Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T28: married, marriage, wedding, day, bride, father, wife, luce, love, husband.
Agreed my Sweating, it shalve then done, Since that thy good will I have gotten and won. There would this day be very good there That every one his vealy may fill. And three or four Minstrels would be here That none in the house sit idle or still. Take ye no thought for abundance of meat That should be spent at our Bridal, For there shallbe enough for all men to eat And Minstrels besides thereto shall not sail. The Cooks I dare say, a good while a gone With such kind of flesh as I did them tell Are from the market both come home Or else my own Conye they do not well. I knew before that I come to this place We should be married together this day Which caused me then forth with in this case To send for victuals or I came away. Where fore then (I pray ye) shall we go to our Inn, And look that every thing be made ready, Or else all is not worth a Brass pin, Such haste is required in matry money. I think six a clock it is, not much passed But yet to the priest we will make haste That according to custom we may be both coupled And with a strong knot for ever bound fast. Yet ere I depart, some song I will sing, To the intent to derlare my joy without fear And in the mean fyme you may my sweating, Rest yourself in this little chair. Spite of his spite, which that in vain. Doth seek to force my fantasy, I am professed for loss or gain, To be thine own assucedlye: Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy wyil never turn. Although my father of busy wit, Doth babble still. I care not tho, I have no fear, nor yet will flit, As doth the water to and fro, Wherefore let my father spite and spurur, My fantasy will never turn. For I am set and will not swerve, Whom spiteful speech removeth naught And since that I thy grace deserve, I count it is not dearly bought, Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. Who is afrayde●●let you him fly, For I shall well abide the brunt: Mangre to his lips that listeth to lie Of busy brains as is the wont. Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. Who listeth thereat to laughe or louvre I am not be that ought doth retch There is no pain that hath the power, Out of my orest your love to fetch, Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. for whereas he moved me to the School, And only to follow my Book and learnening: He could never make me such a fool, With all his soft words, and fair speaking.
seed 43: T6 · seed 44: T7 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
¶ Agreed my Sweetynge, it ſhalve then done, Synce that thy good wyll I haue goten and wone. ¶ There wolde this daye be very good theare That euery one his vealy maye fyll. And thre or foure Minſtrelles wolde be here That none in the houſe ſyt idle or ſtyll. ¶ Take ye no thought for abundaunce of meate That ſhoulde be ſpent at our Brydale, For there ſhalbe ynought for all men to eate And Minſtrelles beſydes therto ſhall not ſayle. The Cookes I dare ſaye, a good whyle a gone With ſuch kynde of fleſſhe as I dyd them tell Are from the market both come home Or els my owne Conye they do not well. I knewe before that I come to this place We ſhoulde be maryed togyther thys daye Which cauſed me then forth with in this caſe To ſende for victualles or I came awaye. Wher fore then (I praye ye) ſhall we go to our Inne, And looke that euery thinge be made redye, Or els all is not worth a Braſſe pynne, Such haſt is requyred in matry monye. ¶ I thinke ſixe a clocke it is, not much paſſed But yet to the prieſt we wyll make haſt That accordynge to cuſtome we maye be both coupled And with a ſtronge knot for euer bounde faſt. Yet ere I departe, ſome ſonge I wyll ſynge, To the intent to derlare my Ioye without feare And in the meane fyme you maye my ſwetynge, Reſt your ſelfe in this lytell chayre. SPyte of his ſpyte, which that in vayne. Doth ſeeke to force my fantaſye, I am profeſt for loſſe or gayne, To be thyne owne aſſucedlye: Wherfore let my father ſpyte and ſpurne, My fantaſye wyil neuer turne. ¶ Although my father f buſe wyte, Doth babble ſtyll. I care not tho, I haue no fear, nor yet wyll flytte, As doth the water to and fro, Wherfore let my father ſpyte and ſpurur, My fantaſye wyll neuer turne. ¶ For I am ſet and wyll not ſwerue, Whom ſpytefull ſpeache remoueth nought And ſynce that I thy grace deſerue, I count it is not derely bought, Wherfore let my father ſpyte and ſpurne, My fantaſie wyll neuer turne. ¶ Who is afraydelet you hym flye, For I ſhall well abyde the brunte: Mangre to bys lyppes that lyſteth to lye Of buſye braynes as is the wonte. Wherfore let my father ſyte and ſpurne, My fantaſye wyll neuer turne. ¶ Who yſteth therat to laugh or loure I am not be that ught doth retche There is no payue that hath the power, Out of my oreſt your loue to fetche, Wherfore let my father ſpyte and ſpurne, My fantaſye wyll neuer turue. ¶ for wheras he moued me to the Schoole, And onely to folowe my Booke and learnenynge: He coulde neuer make me ſuch a foole, With all his ſofte woordes, and fayre ſpeakynge.