A New Wonder, A Woman Never Vexed · chunk 32 of 45
Heywood, Thomas / Rowley, William · published 1632 · first performed or written 1611 [1611-1614] (Annals) comedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Good Sir, resolve not thus; return again, Your debts are not so great, that you should yield Your body thus to prison unconstrained. I will not trust the iron hearts of men; My credit's lost, my wealth the Sea has swallowed, Wracked at my door, even in the mouth o'th' Thames. Oh my misfortune! never man like me Was so thrown down, and cast to misery. Dear Sir, be patient. I prithee get thee gone, and with thy diligence Assist thy Mistress to keep that little left, to Help herself, whilst here in Ludgate I secure My body from Writs, Arrests, and Executions, Which, well I know, my cruel Creditors will Thunder on me. Go, get thee gone; if what Is left they'll take, do thou agree; If not, I am here resolved to stay and die. I'll do my best Sir, to procure your peace. Do so. Come Sir, I yield myself your prisoner, You are the Keeper of this Ludgate. Yes Sir, your name is registered among the prisoners. So, I have seen the fair outside of this tomb before; This goodly apple has a rotten core. As all prisons have, Sir. I prithee bar me of no privilege due to a free Citizen; Thou knowest me well? Yes Master Foster, and I sorrow for your losses, Yet doubt not but your son and brother. O speak not of them! do not kiss and kill me: I have no son nor brother that esteems me, And I for ever hate their memory: Prithee no more; I am come sick into a Bad Inn, and look for worse attendance, I have taken a surfeit of misfortunes, and here Must swallow pills With poison to recure me: I am sea-sick, Sir, And heave my hands to heaven; ne'er to so Low an ebb was Foster driven. There be some Fees to pay, Sir, at your coming in. So, so, if this old walnut-tree, after all this cudgeling, have but one cluster left, thou shalt Have that too; if not, take off these leaves that Cover me; pull off these white locks; rend them from My head, and let me in my woes be buried. 'Las, Sir, this house is poor. I think no less; For rich men seldom meet with such distress, Well, well, what book must I read over now? What servile Oar must I be tied to here, Slave-like to tug within this christian Galley? Sir, being the youngest prisoner in the house, You must beg at the iron grate above, As others do for your relief and theirs. For a beggar to beg, Sir, is no shame; And for the iron grate, it bears an emblem iron-hearted Creditors, that force men lie In loathsome prisons thus to starve and die. Who would you speak with, Sir? Oh, cry you mercy; 'tis his son: I'll leave them.
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)
Good Sir, resolve not thus; returne againe, Your debts are not so great, that you should yeeld Your body thus to prison unconstrain'd. I will not trust the iron hearts of men; My credit's lost, my wealth the Sea has swallowed, Wrack'd at my dore, even in the mouth o'th'Thames. Oh my misfortune! never man like me Was so throwne downe, and cast to misery. Deare Sir, be patient. I prethee get thee gone, and with thy diligence Assist thy Mistris to keepe that little left, to Helpe her selfe, whil'st here in Ludgate I secure My body from Writs, Arrests, and Executions, Which, well I know, my cruell Creditors will Thunder on me. Goe, get thee gone; if what Is left they'l take, doe thou agree; If not, I am here resolv'd to stay and dye. I'l doe my best Sir, to procure your peace. Do so, Come Sir, I yeeld my selfe your prisoner, You are the Keeper of this Ludgate. Yes Sir, your name is registred among the prisoners. So, I have seene the faire outside of this tombe before; This goodly apple has a rotten core. As all prisons have, Sir. I prethee bar me of no priviledge due to a free Citizen; Thou knowest me well? Yes Master Foster, and I sorrow for your losses, Yet doubt not but your son and brother. O speake not of them! doe not kisse and kill me: I have no son nor brother that esteemes me, And I for ever hate their memory: Prethee no more; I am come sicke into a Bad Inne, and looke for worse attendance, I have taken a surfeit of misfortunes, and here Must swallow pills With poyson to recure me: I am sea-sicke, Sir, And heave my hands to heaven; ne'r to so Low an ebbe was Foster driven. There be some Fees to pay, Sir, at your comming in. So, so, if this old Wall-nut-tree, after all this Cudgelling, have but one cluster left, thou shalt Have that too; if not, take off these leaves that Cover me; pull off these white locks; rend them from My head, and let me in my woes be buried. 'Las, Sir, this house is poore. I thinke no lesse; For rich men seldome meete with such distresse, Well, well, what booke must I reade over now? What servile Oare must I be tyed to here, Slave-like to tug within this christian Galley? Sir, being the youngest prisoner in the house, You must beg at the iron grate above, As others doe for your reliefe and their's. For a beggar to beg, Sir, is no shame; And for the iron grate, it beares an embleme O firon-hearted Creditors, that force men lye In loathsome prisons thus to starve and die. Who would you speake with, Sir? Oh, cry you mercy; 'tis his sonne: I'l leave them.