vnto his Country, sent desperately out And neuer more expected: if he come, Peace's warre, perhaps, the Law prouidently Has prouided for him, some house or lands May be suspenc't in wrangling controuersie And hee bee hir'd to keepe possession: For there may be swords drawne, he may become The abiect second to some stinking Bayly; Oh, let him serue the Poxe first, and dye a Gentleman. Come, I know my ends, but would faine prouide for thee: Canst thou make? What? I haue no handicraft, man. Cuckolds, make Cuckolds, 'tis a pretty trade In a peacefull Citty; 'tis womens worke, man, And they are good pay-masters. I dare not: 'Tis a worke of super-errogation, and the Church forbids it. Prethee, what's Latine for a Cuckold, Scholler? I could neuer learne yet.