Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
Now he is dead, let us present him to the King: Lay to your hand, away him to bring. O the passion of God, yunder is a heavy Court: Some wéeps, some wails, and some make great sport. Lord Smirdis, by Cruelty and Murder is slain: But Iesus for want of him, how some do complain. If I should have had a thousand pound, I could not forbear weeping Now Iesus have his blessed soul in keeping. Ah, good Lord, to think on him, how it doth me grieve: I can not forbear weeping, ye may me believe. O my heart, how my pulses do beaten: With sorrowful lamentations, I am in such a heat. Ah my heart, how for him it doth sorrow: Nay I have done in faith now, and God give you good morrow. Ha', ha', weep nay laugh, with both hands to play: The king througe his cruelty, hath made him away, But hath not he wrought, a most wicked deed: Because king after him he should not proceed. His own natural brother and having no more: To procure his death by violence sore. In spite because his brother should never be King: His heart being wicked consented to this thing. Now he hath no more Brothers nor kindred alive: If the King use this géer still, he cannot long thrive. God's hat Neighbour come away, its time to market to go God's Vast Neighbour zay ye so? The Clock hath stricken vive ich think by lakin: Bum Vay urom sleep cham not very well waken. But Neighbour Hoh, Neighbour Hob, what have ye to zel? Bum troth Neighbour Job to you I I'll tell. Chave two Goslings, and a Chine of good Pork: There is no vatter between this and York. Chave a pot of Strawberries and a calves head: A zennight zince to morrow it hath been dead. Chave a score of Eggs, and of Butter a pound: Yesterday a nest of goodly young Rabits I bound. Chave forty things more, of more and of less: My brain is not very good them to express. But God's Hat Neighbour, wotst what? Not not well Neighbour. what's that? Bum vay Neighbour, master king is a zhrode lad Zo God help me and holidame, I think the vool he mad. Zome zay he deal cruelly his Brother he did kill: And also a goodly young lads heart blood, he did spill, Vorbod of God neighbour, has he played zuch a volish deed? Goodman Hob and goodman Job, God be your speed. As you two towards market do walk: Of the King's cruelty I did hear you talk. I insure you, he is a King most vile and parnitious: His doings and life are odious and vicious. It were a good deed zome body would break his head: Bum vay Neighbour Lob. I chousd he were dead. So would I Job and Hob with all my heart: Now with both hands, will ye see me play my part? A ye Whoreson traitorly Knaves: Hob and Job out upon you slaves.
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)
Now he is dead, let vs preſent him to the King: Lay to your hand, away him to bring. O the paſſion of God, yunder is a heuy Court: Some wéeps, ſome wailes, and ſome make great ſport. Lord Smirdis, by Crueltie and Murder is ſlain: But Ieſus for want of him, how ſome doo complain. If I ſhould haue had a thouſand pound, I could not forbeare wéeping Now Ieſus haue his bleſſed ſoule in kéeping. Ah, good Lord, to think on him, how it dooth me gréeue: I can not forbeare wéeping, ye may me beléeue. O my hart, how my pulſes doo beat: With ſorowful lamentations, I am in ſuch a heat. Ah my hart, how for him it dooth ſorow: Nay I haue doon in faith now, and God giue you good morow. Ha, ha, wéep nay laugh, with both hands to play: The king througe his crueltie, hath made him away, But hath not he wrought, a moſte wicked déed: Becauſe king after him he ſhould not procéed. His owne naturall brother and hauing no more: To procure his death by violence ſore. In ſpight becauſe his brother ſhould neuer be King: His hart béeing wicked conſented to this thing. Now he hath no more Brothers nor kinred aliue: If the King vſe this géer ſtil, he cannot long thriue. Gods hat Naibor come away, its time to market to go Gods Vaſt Naybor zay ye zo? The Clock hath ſtriken viue ich think by laken: Bum Vay vrom ſléep cham not very wel waken. But Naybor Hoh, Naybor Hob, what haue ye to zel? Bum troth Naybor Lob to you I chil tel. Chaue twoo Goſlings, and a Chine of good Porke: There is no vatter betwéen this and Yorke. Chaue a pot of Strawberyes and a Calues hed: A zennight zince to morrow it hath béen dead. Chaue a ſcore of Egges, and of Butter a pound: Yeſterday a neſt of goodly yung Rabits I bound. Chaue vorty things mo, of more and of leſſe: My brain is not very good them to expreſſe. But Gods Hat Naybor, wotſt what? No not wel Naybor. whats that? Bum vay Naybor, maiſter king is a zhrode lad Zo God help me and holidam, I think the vool he mad. Zome zay he deale cruelly his Brother he did kil: And alſo a goodly yung lads hart blood, he did ſpil, Vorbod of God naibor, has he plaied zuch a voliſh déed? Goodman Hob and goodman Lob, God be your ſpéed. As you twoo towards market doo walke: Of the Kings crueltie I did hear you talke. I inſure you, he is a King moſte vile and parnitious: His dooings and life are odious and vicious. It were a good déed zome body would breke his hed: Bum vay Naybor Lob. I chouſd he were dead. So would I Lob and Hob with all my hart: Now with bothe hands, wil ye ſée me play my parte? A ye Whorſon traitorly Knaues: Hob and Lob out vpon you ſlaues.