Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1614 [Oct 31] (Annals) comedy · Lady Elizabeth's Men unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
O Tempora! O mores! I would not ha' lost my discovery of this one grievance, for my place, and worship o'the Bench, how is the poor subject abused, here! well, I will fall in with her, and with her Mooncalf, and win out wonders of enormity. By thy leave, goodly woman, and the fatnessc of the Fair: oily as the King's constables Lamp, and shining as his Shooing-horn! hath thy Ale virtue, or thy Beer strength? that the tongue of man may be tickled? and his palat pleased in the morning? let thy pretty Nephew here, go search and see. What new Roarer is this? O Lord! do you not know him, Mistress, 'tis mad Arthur of Bradley, that makes the Orations. Brave Master, old Arthur of Bradley, how do you? welcome to the Fair, when shall we hear you again, to handle your matters? with your back again a Booth, ha'? I ha' been one o'your little disciples, i'my days! Let me drink, boy, with my love, thy Aunt, here; that I may be eloquent: but of thy best, jest it be bitter in my mouth, and my words fall foul on the Fair. Why dost thou not fetch him drink? and offer him to sit? Is't Ale, or Beer? Master Arthur? Thy best, pretty stripling, thy best; the same thy Dove drinketh, and thou drawest on holy days. Bring him a six penny bottle of Ale; they say, a fool's handsel is lucky. Bring both, child. Ale for Arthur, and Beer for Bradley. Ale for thine Aunt, boy. My disguise takes to the very wish, and reach of it. I shall by the benefit of this, discover enough, and more: and yet get of with the reputation of what I would be. A certain middling thing, between a fool and a madman. WHat! my little lean Ursula! my she-bear! art thou alive yet? with thy litter of pigs, to grunt out another Bartholomew Fair? ha'! Yes, and to amble a foot, when the Fair is done, to hear you groan out of a cart, up the heavy hill. Of Holborn, Ursula, meanest thou so? for what? for what, pretty Urs? For cutting halfpenny purses: or stealing little penny dogs, out o'the Fair. O! good words, good words Urs. Another special enormity. A cutpurse of the sword! the boot, and the feather! those are his marks. You are one of those horseleeches, that gave out I was dead, in Turnbull street, of a surfeit of bottle ale, and tripes? Not, 'twas better meat Urs: cow's udders; cows udders! Well, I shall be meet with your mumbling mouth one day. What? thou'lt poison me with a newt in a bottle of Ale, will't thou? or a spider in a tobacco-pipe, Urs? Come, there's no malice in these fat folks, I never fear thee, and I can scape thy lean Mooncalf here. Let's drink it out, good Urs, and no vapours!
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)
O Tempora! O mores! I would not ha' loſt my diſcouery of this one grieuance, for my place, and worſhip o'the Bench, how is the poore ſubiect abus'd, here! well, I will fall in with her, and with her Moone-calfe, and winne out wonders of enormity. By thy leaue, goodly woman, and the fatneſſc of the Fayre: oyly as the Kings conſtables Lampe, and ſhining as his Shooing-horne! hath thy Ale vertue, or thy Beere ſtrength? that the tongue of man may be tickled? and his palat pleas'd in the morning? let thy pretty Nephew here, goe ſearch and ſee. What new Roarer is this? O Lord! doe you not know him, Miſtris, 'tis mad Arthur of Bradley, that makes the Orations. Braue Maſter, old Arthur of Bradley, how doe you? welcome to the Fayre, when ſhall wee heare you againe, to handle your matters? with your backe againe a Booth, ha? I ha' bin one o'your little diſciples, i'my dayes! Let me drinke, boy, with my loue, thy Aunt, here; that I may be eloquent: but of thy beſt, leſt it be bitter in my mouth, and my words fall foule on the Fayre. Why doſt thou not fetch him drinke? and offer him to ſit? Is't Ale, or Beere? Maſter Arthur? Thy beſt, pretty ſtripling, thy beſt; the ſame thy Doue drinketh, and thou draweſt on holy daies. Bring him a ſixe penny bottle of Ale; they ſay, a fooles handſell is lucky. Bring both, child. Ale for Arthur, and Beere for Bradley. Ale for thine Aunt, boy. My diſguiſe takes to the very wiſh, and reach of it. I ſhall by the benefit of this, diſcouer enough, and more: and yet get off with the reputation of what I would be. A certaine midling thing, betweene a foole and a madman. VVHat! my little leane Vrſla! my ſhee-Beare! art thou aliue yet? with thy litter of pigges, to grunt out another Bartholmew Fayre? ha! Yes, and to amble a foote, when the Fayre is done, to heare you groane out of a cart, vp the heauy hill. Of Holbourne, Vrſla, meanſt thou ſo? for what? for what, pretty Vrſ? For cutting halfe-penny purſes: or ſtealing little penny dogges, out o'the Fayre. O! good words, good words Vrſ. Another ſpeciall enormitie. A cutpurſe of the ſword! the boote, and the feather! thoſe are his marks. You are one of thoſe horſleaches, that gaue out I was dead, in Turne-bull ſtreete, of a ſurfet of botle ale, and tripes? No, 'twas better meat Vrs: cowes vdders; cowes vdders! Well, I ſhall be meet with your mumbling mouth one day. What? thou'lt poyſon mee with a neuft in a bottle of Ale, will't thou? or a ſpider in a tobacco-pipe, Vrs? Come, there's no malice in theſe fat folkes, I neuer feare thee, and I can ſcape thy leane Moonecalfe heere. Let's drinke it out, good Vrs, and no vapours!