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 · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
I take him to be a comfit-maker with rotten teeth, for he never comes till the Barber's gone. A comfit-maker! Yes Sir, for he gave Tormiella a Candied root once, and she swore 'twas the sweetest thing— Dwells he hero i'th' City? He has a house i'th' City, but I know not where he lives. she'll follow her kind; turn Monster, get a light. My sconce is ready Sir. Call at Gazetto's Lodging, ask how he dares Make a Harlot of my child, slave say no more: begone, beat boldly. I'll beat down the door; and put him in mind of a Shrove-tuesday, the fatal day for doors to be broken open. For this night I'm her Porter; Oh hapless Creatures! There is in woman a Devil from her birth, Of bad ones we have shoals, of good a dearth. No more my Tormiella, night hath borne Thy vows to heaven, where they are filled by this Either one day to crown thy constant Soul Or (if thou spot it with foul perjury,) For ever to condemn thee. Come it shall not: Here am I sphered for ever, thy fears (dear Love) Strike coldly on thy jealous breast I know From that my Father's promise to Gazetto That he should have me, contract is there none, For my heart loathed it, is there left an oath Fit for a Maid to swear by. Good sweet give o'er, What need we binding oaths being fast before? I dare the crabbed'st Fate, she cannot spin A thread thus fine and rotten; how now! sad! Pray Heaven, I be not missed at home, dear Cordolente Thou shalt no farther, I'll venture now myself. How sweet! venture alone! Yes, yes, good rest. By that are Lovers parted, seldom blessed. Who goes there, if you be a woman stand, for all the men I met tonight, lie in the Kennel. My Father's man! I am betrayed. Fear nothing. Bilbo! Whether art thou running? Out of my wits and yet no churl's Executor, 'tis no money makes me mad, but want of money. Good tell me whether art going? I am going to Hell (that's to say home) for my Master plays the Devil, and I come from seeking out a house of everlasting Thunder, (that's to say a Woman) I have been bouncing at Signior Gazetto's Chamber for you. Ha! You'll be haaed when you come home. I am undone for ever. Thou art not, peace. Signior Gazetto is horn-mad, and leapt out of his Bed, (as if fleas had bit him) so that I think he comes running stark naked after me. Oh me, what help my dearest Soul? To desperate wounds Let's apply desperate cure, dar'st thou fly hence? Dare! try me. Then farewell Cordova; Horses we'll forthwith hire, and quick to Seville My birthplace, there thou shalt defy all storms. Talk not, but do. She would have you do much but say little.
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 take him to be a Comfitmaker with rotten teeth, for he neuer comes till the Barber's gone. A Comfitmaker! Yes Sir, for he gaue Tormiella a Candied roote once, and she swore 'twas the sweetest thing— Dwels he hero i'th City? He has a house i'th City, but I know not where he liues. Sheele follow her kind; turne Monster, get a light. My sconce is ready Sir. Call at Gazettoes Lodging, aske how he dares Make a Harlot of my child, slaue say no more: Begon, beat boldly. Ile beat downe the doore; and put him in mind of a Shroue-tuesday, the fatall day for doores to be broken open. For this night I'm her Porter; Oh haplesse Creatures! There is in woman a Diuell from her birth, Of bad ones we have sholes, of good a dearth. No more my Tormiella, night hath borne Thy vowes to heauen, where they are fyl'd by this Eyther one day to crowne thy constant Soule Or (if thou spot it with foule periury,) For euer to condemne thee. Come it shall not: Here am I sphear'd for euer, thy feares (deare Loue) Strike coldly on thy jealous breast I know From that my Fathers promise to Gazetto That he should haue me, contract is there none, For my heart loath'd it, is there left an oath Fit for a Maid to sweare by. Good sweet giue o're, What need we binding oathes being fast before? I dare the crabbed'st Fate, shee cannot spin A thred thus fine and rotten; how now! sad! Pray Heauen, I bee not mist at home, deare Cordolente Thou shalt no farther, Ile venter now my selfe. How sweet! venture alone! Yes, yes, good rest. By that are Louers parted, seldome blest. Who goes there, if you be a woman stand, for all the men I met to night, lye in the Kennell. My Fathers man! I am betray'd. Feare nothing. Bilbo! Whether art thou running? Out of my wits and yet no Churles Executor, 'tis no money makes me mad, but want of money. Good tell me whether art going? I am going to Hell (that's to say home) for my Master playes the Diuell, and I come from seeking out a house of euerlasting Thunder, (that's to say a Woman) I haue beene bouncing at Signior Gazetto's Chamber for you. Ha! You'l be haa'd when you come home. I am vndone for euer. Thou art not, peace. Signior Gazetto is horne-mad, and leapt out of his Bed, (as if fleas had bit him) so that I thinke he comes running starke naked after me. Oh me, what helpe my dearest Soule? To desperate wounds Let's apply desperate cure, dar'st thou flye hence? Dare! try me. Then farewell Cordoua; Horses wee'l forthwith hire, and quicke to Siuell My birth-place, there thou shalt defie all stormes. Talke not, but doe. She would haue you doe much but say little.