Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
I am telling Mistress Band, and Mistress Statute, What a brave Gentleman you are, and Wax, here! How much 'twere better, that my Lady's Grace, Would here take up Sir, and keep house with you. What say they? We could consent, Sr, willingly. I, if we knew her Grace had the lest liking. We must obey her Grace's will, and pleasure. I thank you, Gentlewomen, ply 'em, Lickfinger. Give mother Mortgage, there— Her dose of Sack. I have it for her, and her distance of Hum. Indeed therein, I must confess, dear Cousin, I am a most unfortunate Princess. And You still will be so, when your Grace may help it. who'd lie in a room, with a close-stool, and garlic? And kennel with his dogs? that had a Prince Like this young Peny-boy, to sojourn with? He'll let you ha' your liberty— Go forth, Wither you please, and to what company— Scatter yourself amongst us— Hope of Parnassus! Thy ivy shall not whither, nor thy Bays, Thou shalt be had into her Grace's Cellar, And there know Sack, and Claret, all December, Thy vein is rich, and we must cherish it. Poets and Bees swarm now adays, but yet There are not those good Taverns, for the one sort, As there are Flowery fields to feed the other. Though Bees be pleased with dew, ask little Wax That brings the honey to her Lady's hive: The Poet must have wine. And he shall have it. BRoker? what Broker? Who's that? my Uncle! I am abused, where is my Knave? my Broker? Your Broker is laid out upon a bench, yonder, Sack hath seized on him, in the shape of sleep. He hath been dead to us almost this hour. This hour? Why sigh you Sr? 'cause he's at rest? It breeds my unrest. Will you take a cup And try if you can sleep? Not, cogging Iacke, Thou and thy cups too, perish. O, the Sack! The sack, the sack! A Madrigal on Sack! Or rather an Elegy, for the Sack is gone. Why do you this, Sir? spill the wine, and rave? For Brokers sleeping? What through sleep, and Sack, My trust is wronged: but I am still awake, To wait upon your Grace, please you to quit This strange lewd company, they are not for you. No Guardian, I do like them very well. Your Grace's pleasure be observed, but you Statute, and Band, and Wax, will go with me. Truly we will not. We will stay, and wait here Upon her Grace, and this your Noble Kinsman. Noble? how noble! who hath made him noble? Why, my most noble money hath, or shall▪ My Princess, here. She that had you but kept, And treated kindly, would have made you noble, And wise, too: nay, perhaps have done that for you, An Act of Parliament could not, made you honest. The truth is, Uncle, that her Grace dislikes Her entertainment: specially her lodging.
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)
I am telling Miſtreſſe Band, and Miſtreſſe Statute, What a braue Gentleman you are, and Waxe, here! How much 'twere better, that my Ladies Grace, Would here take vp Sir, and keepe houſe with you. What ſay they? We could conſent, Sr, willingly. I, if we knew her Grace had the leaſt liking. We muſt obey her Graces will, and pleaſure. I thanke you, Gentlewomen, ply 'hem, Lickfinger. Giue mother Mortgage, there— Her doze of Sacke. I haue it for her, and her diſtance of Hum. Indeede therein, I muſt confeſſe, deare Couſin, I am a moſt vnfortunate Princeſſe. And You ſtill will be ſo, when your Grace may helpe it. Who'ld lie in a roome, with a cloſe-ſtoole, and garlick? And kennell with his dogges? that had a Prince Like this young Peny-boy, to ſoiourne with? He'll let you ha' your liberty— Goe forth, Whither you pleaſe, and to what company— Scatter your ſelfe amongſt vs— Hope of Pernaſſus! Thy Iuy ſhall not wither, nor thy Bayes, Thou ſhalt be had into her Graces Cellar, And there know Sacke, and Claret, all December, Thy veine is rich, and we muſt cheriſh it. Poets and Bees ſwarme now adaies, but yet There are not thoſe good Tauernes, for the one ſort, As there are Flowrie fields to feed the other. Though Bees be pleas'd with dew, aske little Waxe That brings the honey to her Ladyes hiue: The Poet muſt haue wine. And he ſhall haue it. BRoker? what Broker? Who's that? my Vncle! I am abus'd, where is my Knaue? my Broker? Your Broker is laid out vpon a bench, yonder, Sacke hath ſeaz'd on him, in the ſhape of ſleepe. Hee hath beene dead to vs almoſt this houre. This houre? Why ſigh you Sr? 'cauſe he's at reſt? It breeds my vnreſt. Will you take a cup And try if you can ſleepe? No, cogging Iacke, Thou and thy cups too, periſh. O, the Sacke! The ſacke, the ſacke! A Madrigall on Sacke! Or rather an Elegy, for the Sacke is gone. VVhy doe you this, Sir? ſpill the wine, and raue? For Brokers ſleeping? VVhat through ſleepe, and Sacke, My truſt is wrong'd: but I am ſtill awake, To waite vpon your Grace, pleaſe you to quit This ſtrange lewd company, they are not for you. No Guardian, I doe like them very well. Your Graces pleaſure be obſeru'd, but you Statute, and Band, and Waxe, will goe with me. Truly we will not. VVe will ſtay, and wait here Vpon her Grace, and this your Noble Kinſman. Noble? how noble! who hath made him noble? VVhy, my moſt noble money hath, or ſhall▪ My Princeſſe, here. She that had you but kept, And treated kindly, would haue made you noble, And wiſe, too: nay, perhaps haue done that for you, An Act of Parliament could not, made you honeſt. The truth is, Vncle, that her Grace diſlikes Her entertainment: ſpecially her lodging.