Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1614 [Oct 31] (Annals) comedy · Lady Elizabeth's Men unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
Sir, you are a welsh Cuckold, and a prating Runt, and no Constable. You say very well. Come put in his leg in the middle roundel, and let him hole there. You stink of leeks, Metheglin, and cheese. You Rogue. Why, what is that to you, if you sit sweetly in the stocks in the mean time? if you have a mind to stink too, your breeches sit close enough to your bum. Sat you merry, Sir. How now, Numps? It is no matter, how; pray you look of. Nay I'll not offend you, Numps. I thought you had sat there to be seen. And to be sold, did you not? pray you mind your business, an you have any. Cry you mercy, Numps. Does your leg lie high enough? How now, neighbour Haggis, what says justice Overdoo's worship, to the other offenders? Why, he says just nothing, what should he say? Or where should he say? He is not to be found, Man. He ha' not been seen i'the Fair, here, all this livelong day, never since seven a clock i' the morning. His Clerks know not what to think on't. There is no Court of Pie-poulders yet. Hear they be returned. What shall be done with 'em, than? in your discretion? I think we were best put 'em in the stocks, in discretion (there they will be safe in discretion) for the valour of an hour, or such a thing, till his worship come. It is but a hole matter, if we do, Neighbour Haggis, come, Sir, here is company for you, heave up the stocks. I shall put a trick upon your welsh diligence, perhaps. Put in your leg, Sir. What, Rabbi Busie! is he come? I do obey thee, the Lion may roar, but he cannot by't. I am glad to be thus separated from the heathen of the land, and put a part in the stocks, for the holy cause. What are you, Sir? One that rejoiceth in his affliction, and sitteth here to prophesy, the destruction of Fairs and May-games, Wakes, and Whitsonales, and doth sigh and groan for the reformation, of these abuses. And do you sigh, and groan too, or rejoice in your affliction? I do not feel it, I do not think of it, it is a thing without me: Adam, thou art above these batteries, these contumelies. In te manca ruit fortuna, as thy friend Horace says; thou art one, Quem neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula terrent,. And therefore as another friend of thine says, (I think it be thy friend Persius) Non te quaesiveris extra. What's here! a Stoic i'the stocks? the Fool is turned Philosopher. Friend, I will leave to communicate my spirit with you, if I hear any more of those superstitious relics, those lists of Latin, the very tags of Rome▪ and patches of Popery.
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)
Sir, you are a welſh Cuckold, and a prating Runt, and no Conſtable. You ſay very well. Come put in his legge in the middle roundell, and let him hole there. You ſtinke of leeks, Metheglyn, and cheeſe. You Rogue. Why, what is that to you, if you ſit ſweetly in the ſtocks in the meane time? if you haue a minde to ſtinke too, your breeches ſit cloſe enough to your bumm. Sit you merry, Sir. How now, Numps? It is no matter, how; pray you looke off. Nay I'll not offend you, Numps. I thought you had ſate there to be ſeen. And to be ſold, did you not? pray you mind your buſineſſe, an' you haue any. Cry you mercy, Numps. Do's your leg lie high enough? How now, neighbour Haggiſe, what ſayes Iuſtice Ouerdo's worſhip, to the other offenders? Why, hee ſayes iuſt nothing, what ſhould hee ſay? Or where ſhould he ſay? He is not to be found, Man. He ha' not been ſeen i'the Fayre, here, all this liue-long day, neuer ſince ſeuen a clocke i' the morning. His Clearks know not what to thinke on't. There is no Court of Pie-poulders yet. Heere they be return'd. What ſhall be done with 'hem, then? in your diſcretion? I thinke wee were beſt put 'hem in the ſtocks, in diſcretion (there they will be ſafe in diſcretion) for the valour of an houre, or ſuch a thing, till his worſhip come. It is but a hole matter, if wee doe, Neighbour Haggiſe, come, Sir, heere is company for you, heaue vp the ſtocks. I ſhall put a tricke vpon your welſh diligence, perhaps. Put in your legge, Sir. What, Rabby Buſy! is hee come? I doe obey thee, the Lyon may roare, but he cannot bite. I am glad to be thus ſeparated from the heathen of the land, and put a part in the ſtocks, for the holy cauſe. VVhat are you, Sir? One that reioyceth in his affliction, and ſitteth here to propheſie, the deſtruction of Fayres and May-games, Wakes, and Whitſon-ales, and doth ſigh and groane for the reformation, of theſe abuſes. And doe you ſigh, and groane too, or reioyce in your affliction? I doe not feele it, I doe not thinke of it, it is a thing without mee: Adam, thou art aboue theſe battries, theſe contumelies. In te manca ruit fortuna, as thy friend Horace ſaies; thou art one, Quem neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula terrent,. And therefore as another friend of thine ſaies, (I thinke it be thy friend Perſius) Non te quaeſiueris extra. What's heere! a Stoick i'the ſtocks? the Foole is turn'd Philoſopher. Friend, I will leaue to communicate my ſpirit with you, if I heare any more of thoſe ſuperſtitious reliques, thoſe liſts of Latin, the very tags of Rome▪ and patches of Poperie.