Drue, Thomas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1624 [licensed for stage, Jan 2] (Annals) history · Prince Palatine's (Palsgrave's) Men unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 493 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
How goodman rascal. Thus, Villain, for the world, I would not stain my hands with thy base blood: But rascal, I will bind you to the peace, So now, let this ditch shelter you. My Berty? heaven be praised, Though I am robbed of all the wealth I have, I am rich enough, in my possessing thee, Is M. Cranwell slain? But sorely hurt, and I am near to death. Bind vp your wounds, with this white hank I am so used to misery, That it seems nothing, where's the Nurse and Child? Oh cross on cross, let's look about the woods. My Susan lost, I will not stir one foot, But to the Villains be a second prey, Unless I find her. Lend me your hand dear sir, get I once up, I'll spend the remnant of my blood that's left, In search of my young Mistress. Oh whither shall I fly, to save my life, From the rude hands of these fell ravishers? My hapless Lady, and her husband both, By this, have felt the cruel stroke of death, Or which is worse, are captive led away, And to the Vulture's gripes become a prey, Oh hark, I hear them coming, hence begone, Hard is thy hap, that must be left alone, Dear babe forgive me, I am forced for life, To ease my carriage, leave thee to their strife. On forwards Madam, this way they are gone, Heaven be propitious, direct us in our search. Amen, amen. Oh I am lost, sink body to the earth, Ascend my soul, 'mongst Saints receive new birth. Help Bertie, help, 'tis Cranwell faints, oh help. Speak to me man, look up, some wound belike Is yet unstopped, from whence proceeds this large effusion, It's here, lend me some linen, so, so, he comes again, And see heavens bounty, he at once hath given, Your Servant, and your Child: look Madam, see, Thrown in a bush, and smiles, and laughs at ye. Having my Husband, Child, and this my servant, I am the richest Princes on the earth, But Berty, where's the Nurse, and doctor Sands. Both fled, but wherefore Madam look you pale. Oh Berty, I do feel the time approach Of my delivery, oh for help of Women. What shall we do, I am beyond myself. Cranwell, what town is this that stands before. Madam, they call it weezle. Go, begone, Thy looks pleads for a cunning Surgeon, We shall not need, thy help, thy wound is deep, But stay you Bertie, you the Child must keep. Madam, this storm, the cold, and my deep wounds, May well excuse me, till my hurts are dressed. Be gone I say. How fare you Madam. Sick I am, heaven knows, Ready to die, with these my pinching throws, It rains, and hails, and snows, and blows at once, Where Berty, may we hide us from this storm. Here in this Church-porch, Madam pray remon
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T30 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
How goodman rascall. Thus, Villaine, for the world, I would not stayne my hands with thy base blood: But rascall, I will bind you to the peace, So now, let this ditch shelter you. My Berty? heaven be prais'd, Though I am rob'd of all the wealth I haue, I am rich enough, in my possessing thee, Is M. Cranwell slaine? But sorely hurt, and I am neere to death. Bind vp your wounds, with this white hank I am so vs'd to misery, That it seemes nothing, wheres the Nurse and Child? Oh crosse on crosse, lets looke about the wood ▪ My Susan lost, I will not stir one foot, But to the Villaines be a second prey, Vnlesse I find her. Lend me your hand deere sir, get I once vp, Ile spend the remnant of my blood thats left, In search of my young Mistresse. Oh whither shall I flie, to saue my life, From the rude hands of these fell ravishers? My haplesse Lady, and her husband both, By this, haue felt the cruell stroake of death, Or which is worse, are captiue led away, And to the Vulters gripes become a prey, Oh harke, I heare them comming, hence begone, Hard is thy hap, that must be left alone, Deere babe forgiue me, I am forc'd for life, To ease my carriage, leaue thee to their strife. On forwards Madam, this way they are gone, Heaven be propitions, direct vs in our search. Amen, amen. Oh I am lost, sinke body to the earth, Ascend my soule, mongst Saints receaue new birth. Helpe Bertie, helpe, tis Cranwell faints, oh helpe. Speake to me man, looke vp, some wound belike Is yet vnstopt, from whence proceeds this large effusion, Its heere, lend me some linnen, so, so, he comes againe, And see heavens bounty, he at once hath given, Your Servant, and your Child: looke Madam, see, Throwne in a bush, and smiles, and laughes at yee. Having my Husband, Child, and this my servant, I am the richest Princes on the earth, But Berty, where's the Nurse, and Docter Sands. Both fled, but wherefore Madam looke you pale. Oh Berty, I doe feele the time approach Of my delivery, oh for helpe of Women. What shall we doe, I am beyond my selfe. Cranwell, what towne is this that stands before. Madam, they call it Wezill. Goe, begon, Thy lookes pleads for a cunning Surgeon, We shall not neede, thy helpe, thy wound is deepe, But stay you Bertie, you the Child must keepe. Madam, this storme, the cold, and my deep wounds, May well excuse me, till my hurts are drest. Be gon I say. How fare you Madam. Sicke I am, heaven knowes, Ready to die, with these my pinching throwes, It raines, and hailes, and snowes, and blowes at once, Where Berty, may we hide vs from this storme. Here in this Church-porch, Madam pray remon