Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
Nay, say her jail. Never unfortunate Princess, Was used so by a jailor. Ask my women, Band, you can tell, and Statute, how he has used me, Kept me close prisoner, under twenty bolts— And forty padlocks— All malicious engines A wicked Smith could forge out of his iron: As locks, and keys, shackleses, and manacles, To torture a great Lady. H'has abused Your Grace's body. Not, he would ha' done, That lay not in his power: he had the use Of our bodies, Band, and Wax, and sometimes Statutes: But once he would ha'smothered me in a chest, And strangled me in leather, but that you Came to my rescue, than, and gave me air. For which he crammed us up in a close box, All three together, where we saw no Sun In one six months. A cruel man he is! H'has left my fellow Wax out, i'the cold, Till she was stiff, as any frost, and crumbled Away to dust, and almost lost her form. Much ado to recover me. Women jeerers! Have you learned too, the subtle faculty? Come, I'll show you the way home, if drink, Or, too full diet have disguised you. Troth, We have not any mind, Sir, of return— To be bound back to back— And have our legs Turned in, or writhed about— Or else displayed— Be lodged with dust and fleas, as we were want— And dieted with dog's dung. Why? you whores, My bawds, my instruments, what should I call you, Man may think base enough for you? Hear you, uncle. I must not hear this of my Princess servants, And in Apollo, in Pecunia's room, Go, get you down the stairs: Home, to your Kennel, As swiftly as you can. Consult your dogs, The Lares of your family; or believe it, The fury of a footman, and a drawer Hangs over you. Cudgel, and pot do threaten A kind of vengeance. Barber's are at hand. Washing and shaving will ensue. The Pump Is not far of; If't were, the sink is near: Or a good Iordan. You have now no money, But are a Rascal. I am cheated, robbed Jeered by confederacy. Not, you are kicked And used kindly, as you should be. Spurned, From all commerce of men, who are a cur. A stinking dog, in a doublet, with foul linen. A snarling Rascal, hence. Out. Well, remember, I am cozened by my Cousin, and his whore! Bane o'these meetings in Apollo! Go, Sir, You will be tossed like Block, in a blanket else. Down with him, Lickfinger. Saucy Iacke away, Pecunia is a whore. Play him down, Fiddlers, And drown his noise. Who's this! O Master Pied-mantle! BY your leave, Gentlemen. Her Grace's Herald, No Herald yet, a Heraldet. What's that? A Canter. O, thou saidst thou'dst sprove us all so!
seed 43: T14 · seed 44: T9 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Nay, ſay her iaile. Neuer vnfortunate Princeſſe, Was vs'd ſo by a Iaylor. Aske my women, Band, you can tell, and Statute, how he has vs'd me, Kept me cloſe priſoner, vnder twenty bolts— And forty padlocks— All malicious ingines A wicked Smith could forge out of his yron: As locks, and keyes, ſhacles, and manacles, To torture a great Lady. H'has abus'd Your Graces body. No, he would ha' done, That lay not in his power: he had the vſe Of our bodies, Band, and Waxe, and ſometimes Statutes: But once he would ha'ſmother'd me in a cheſt, And ſtrangl'd me in leather, but that you Came to my reſcue, then, and gaue mee ayre. For which he cramb'd vs vp in a cloſe boxe, All three together, where we ſaw no Sunne In one ſixe moneths. A cruell man he is! H'has left my fellow Waxe out, i'the cold, Till ſhe was ſtiffe, as any froſt, and crumbl'd Away to duſt, and almoſt loſt her forme. Much adoe to recouer me. Women Ieerers! Haue you learn'd too, the ſubtill facultie? Come, I'll ſhew you the way home, if drinke, Or, too full diet haue diſguis'd you. Troth, We haue not any mind, Sir, of returne— To be bound back to backe— And haue our legs Turn'd in, or writh'd about— Or elſe diſplay'd— Be lodg'd with duſt and fleas, as we were wont— And dyeted with dogs dung. Why? you whores, My bawds, my inſtruments, what ſhould I call you, Man may thinke baſe inough for you? Heare you, vncle. I muſt not heare this of my Princeſſe ſeruants, And in Apollo, in Pecunia's roome, Goe, get you downe the ſtaires: Home, to your Kennell, As ſwiftly as you can. Conſult your dogges, The Lares of your family; or beleeue it, The fury of a foote-man, and a drawer Hangs ouer you. Cudgell, and pot doe threaten A kinde of vengeance. Barbers are at hand. Waſhing and ſhauing will enſue. The Pumpe Is not farre off; If't were, the ſinke is neere: Or a good Iordan. You haue now no money, But are a Raſcall. I am cheated, robb'd Ieer'd by confederacy. No, you are kick'd And vſed kindly, as you ſhould be. Spurn'd, From all commerce of men, who are a curre. A ſtinking dogge, in a dublet, with foule linnen. A ſnarling Raſcall, hence. Out. Wel, remember, I am coozen'd by my Couſin, and his whore! Bane o'theſe meetings in Apollo! Goe, Sir, You will be toſt like Block, in a blanket elſe. Downe with him, Lickfinger. Saucy Iacke away, Pecunia is a whore. Play him downe, Fidlers, And drown his noiſe. Who's this! O Maſter Pyed-mantle! BY your leaue, Gentlemen. Her Graces Herald, No Herald yet, a Heraldet. What's that? A Canter. O, thou ſaid'ſt thou'dſt ſproue vs all ſo!