Pickering, John · published 1567 · first performed or written 1567 (Annals) tragedy unassigned nearest T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation · 475 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
Gods gée master patience, I pray you me tell, What horsen churl's doge, my hog so did quell: Iche swear by gise, and holy say belive, bezwinge him, and ich be alive, By gods de cham angry, and not well content, Chould ha wear hear, chould make him repent. Ich had rather given, vore strike of corn, Then to had my hog on this wise forlorn: But if I knew whose dog chould be, Revenged well enough iche warrent thee. Ha, ha, he, by god Rusticus, I may say in no game, I know the person, whose dog so did flay: Thy hog fie fie man, it was a very shame, For thy neighbour hodge, to let it by this day. Well I will go to him, and see if I may, By any means procure him, to make the amends; I'll do the best I can, to make you both friends. Ihill be no friends, chad rather be hanged, Till iche have that old karl, well and thriftily banged, And 'twear not your masshyppe, did me with hold, To swing the ourchet, iche chould be bold, Ha, ha, he, nay, nay, spare not for me, Go to it straight, if there to ye gre, Hodge I hard say, thou illy, hast wrought, For my hog unto death, with thy dog thou hast brought Iche bid the thy vault, to me to amend, Or Ihill swaddle thee, iche zweare in my bat end. Swaddle me gods get? Ihill care not a point, Iche have a good bat, thy bones to anoint: Thou old carl I zaye, thy hog hurted me, And therefore I will have, amends now of thee. My rye and my oats, my beans and my pease, They have eaten up quite, but small for my ease: And therefore iche zaye, all thy hogs keep vast, Or iche will them weary, as long as they last. By gods get, I can never come in my ground, But that zame zwyne, in my pease iche have found. Tout tout Rusticus, these words be but wind To him man, to him, and swaddle him well: Ye never leave him, as long as thou can find Him hot, but teeth him, a gain to rebel, What nededest thou to care, though his words be so fell, Tout tout tharte unwise, and follow my mind: And I warrant thee in end, some ease thou shalt find. Gods gée hourson hog, pay me for my zwine, Or eyes learn to keep, that coxcomb of thine. Gods de, do thy worst, I care not a point, Ihill pay the none, Ihill crux a joint. Nay stand I still some what, I will lend, Take this for a reward, now a way I must wend. O Gods get, cham zwinged zo zore, Iche think chaul never live one hour more.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T30 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Godes gée maiſter pacience, I praye you me tell, What horſen chorles doge, my hogge ſo dyd quell: Iche zware by giſe, and holye zaynt blyue, Chyll be zwinge him, and ich be a lyue, By godes de cham angry, and not well content, Chould ha wear hear, chould make him repent. Ich had rather gyuen, vore ſtryke of corne, Then to had my hogge on this wyſe forlorne: But if I knewe whous dogge chould be, Reuenged well inough iche warrent the. Ha, ha, he, by god Ruſticus, I maye ſaye in no game, I knowe the perſon, whoſe dogge ſo did flaye: Thy hogge fye fye man, it was a vearey ſhame, For thy naybor hodge, to let it by this daye. Well I wyll go to him, and ſe if I maye, By aney meanes procure him, to make the amendes; Ille do the beſt I can, to make you both frendes. Chyll be no frendes, chad rather be hanged, Tyll iche haue that oulde karle, wel and thryfteley banged, And tweare not your maſſhyppe, dyd me with hould, To ſwing the ourchet, iche chould be boulde, Ha, ha, he, nay, nay, ſpare not for me, Go to it ſtrayght, if thear to ye gre, Hodge I harde ſaye, thou illy, haſt wrought, For my hogge vnto death, with thi dog thou haſte broughgt Iche byd the thy vaute, to me to amend, Or chyll zwaddell the, iche zweare in my bat end. Zwaddell me godes get? chyll care not a poynte, Iche haue a good bat, thy bones to anoynte: Thou olde carle I zaye, thy hoge hurtyd me, And therefore I wyll haue, a mendes now of the. My rye and my otes, my beanes and my peaſe, They haue eaten vp quight, but ſmall for my eaſe: And therfore iche zaye, all thy hogges kepe vaſte, Or iche wyll them wearey, as longe as they laſte. By godes get, I can neuer come in my ground, But that zame zwyne, in my peaſe iche haue founde. Tout tout Ruſticus, theſe wordes be but wynd To him man, to him, and ſwaddell him well: Ye neauer leaue him, as longe as thou can fynd Him whot, but teathe him, a gaine to rebell, What nededeſt thou to care, though his wordes be ſo fell, Tout tout tharte vnwyſe, and followe my mynde: And I warraunt the in end, ſome eaſe thou ſhalt finde. Godes gée hourſon hoge, paye me for my zwine, Or eles larne to kepe, that cockescome of thyne. Godes de, do thy worſt, I care not a poynte, Chyll paye the none, chyll iobard a ioynte. Nay ſtand I ſtyll ſome what, I wyll lend, Take this for a reward, now a waye I muſt wend. O Godes get, cham zwinged zo zore, Iche thincke chaul neauer lyue one houre more.