The Contention for Honor and Riches · chunk 8 of 11
Shirley, James · published 1633 · first performed or written 1631 [c.1625-1632; adapted 1658] (Annals) moral unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 471 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
How do you know what I am, or what title Perhaps I wear? I know thee by the wrong To Soldiers. I speak of such as thou wert, and I dare Maintain, and write as much in thy own blood. Dost thou not see, Honesty? Honesty? what hast thou to do with Honesty? I never could endure her, she appears More terrible than a ghost, I ha' no stomach To fight, my blood is frozen in my veins, She is a thousand punishments at once: Now would I give my Office to be at peace With mine own conscience, ha, she does pursue me? These are idle imaginations, collect yourself, good Courtier, and remember what we are to do, or I shall, ha. What's the matter, more terror? I am cold too. Another apparition. You may know him by a jaw-fallen, 'tis No-pay. And what a comfort No-pay's to a Soldier, I appeal to a Council of war, the Devil is not So full of horror, No-pay? I'll not fight A stroke, though I were sure to clear the Empire. Our weapon's length are even, but you'll find There is such odds betwixt us, nought but death Can reconcile our difference. Deny your major. I think I heard a Scholar use that word against Bellarmine. ay, I'll stand to't: for if nought but death, can reconcile our difference, we must be both killed: no, prepare thyself, I hope to send thee to heaven, and be far enough off ere Sunset: if thou hast made thy Will, let them prove it when thou art dead, and bury thee accordingly, thy wife will have cause to thank me, it will be a good hearing to the poor of the Parish: happy man by his dole, beside, the blue-coats can but comfort thy kindred with singing and rejoicing at thy Funeral. Come on thy ways. Y'are very round, Clod, I do not think you have practised Fencing of late, this is a weapon you are not used to, a Pitchfork were more convenient for you to manage. A Pitchfork? Thou shalt know thy destiny by this, though it have but one point I know where thy heart lies, I desire no more, and less would satisfy me, unless thou wilt eat thy words, and confess thou hast wronged me, out it shall, I have a stomach to cut thee up, and my sword has a pretty edge of itself, and my greatest grief is, that I owe thee nothing, to discharge all together, but 'tis no matter, I can but kill thee. You cannot, sure: for ought I see in your countenance, you are not long-lived yourself, you have but a tallow complexion, do you know what ground you stand upon, Clod? Ground? You may tread upon your grave now, for all this blustering.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T46 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
How do you know what I am, or what title Perhaps I weare? I know thee by the wrong To Souldiers. I speake of such as thou wert, and I dare Maintaine, and write as much in thy owne blood. Dost thou not see, Honestie? Honestie? what hast thou to do with Honesty? I never could endure her, she appeares More terrible then a ghost, I ha no stomacke To fight, my blood is frozen in my veines, She is a thousand punishments at once: Now would I give my Office to be at peace With mine owne conscience, ha, she do's pursue me? These are idle imaginations, collect Your selfe, good Courtier, and remember what Wee are to doe, or I shall, ha. Whats the matter, more terror? I am cold too. Another apparition. You may know him by a jaw-faln, tis No-pay. And what a comfort No-pay's to a Souldier, I appeale to a Councell of warre, the Devill is not So full of horror, No-pay? Ile not fight A stroke, though I were sure to cleare the Empire. Our weapons length are even, but youle find There is such ods betwixt us, nought but death Can reconcile our difference. Deny your major. I thinke I heard a Scholler use that word against Bellarmine. I, Ile stand too't: for if nought but death, can reconcile our difference, we must be both kild: no, prepare thy selfe, I hope to send thee to heaven, and be farre enough off ere Sunset: if thou hast made thy Will, let them prove it when thou art dead, and bury thee accordingly, thy wife will have cause to thanke me, it will be a good hearing to the poore of the Parish: happy man by his dole, besides, the Blue-coates can but comfort thy kindred with singing and rejoycing at thy Funerall. Come on thy wayes. Y'are very round, Clod, I doe not thinke you have practis'd Fencing of late, this is a weapon you are not us'd to, a Pitch-forke were more convenient for you to manage. A Pitch-forke? Thou shalt know thy destiny by this, though it have but one point I know where thy heart lies, I desire no more, and lesse would satisfie me, unlesse thou wilt eate thy words, and confesse thou hast wrong'd me, out it shall, I have a stomacke to cut thee up, and my sword has a pretty edge of it selfe, and my greatest griefe is, that I owe thee nothing, to discharge all together, but tis no matter, I can but kill thee. You cannot, sure: for ought I see in your countenance, you are not long-lyv'd your selfe, you have but a tallow complexion, doe you know what ground you stand upon, Clod? Ground? You may tread upon your grave now, for all this blustering.