Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
She looked on me twenty times yesternight, And laughed so. That she could not sit upright, No faith could she not. No even such a thing I cast. But for wooing thou knowest women are shamefast. But and she knew my mind, I know she would be glad, And think it the best chance that ever she had. Too her then like a man, and be bold forth to start, Wowers never speed well, that have a false heart. What may I best do? Sir remain ye a while, Ere long one or other of her house will appear. Ye know my mind. Yea now hardly let me alone. In the mean time sir, if you please, I will home, And call your musicians, for in this your case It would set you forth, and all your wooing grace, Ye may not lack your instruments to play and sing. Thou knowest I can do that. As well as any thing. Shall I go call your folks, that ye may show a cast? Yea run I beseech thee in all possible haste. I go. Exeat. Yea for I love singing out of measure, It comforteth my spirits and doth me great pleasure. But who cometh forth yond from my sweet heart Custance? My matter blameth well, this is a lucky chance. IF this distaff were spun Margerie Mumblecrust. Where good stale ale is will drink no water I trust. Dame Custance hath promised us good ale and white bread. If she keep not promise, I will beshrew her head: But it will be stark night before I shall have done. I will stand here a while, and talk with them anon, I hear them speak of Custance, which doth my heart good, To hear her name spoken doth even comfort my blood. Sit down to your work Tibet like a good girl. Nurse meddle you with your spindle and your whirl, No haste but good, Madge Mumblecrust, for whip and whir The old proverb doth say, never made good fur. Well, ye will sit down to your work anon, I trust. Soft fire maketh sweet malt, good Madge Mumblecrust. And sweet malt maketh jolly good ale for the nonce. Which will slide down the lane without any bones. Old brown bread crusts must have much good mumbling, But good ale down your throat hath good easy tumbling. The jolliest wench that ere I heard, little mouse, May I not rejoice that she shall dwell in my house? So sirrah, now this gear beginneth for to frame. Thanks to God, though your work stand still, your tongue is not lame And though your teeth be gone, both so sharp & so fine Yet your tongue can run on patins as well as mine. Ye were not for nought named Tib Talk apace. Doth my talk grieve you? Alack, God save your grace. I hold a groat ye will drink anon for this gear. And I will not pray you the stripes for me to bear. I hold a penny, ye will drink without a cup.
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)
She looked on me twentie tymes yesternight, And laughed so. That she coulde not sitte vpright, No faith coulde she not. No euen such a thing I cast. But for wowyng thou knowest women are shamefast. But and she knewe my minde, I knowe she would be glad, And thinke it the best chaunce that euer she had. Too hir then like a man, and be bolde forth to starte, Wowers neuer spéede well, that haue a false harte. What may I best doe? Sir remaine ye a while, Ere long one or other of hir house will appere. Ye knowe my minde. Yea now hardly lette me alone. In the meane time sir, if you please, I wyll home, And call your Musitians, for in this your case It would sette you forth, and all your wowyng grace, Ye may not lacke your instrumentes to play and sing. Thou knowest I can doe that. As well as any thing. Shall I go call your folkes, that ye may shewe a cast? Yea runne I beséeche thée in all possible haste. I goe. Exeat. Yea for I loue singyng out of measure, It comforteth my spirites and doth me great pleasure. But who commeth forth yond from my swete hearte Custance? My matter ameth well, thys is a luckie chaunce. IF thys distaffe were spoonne Margerie Mumblecrust. Where good stale ale is will drinke no water I trust. Dame Custance hath promised vs gd ale and white bread. If she kepe not promise, I will beshrewe hir head: But it will be starke nyght before I shall haue done. I will stande here a while, and talke with them anon, I heare them speake of Custance, which doth my heart good, To heare hir name spoken doth euen comfort my blood. Sit downe to your worke Tibet like a good girle. Nourse medle you with your spyndle and your whirle, No haste but good, Madge Mumblecrust, for whip and whurre The olde prouerbe doth say, neuer made good furre. Well, ye wyll sitte downe to your worke anon, I trust. Soft fire maketh swéete malte, good Madge Mumblecrust. And sweete malte maketh ioly good ale for the nones. Whiche will slide downe the lane without any bones. Olde browne bread crustes must haue much good mumblyng, But good ale downe your throte hath good easie tumbling. The iolyest wenche that ere I hearde, little mouse, May I not reioyce that she shall dwell in my house? So irrha, nowe this geare beginneth for to frame. Thanks to God, though your work stand stil, your tōg is not lame And though your téeth be gone, both so sharpe & so fine Yet your tongue can renne on patins as well as mine. Ye were not for nught named Tyb Talke apace. Doth my talke grieue you? Alack, God saue your grace. I holde a grote ye will drinke anon for this geare. And I wyll not pray you the stripes for me to beare. I holde a penny, ye will drinke without a cup.