Renaissance Drama — Topics · seed 42

The Marriage of Wit and Science · chunk 14 of 22

Anonymous · published 1570 · first performed or written 1568 [before 1569] (Annals)
moral · Children of Paul's (first)(?)
unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 466 words

← previous chunkall chunks of this editionnext chunk →

Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.

Il might I thrive, and lack that likes me best, If I be not a scourge to him, that bredes your unrest. Madam assare yourself, he lives not in the land, With whom I would not in your cause, encounter hand to hand. And as for Tediousness that wretch, your common foe, Let me alone, we twain shall cope before I sleep I trow. Lustily spoken, let me claw thee by the back: How say you now sir, here are three against twain, Go that go list, I will at home remain, I have more need to take a nap in my bed. Do so and here you couch a cods head. Well since it will none otherwise frame. Let us twain Study, & return from whence we came. Agreed. And let us three bestyre ourselves like men. Unlikely things are brought to pass, by courage now and then. My will be always priest, and ready at an inch. To save thyself to secure me, to help at every pinch. Both twain on either side, assault him if ye can, And you shall see me in the mids, how I will play the man This is the deadly den, as far as I perceive, Approach we near and valiantly let us the unset give. Come forth thou monster fell, in drowsy darkness hid, For here is wit Dame Nature's son, y doth thee battle bid. What pryncox have we here, that dares me to assail, Alas poor boy, and winest thou, against me to prevail. Full small was he thy friend, whoever sent the hither, For I must drive the back with shame, or slay thee altogether. Great boast small roast, I warrant thee do thy best, Thy head must serve my turn, this day to set my heart at rest. And I must have a leg of the if I can catch it. First I must quise this brain of thine, if I can reach it. Well shifted Will, now have at thee sir knave. These friscoles shall not serve your turn for all your haunts so brave Hoh hoh, did I not tell thee thou camest to thy pain. Help, help, help, our master is slain. Help, help, help etc. Where are these lusty blood, that make their match with me? Here lies a pattern for them all, to look at and to see. To teach them to conspire against my force and might, To promise' for their woman's love, to vanquish me in fight: Now let them go and crack, how wisely they have sped, Such is the end of those, that seek this curious Dame to wed. Hoh hoh hoh. Rub and chafe him. For god's love hast, see lo where he doth lie. He is not cold, I warrant him, I
← previous chunkall chunks of this editionnext chunk →

Details

Metadata, position in the edition, topic in the other seeds
PlayThe Marriage of Wit and Science
AuthorAnonymous
Publication year (edition)1570
First performance / composition (Annals)1568 [before 1569]
First performance (BritDrama)1568 [1567-1569]
Company (BritDrama)Children of Paul's (first)(?)
Genre (British Drama)moral
Play typeInterlude;Nonprofessional;Boys Nonprofessional/School;
Edition / TCP / DEEPedition 95 · TCP A07052 · DEEP 84
Edition roleRepresentative edition — used in the analysis
Positionnodes 685–731 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 14 of 22 in this edition
Length466 words · 605 tokens
Topic (seed 42)unassigned by HDBSCAN · nearest topic T46 — Swords, quarrels and valour at 0.823
Other seedsseed 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)
Il might I thriue, and lacke that likes me best, If I be not a scourge to him, that bredes your vnrest. Madam assare your selfe, he liues not in the land, Wth whom I would not in your cause, encounter hand to hand And as for Tediousnes that wretch, your common foe, Let mée alone, we twayne shall cope before I sleape I troe. Lustely spoken, let me claw thee by the backe: Howe say you now sir, here are thrée agaynst twayne, Go that go list, I will at home remayne, I haue more néede to take a nappe in my bedde. Do soe and here you couche a coddes head. Well since it wyl none otherwyse frame. Let v twayne Studie, & retourn from whens we came. Agréed. And let vs thrée bestyre our selues like men. Unlikely thinges are brought to passe, by courage now and then My wyll be alwayes prest, and ready at an ynche To saue thy selfe to succour me, to helpe at euery pinche. Both twayne on eyther syde, assaulte him if ye can, And you shal sée me in the middes, howe I wil play the man Thys is the deadly denne, as farre as I perceaue, Approche we neere and valiantly let vs the vnset geue. Come forth thou monster fell, in drowsy darkenes hydde, For here is vvitte Dame Natures sonne, y• doth thee battaile bid. What pryncox haue we heere, that dares me to assayle, Alas poore boy, and winest thou, against me to preuale. Full smal was he thy frend, whoeuer sent the hyther, For I must driue the backe with shame, or slay thee altogether. Great bost small rost, I warrant thee do thy best, Thy head must serue my tourne, this day to set my hart at rest. And I must haue a legge of the if I can catche it. First I must quise this brayne o thine, if I can reach it. Well shifted VVill, now haue at thee sir knaue. These friscoles shal not serue your tourne for al your hauntes so braue Hoh hoh, did I not tell thee thou camst to thy payne. Helpe, helpe, helpe, our maister is slaine. Helpe, helpe, helpe &c. Where are these luste bloude, that make their matche with mee? Here lyes a patorne for them all, to loke at and to sée. To teach them to conspire against my force and might, To promise for their womans loue, to vanquishe me in fight: Nowe let them goe and crake, howe wiselye they haue sped, Such is the end of those, that seke this curious Dame to wed. Hoh hoh hoh. Rub and chafe him. For goddes loue hast, see loe where he doth lye. He is not cold, I warrant him, I.