Dekker, Thomas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1611 [c.1611-c.1613; re-licensed for stage, Aug 21, 1623] (Annals) tragicomedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) · Red Bull unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
TOrmiella Daughter— nor in this room— Peace: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. The dawn of Midnight, and the Drunkard's noon, No honest souls up now, but Vintners, Midwives, The nodding Watch, and piteous Constable, Ha; My street door open! Bilbo, Puskeena, Bilbo. Bawds, Panders, to a young Whore; Bilbo! thieves, Thieves, Thieves, where are they Master? Where are they Bilbo? What Thief seest thou? That ill-favoured Thief in your Candle sir, none else not I. Why didst thou cry Thieves then? Because you cried Whores; I knew a Thief was always within a stone's cast of a Whore. What mak'st thou up at Midnight? I make them which are made every hour i'th' day (patches.) Slave what art doing? That which few men can do, mending Sir. What art mending? That which few men care to mend, a bad sole. Look here, come hither, dost thou see what's this? I see 'tis our Wicket master. Stop there and tell me, is Tormiella forth? I heard Puskeena our Kitchenmaid say, she was going about a murder: A murder; of whom? Of certain Skippers; she was flaying herself. She dwells not in her Chamber, for my Ghost (Called from his rest) from Room to room has stalked, Yet met no Tormelia. Was not her sweet heart here tonight, Gazetto? Gazetto! no sir, here was no Gazetto here. Walk round the Orchard, holla for her there. So, ho ho, ho, ho. She's certain with Gazetto, Should he turn Villain, train my poor child forth Though she's contracted to him, and rob her youth Of that Gem none can prize (because ne'er seen) The virgin's riches (Chastity) and then (When he has left her ugly to all eyes) His own should loathe her, uds death I would draw An old man's nerves all up into this arm. And nail him to the Bed— So, ho, ho, ho, the coneys use to feed most i'th' night Sir, yet I cannot see my young mistress in our Warren. No! No, nor you neither, 'tis so dark. Where should this foolish girl be? 'tis past twelve, Who has invited her forth to her quick ruin! My memory jogs me by the elbow, and tells me— What Bilbo out with all. A Barber stood with her on Saturday night very late, when he had shaved all his Customers, and as I think, came to trim her. A Barber! To trim her! Sawst thou the Muskeod? A checkered apron Gentleman I assure you: he smelled horrible strong of Camphire, Bay leaves and Rise water: and he stood fiddling with Tormiella. Ha? Fiddling at least half an hour, on a Cittern with a man's broken head at it, so that I think 'twas a Barber Surgeon: and there's one Cynamomo a Shopkeeper, comes hither a batfowling every Moonshine night too. What's he! Cynamomo!
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)
TOrmiella Daughter—nor in this roome—Peace: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. The dawne of Midnight, and the Drunkards noone, No honest soules vp now, but Vintners, Midwiues, The nodding Watch, and pitious Constable, Ha; My street doore open! Bilbo, Puskeena, Bilbo. Bawds, Panders, to a young Whore; Bilbo! Theeues, Theeues, Theeues, where are they Master? Where are they Bilbo? What Theefe seest thou? That ilfauor'd Theefe in your Candle sir, none else not I. Why didst thou cry Theeues then? Because you cry'd Whores; I knew a Theefe was alwayes within a stones cast of a Whore. What mak'st thou vp at Midnight? I make them which are made euery houre i'th day (patches.) Slaue what art doing? That which few men can doe, mending Sir. VVhat art mending? That which few men care to mend, a bad sole. Looke here, come hither, dost thou see what's this? I see tis our Wicket master. Stop there and tell me, is Tormiella forth? I heard Puskeena our Kitchin-maid say, she was going about a murther: A murther; of whom? Of certaine Skippers; she was fleaing her selfe. She dwels not in her Chamber, for my Ghost (Call'd from his rest) from Roome to roome has stalk'd, Yet met no Tormelia. Was not her sweet heart here to night, Gazetto? Gazetto! no sir, here was no Gazetto here. Walke round the Orchard, holla for her there. So, ho ho, ho, ho. She's certaine with Gazetto, Should he turne Villaine, traine my poore child forth Though she's contracted to him, and rob her youth Of that Gemme none can prize (because nere seene) The Virgins riches (Chastity) and then (When he has left her vgly to all eyes) His owne should loath her, vds death I would draw An old mans nerues all vp into this arme. And nayle him to the Bed— So, ho, ho, ho, the Conyes vse to feed most i'th-night Sir, yet I cannot see my young mistris in our Warren. No! No, nor you neither, tis so darke. Where should this foolish girle be? tis past twelue, Who has inuited her forth to her quicke ruine! My memory jogs me by the elbow, and tels me— What Bilbo out with all. A Barber stood with her on Saturday night very late, when he had shau'd all his Customers, and as I thinke, came to trimme her. A Barber! To trim her! Sawst thou the Muskeod? A chequer'd aprone Gentleman I assure you: he smelt horrible strong of Camphire, Bay leaues and Rose water: and he stood fidling with Tormiella. Ha? Fidling at least halfe an houre, on a Citterne with a mans broken head at it, so that I thinke 'twas a Barber Surgion: and there's one Cynamomo a Shopkeeper, comes hither a batfowling euery Moone-shine night too. What's he! Cynamomo!