Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1614 [Oct 31] (Annals) comedy · Lady Elizabeth's Men T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns typicality 0.75 · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
THe Fair's pestilence dead, me thinks; people come not abroad, to day, what ever the matter is. Do you hear, Sister Trash, Lady o'the Basket? sit farther with your gingerbread-progeny there, and hinder not the prospect of my shop, or I'll ha' it proclaimed i'the Fair, what stuff they are made on. Why, what stuff are they made on, Brother Leatherhead? nothing but what's wholesome, I assure you. Yes, stolen bread, rotten eggs, musty ginger, and dead honey, you know. I! have I met with enormity, so soon? I shall mar your market, old Ione. Mar my market, thou too-proud Pedlar? do thy worst; I defy thee, I, and thy stable of hobby-horses. I pay for my ground, as well as thou dost, and thou wrong'st me for all thou art parcel-poet, and an Engineer. I'll find a friend shall right me, and make a ballad of thee, and thy cattle all over. Are you pust up with the pride of your wares? your Arsedine? Go to, old Ione, I'll talk with you anon▪ and take you down too, afore justice Overdoo, he is the man must charm you, I'll ha' you i'the Piepowders. Charm me? I'll meet thee face to face, afore his worship, when thou darest: and though I be a little crooked o' my body, I'll be found as upright in my dealing, as any woman in Smithfield, I, charm me? I am glad, to hear, my name is their terror, yet, this is doing of justice. What do you lack? what is't you buy? what do you lack? Rattles, Drums, Halberds, Horses, Babies o'the best? Fiddles o'th' finest? Buy any pears, pears, fine, very fine pears. Buy any gingerbread, guilt gingerbread! hay, now the fair's a filling! O, for a Tune to startle The Birds o'the Booths here billing; Yearly with old Saint Bartholomew! The Drunkards they are wading, The Punks, and Chapmen trading; who'd see the Fair without his lading? Buy any ballads; new ballads? Fie upon't: who would wear out their youth, and prime thus, in roasting of pigs, that had any cooler vocation? Hell's a kind of cold cellar to't, a very fine vault, o'my conscience! what Mooncalf. Hear. Mistress. How now Ursula? in a heat, in a heat? My chair, you false faucet you; and my morning's draught, quickly, a bottle of Ale, to quench me, Rascal. I am all fire, and fat, Nightingale, I shall even melt away to the first woman, a rib again, I am afraid. I do water the ground in knots, as I go, like a great Garden-pot, you may follow me by the S.S. s. I make. Alas, good Ursla; was Zekiel here this morning? Zekiel? what Zekiel? Zekiel Edgeworth, the civil cutpurse, you know him well enough; he that talks bawdy to you still: I call him my Secretary. He promised to be here this morning. I remember. When he comes, bid him stay: I'll be back again presently.
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)
THe Fayre's peſtlence dead, mee thinkes; people come not abroad, to day, what euer the matter is. Doe you heare, Siſter Traſh, Lady o'the Basket? ſit farther with your ginger-bread-progeny there, and hinder not the proſpect of my ſhop, or I'll ha' it proclaim'd i'the Fayre, what ſtuffe they are made on. Why, what ſtuffe are they made on, Brother Leatherhead? nothing but what's wholeſome, I aſſure you. Yes, ſtale bread, rotten egges, muſty ginger, and dead honey, you know. I! haue I met with enormity, ſo ſoone? I ſhall marre your market, old Ione. Marre my market, thou too-proud Pedler? do thy worſt; I defie thee, I, and thy ſtable of hobby-horſes. I pay for my ground, as well as thou doſt, and thou wrong'ſt mee for all thou art parcell-poet, and an Inginer. I'll finde a friend ſhall right me, and make a ballad of thee, and thy cattell all ouer. Are you puſt vp with the pride of your wares? your Arſedine? Goe to, old Ione, I'll talke with you anone▪ and take you downe too, afore Iuſtice Ouerdoo, he is the man muſt charme you, Ile ha' you i'the Piepouldres. Charme me? I'll meet thee face to face, afore his worſhip, when thou dar'ſt: and though I be a little crooked o' my body, I'll be found as vpright in my dealing, as any woman in Smithfield, I, charme me? I am glad, to heare, my name is their terror, yet, this is doing of Iuſtice. What doe you lacke? what is't you buy? what do you lacke? Rattles, Drums, Halberts, Horſes, Babies o'the beſt? Fiddles o'th fineſt? Buy any peares, peares, fine, very fine peares. Buy any ginger-bread, guilt ginger-bread! Hey, now the Fayre's a filling! O, for a Tune to ſtartle The Birds o'the Booths here billing; Yeerely with old Saint Barthle! The Drunkards they are wading, The Punques, and Chapmen trading; Who'ld ſee the Fayre without his lading? Buy any ballads; new ballads? Fye vpon't: who would weare out their youth, and prime thus, in roaſting of pigges, that had any cooler vocation? Hell's a kind of cold cellar to't, a very fine vault, o'my conſcience! what Moone-calfe. Heere. Miſtreſſe. How now Vrſla? in a heate, in a heat? My chayre, you falſe faucet you; and my mornings draught, quickly, a botle of Ale, to quench mee, Raſcall. I am all fire, and fat, Nightingale, I ſhall e'en melt away to the firſt woman, a ribbe againe, I am afraid. I doe water the ground in knots, as I goe, like a great Garden-pot, you may follow me by the S.S.s. I make. Alas, good Vr's; was Zekiel heere this morning? Zekiel? what Zekiel? Zekiel Edgeworth, the ciuill cut-purſe, you know him well enough; hee that talkes bawdy to you ſtill: I call him my Secretary. He promis'd to be heere this morning. I remember. When he comes, bid him ſtay: I'll be backe againe preſently.