A New Wonder, A Woman Never Vexed · chunk 33 of 45
Heywood, Thomas / Rowley, William · published 1632 · first performed or written 1611 [1611-1614] (Annals) comedy · Unknown T52 Prodigals, portions and poor kin typicality 0.85 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T52: brother, father, uncle, cousin, son, poor, bread, old, given, master.
O torment to my soul! What mak'st thou here? Cannot the picture of my misery Be drawn, and hung out to the eyes of men, But thou must come to scorn and laugh at it? Dear Sir, I come to thrust my back under your load, To make the burden lighter. Hence from my sight, dissembling villain; go, Thine Uncle sends defiance to my woe, And thou must bring it: Hence, thou basilisk, That kill'st me with mine eyes: nay, never kneel; These scornful mocks more than my woes I feel. Alas, I mock ye not; but come in love, And natural duty Sir, to beg your blessing; And for mine Uncle— Him, and thee I curse, Pl starve, e'er I eat bread from his purse, Or from thy hand; Out villain, tell that Cur, Thy barking Uncle, that I lie not here Upon my bed of riot, as he did, Covered with all the villainies, which man Had ever woven; tell him I lie not so, It was the hand of heaven struck me thus low, And I do thank it. Get thee gone, I say, Or I shall curse thee, strike thee; Prithee away; Or if thou'lt laugh thy fill at my poor state, Then stay, and listen to the prison grate, And hear thy father, an old wretched man, That yesterday had thousands, beg and cry, To get a penny: Oh my misery! Dear Sir, for pity hear me. Upon my curse I charge no nearer come, I'll be no father to so vild a Son. O my abortive fate! Why for my good am I thus paid with hate? From this sad place of Ludate here I freed An Uncle, and I lost a father for it; Now is my father here, whom if I succour, I then must lose my Uncle's love and favour. My Father once being rich, and Uncle poor, I him relieving was thrust forth of doors; Baffled, reviled, and disinherited: Now mine own Father here must beg for bread, Mine Uncle being rich, and yet if I Feed him, myself must beg. Oh misery, How bitter is thy taste! yet I will drink Thy strongest poison; fret what mischief can, I'll feed my Father, though, like the Pelican, I peck mine own breast for him. Bread, bread, one penny to buy a Loaf of bread for the tender mercy! O me my shame! I know that voice full well; I'll help thy wants, although thou curse me still. Bread, bread; some Christian man send back Your charity to an number of poor prisoners; One penny for the tender mercy. The hand of heaven reward you, gentle Sir, Never may you want, never feel misery; Let blessings in unnumbered measure grow, And fall upon your head where'er you go. O happy comfort! curses to the ground First struck me, now with blessings I am crowned. Bread, bread, for the tender mercy; one Penny for a loaf of bread.
seed 43: T52 · seed 44: T52 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O torment to my soule! What mak'st thou here? Cannot the picture of my misery Be drawn, and hung out to the eyes of men, But thou must come to scorne and laugh at it? Deare Sir, I come to thrust my backe under your loade, make the buden lighter. Hence from my sight, dissembling villaine; goe, Thine Vncle sends defiance to my woe, And thou must bring it: Hence, thou Basyliske, That kil'st me with mine eyes: nay, never kneele; These scornefull mocks more than my woes I feele. Alas, I mocke yee not; but come in love, And naturall duty Sir, to beg your blessing; And for mine Vncle— Him, and thee I curse, Pl starve, e'r I eate bread from his purse, Or from thy hand; Out villaine, tell that Cur, Thy barking Vncle, that I lye not here Vpon my bed of ryot, as he did, Coverd with all the villanies, which man Had ever woven; tell him I lye not so, It was the hand of heaven strucke me thus low, And I doe thanke it. Get thee gone, I say, Or I shall curse thee, strike thee; Prethee away; Or if thou'lt laugh thy fill at my poore state, Then stay, and listen to the prison grate, And heare thy father, an old wretched man, That yesterday had thousands, beg and cry, To get a penny: Oh my misery! Deere Sir, for pitty heare me. Vpon my curse I chargeno nearer come, I'l be no father to so vild a Son. O my abortive fate! Why for my good am I thus pay'd with hate? From this sad place of Ludate here I freed An Vncle, and I lost a father for it; Now is my father here, whom if I succour, I then must lose my Vncle's love and favour. My Father once being rich, and Vncle poore, I him relieving was thrust forth of dores; Baffled, revil'd, and disinherited: Now mine owne Father here must beg for bread, Mine Vncle being rich, and yet if I Feede him, my selfe must beg. Oh misery, How bitter is thy taste! yet I will drinke Thy strongest poyson; fret what mischiefe can, I'l feede my Father, though, like the Pellican, I pecke mine owne brest for him. Bread, bread, one penny to buy a Loafe of bread for the tender mercy! O me my shame! I know that voyce full well; I'l help thy wants, although thou curse me still. Bread, bread; some Christian man send back Your charity to an number of poore prisoners; One penny for the tender mercy. The hand of heaven reward you, gentle Sir, Never may you want, never feele misery; Let blessings in unnumbred measure grow, And fall upon your head where e'r you goe. O happy comfort! curses to the ground First strucke me, now with blessings I am crown'd. Bread, bread, for the tender mercy; one Penny for a loafe of bread.