Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T33: daughter, marriage, father, love, davus, matter, son, chremes, wife, mother.
I weep not forsooth, not cry not as yet. Not, nor thou wilt not, if thou haste any weigh, It is not thy weeping, that can aught avail, And therefore this matter no longer be wail. Come of I say, and run to the river And wash these clothes in the water. Wife I will thither high me fast. Yet I advise thee, thou Cullion make haste. O how unhappy and eke unfortunate Is the most part of married men's condition? I would to death I had been agate When my Mother in be aring me made lamentation. What shall I do whither shall I turn, Most careful man now under the Sky? In the flaming fire, I had rather burn, Then with extreme pain, live so heavily, There is no wyfte, to my wife I must go Whom that I did wed, I am full●●o. Where are ye wife, your clothes are washed clean Is white as a lily without spot or vein. Thou thief, thou caitiff, why is not this place, washed as fair as all the rest, Thou shalt for this gear now smoke apace By gys I swear, thou brutysshe Beast. Alas, alas, I am almost quite dead, My wife so pytyfully hath broken my head. Well I perceive, the rhyme will away And into the Country to go I have promised Look therefore thou go not from hence to days Till home again I am returned. Take heed I say, this House thee retain, And stir not for any thing out of my door: Until that I come hither again, As thou wilt be rewarded therefore. The slyinge and fiend go with my wife And in her journey ill may she speed: I pray God almighty to shorten her life The earth at no time doth bear such a weed. Although that I be a Gentleman borne And come by my Ancestors of a good blood, Yet am I like to wear a Coat torn And hither and thither go catye wood. But rather than I this life will abide To morrow morning I do intend, Home to my Father again to ride, If some man to me his Horse will lend. She is to her gossips gone to make merry, And there she will be for three or four days: She cares not though I do now miscarye And suffer such pain and sorrow always. She leaveth to me neither Bread nor drink But such as I judged no body would eat: I might by the wails lie dead and stink For any great wholesomeness in my meat. She walketh a broad, and taketh her pleasure Herself to cherysshe is all her care: She passeth not what griefs I endure, Or how I can live with naughty fare: And since it is so, without further delay To my father to morrow I will away.
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 weepe not forſothe, not crye not as yet. ¶ No, nor thou wilte not, if thou haſte any wye, It is not thy weepynge, that can ought auayle, And therfore this matter no longer be wayle. Come of I ſaye, and runne to the Ryuer And waſſhe theſe clothes in the water. ¶ Wyfe I wyll thyther hye me faſte. ¶ Yet I aduyſe the, thou Cullyon make haſt. ¶ O howe vnhappye and eke vnfortunate Is the moſte parte of maryed mennes condytion? I woulde to death I had bene agate When my Mother in be arynge me made lamentation. What ſhall I do whyther ſhall I turne, Moſt carefull man nowe vnder the Skye? In the flamynge fyre, I had rather burne, Then with extreme payne, lyue ſo heauylye, There is no wyfte, to my wyfe I muſt go Whom that I dyd wed, I am fullo. Where are ye wyfe, your clothes are waſhte cleane Is whyte as a lylly without ſpot or ueyne. ¶ Thou thefe, thou caytyfe, why is not this place, Waſſhed as fayre as all the reſt, Thou ſhalt for this geare now ſmoke apaſe By gys I ſweare, thou brutyſſhe Beaſte. ¶ Alas, alas, I am almoſt quyte dead, My wyfe ſo pytyfully hath broken my head. ¶ Well I perceyue, the ryme wyll awaye And into the Countrey to go I haue promyſed Looke therfore thou go not from hence to days Tyll home agayne I am returned. Take hede I ſaye, this Howſe thee retayne, And ſtyrre not for any thynge out of my doore: Vntill that I come hyther agayne, As thou wylte be rewarded therfore. ¶ The ſlyinge and fiende go with my wyfe And in her Iourney ill maye ſhe ſpeede: I praye God almighty to ſhorten her lyfe The earth at no tyme doth beare ſuche a weede. Althoughe that I be a Gentelman borne And come by my Auncetours of a good blood, Yet am I lyke to weare a Cote torne And hither and thither go catye wood. But rather then I this lyfe wyll abyde To morowe mornynge I do intende, Home to my Father agayne to ryde, If ſome man to me his Horſe wyll lende. She is to her Goſſypes gone to make mery, And there ſhe wyll be for three or foure dayes: She cares not thoughe I do nowe miſcarye And ſuffre ſuch payne and ſorowe alwayes. She leaueth to me neyther Breade nor drynke But ſuch as I iugde no bodye wolde eate: I myght by the wailes lye dead and ſtynke For any great holſomnes in my meate. She walketh a brode, and taketh her pleaſure Her ſelfe to cheryſſhe is all her care: She paſſeth not what griefs I endure, Or howe I can lyue with noughty fare: And ſynce it is ſo, without further delaye To my father to morowe I wyll awaye.