Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1626 [Feb] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
They are a little crooked. How knave? Because you do indent. 'Tis true, Sir, I do indent you shall return me money. Rather than meat, I know it: you are just still. I love it still. And therefore if you spend The red-deer pies i'your house, or sell'hem forth, Sir, Cast so, that I may have their coffins all, Returned here, and piled up: I would be thought To keep some kind of house. By the mouldy signs? And than remember meat for my two dogs: Fat flappes of mutton; kidneys; rumps of veal; Good plenteous scraps; my maid shall eat the relics. When you & your dogs have dined. A sweet reversion. Who's here? my Courtier? and my little Doctor? My Muster-Master? and what plover's that They have brought to pull? I know not, some green Plover. I'll found him out. Do, for I know the rest, They are the jeerers, mocking, flouting jacks. HOw now old Money-Bawd? we're come— To jeer me, As you were want, I know you. Not, to give thee Some good security, and see Pecunia. What is't? Ourselves. we'l be one bound for another. This noble Doctor here. This worthy Courtier. This Man o' war, he was our Muster-Master. But a Sea-captain now, brave Captain Shunfield. You snuff the air now, as the scent displeased you? Thou needst not fear him man, his credit is sound, And seasoned too, since he took salt at Sea. I do not love pickled security, Would I had one good Freshman in for all; For truth is, you three stink. You are a Rogue, I think I am, but I will lend no money On that security, Captain. Here's a Gentleman, A Freshman i'the world, one Master Madrigal. Of an untainted credit; what say you to him? he's gone me thinks, where is he? Madrigal? H● has an odd singing name, is he an Heir? An Heir to a fair fortune, And full hopes: A dainty Scholar, and a pretty Poet! Y'aue said enough. I ha' no money, gentlemans, An he go to't in rhyme once, not a penny. Why, he's of years, though he have little beard. His beard has time to grow. I have no money: Let him still dabble in Poetry. Not Pecunia Is to be seen. Come, thou lov'st to be costive Still i' thy curtsy; but I have a pill, A golden pill to purge away this melancholy. 'tis nothing but his keeping o'the house here, With his two drowsy dogs. A drench of sack At a good tavern, and a fine fresh pullet, Would cure him. Nothing but a young Hair in white-broth, I know his diet better than the Doctor. What Lickfinger? mine old host of Ram-Alley? You ha' some mereat here. Some dosser of Fish Or Fowl to fetch of. An odd bargain of Venison, To drive. Will you go in, knave? I must needs, You see who drives me, gentlemen. Not the devil.
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)
They are a little crooked. How knaue? Becauſe you do indent. 'Tis true, Sir, I do indent you ſhall returne me money. Rather then meat, I know it: you are iuſt ſtill. I loue it ſtill. And therefore if you ſpend The red-Deere pyes i'your houſe, or ſell'hem forth, Sir, Caſt ſo, that I may haue their coffins all, Return'd here, and pil'd vp: I would be thought To keepe ſome kind of houſe. By the mouldie ſignes? And then remember meat for my two dogs: Fat flaps of mutton; kidneyes; rumps of veale; Good plentious ſcraps; my maid ſhall eat the reliques. VVhen you & your dogs haue din'd. A ſweet reuerſion. VVho's here? my Courtier? and my little Doctor? My Muſter-Maſter? and what Plouer's that They haue brought to pull? I know not, ſome green Plouer. I'le find him out. Doe, for I know the reſt, They are the Ieerers, mocking, flouting Iackes. HOw now old Money-Bawd? w'are come— To ieere me, As you were wont, I know you. No, to giue thee Some good ſecurity, and ſee Pecunia. What is't? Our ſelues. Weel be one bound for another. This noble Doctor here. This worthy Courtier. This Man o' war, he was our Muſter-Maſter. But a Sea-Captaine now, braue Captaine Shun-field. You ſnuffe the ayre now, as the ſcent diſpleas'd you? Thou needſt not feare him man, his credit is ſound, And ſeaſond too, ſince he tooke ſalt at Sea. I doe not loue pickld ſecurity, Would I had one good Freſh-man in for all; For truth is, you three ſtinke. You are a Rogue, I thinke I am, but I will lend no money On that ſecurity, Captaine. Here's a Gentleman, A Freſh-man i'the world, one Maſter Madrigall. Of an vntainted credit; what ſay you to him? Hee's gone me thinkes, where is he? Madrigall? H has an odde ſinging name, is he an Heyre? An Heyre to a faire fortune, And full hopes: A dainty Scholler, and a pretty Poët! Y'aue ſaid enough. I ha' no money, Gentlemen, An' he goe to't in ryme once, not a penny. Why, hee's of yeares, though he haue little beard. His beard has time to grow. I haue no money: Let him ſtill dable in Poetry. No Pecunia Is to be ſeene. Come, thou lou'ſt to be coſtiue Still i' thy curt'ſie; but I haue a pill, A golden pill to purge away this melancholly. Tis nothing but his keeping o'the houſe here, With his two drowſie doggs. A drench of ſacke At a good tauerne, and a fine freſh pullet, Would cure him. Nothing but a yong Haire in white-broth, I know his diet better then the Doctor. What Lick-finger? mine old hoſt of Ram-Alley? You ha' ſome mereat here. Some doſſer of Fiſh Or Fowle to fetch of. An odde bargaine of Veniſon, To driue. Will you goe in, knaue? I muſt needs, You ſee who driues me, gentlemen. Not the diuell.