Ford, John · published 1633 · first performed or written 1630 [c.1630-1633] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.78 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Gransis, You are a juggling Bawd.— This sadness (sweetest) Becomes not youthful blood,— (I'll have you pounded) For my sake put on a more cheerful mirth, thou'lt mar thy cheeks, and make me old in griefs. (Damnable bitch-fox.) I am thick of hearing Still when the wind blowes Southerly. What thinke 'e, If your fresh Lady breed young bones (my Lord?) Wood not a chopping boy d''ee good at heart? But as you said, Or chop thee into collops. Pray speak louder. sure, the wind blows South still, Thou prayest madly. 'Tis very hot, I sweat extreamely— Now. A herd of Lords, Sir. Ha? A of Indies. Where? Shoalds of horses. Peasant, how? Caroches In drifts— th'one enter, th'other stand without, sir. And now I vanish. Noble Bassanes. Most welcome Prophilus, Ladies, Gentlemen, To all, my heart is open, you all honour me. (A tympany sways in my head already) Honour me bountifully.— (How they flutter, Wagtailes and Iayes together?) From your brother, By virtue of your love to him, I require Your instant presence fairest He is will Sir. The gods preserve him ever: yet (dear beauty) I find some alteration in him lately, Since his return to Sparta. My good Lord, I pray use no delay. We had not needed An invitation, if his sister's health Had not fallen into question.— Hast Penthea, Slack not a minute: lead the way good Prophilus, I'll follow step by step. Your arm fair Madam. One word with your old Bawdship: th' hadst been better Railed at the sins thou worship'st, thou have thwarted My will. I'll use thee cursedly. You dote. You are beside yourself. A Politician In jealousy? No, y'are too gross, too vulgar. Pish, teach not me my trade, I know my cue: My crossing you, sinks me into her trust, By which I shall know all: my trade's a sure one. Forgive me, Gransis, 'twas consideration I relished not, but have a care now. Fear not, I am no new-come-to't. Thy life's upon it, And so is mine. My Agonies are infinite. Ambition? 'tis of viper's breed, it gnaws A passage through the womb that gave it motion. Ambition? like a seeled Dove, mounts upward, Higher and higher still to perch on clouds, But tumbles headlong down with heavier ruin. So squibs and crackers fly into the air, Then only breaking with a noise, they vanish In stench and smoke: Morality applied To timely practice, keeps the soul in tune, At whose sweet music all our actions dance; But this is form of books, and school-tradition, I physicks not the sicknesse of a minde Broken with griefs: strong Feauers are not eased With counsel, but with best receipts, and means: Means, speedy means, and certain; that's the cure. You stick (Lord Crotolon) upon a point Too nice, and too unnecessary. Prophilus Is every way desertful. I am confident Your wisdom is too ripe to need instruction From your
nodes 694–773 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 10 of 38 in this edition
Length
490 words · 735 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.779 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: T12 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Gransis, You are a Iugling Bawd. — This sadnesse (sweetest) Becomes not youthfull blood, — (I'le haue you pounded) For my sake put on a more chearefull mirth, Thou't marre thy cheekes, and make me old in griefes. —(Damnable Bitch-foxe.) I am thicke of hearing Still when the wind blowes Southerly. What thinke 'e, If your fresh Lady bred young bones (my Lord?) Wood not a chopping boy d'ee good at heart? But as you said, Or chop thee into collo Pray speake louder Sure, , the wind blowes South still, Thou prai'st madly. 'Tis very hot, I sweat extreamely — Now. A heard of Lords, Sir. Ha? A of Indies. Where? Shoalds of horses. Peasant, how? Caroches In drifts—th'one enter, th'other stand without, sir. And now I vanish. Noble Bassanes. Most welcome Prophilus, Ladies, Gentlemn, To all, my heart is open, you all honour me. (A tympany swes in my head arady) Honour me bountifully. — (How they flutter, W ailes and ayes together?) From your brother, By virtue of your loue to him, I require Your instant presence faireh He is woll Sir. The gods preserue him euer: yet (deare beauty) I finde some alteration in him lately, Since his returne to Sparta. My good Lord, I pray vse no delay. We had not needed An inuitation, if his sisters health Had not fallen into question. — Hast Penthea, Slacke not a minute: lead the way good Prophilus, I'le follow step by step Your arme faire Madam. One word with your old Bawdship: th' hadst bin better Raild at the sinnes thou worshipst, thou haue thwarted My will. I'le vse thee cursedly. You dote. You are beside your selfe. A Politician In iealousie? No, y'are too grosse, too vulgar. Pish, teach not me my trade, I know my ue: My crossing you, sinks me into her trust, By which I shall know all: my rade's a sure one. Forgiue me, Gransis, twas consideration I rellisht not, but haue a care now. Feare not, I am no new-come-too't. Thy life's vpon it, And so is mine. My Agonies are infinite. Ambition? 'tis of vipers breed, it knawes A passage through the wombe that gaue it motion. Ambition? like a seeled Doue, mounts vpward, Higher and higher still to pearch on clouds, But tumbles headlong downe with heauier ruine. So squibs and crackers flye into the ayre, Then onely breaking with a noyse, they vanish In stench and smoke: Morality appli'd To timely practice, keeps the soule in tune, At whose sweet musicke all our actions dance; But this is forme of books, and schoole-tradition, I physicks not the sicknesse of a minde Broken with grief: strong Feers are not eas'd With counsell, but with be receipts, and meane: Meanes, speedy meanes, and certaine; that's the cure. You sticke (Lord Crotolon) vpon a point Too nice, and too vnnecessary. Prophius Is euery way desertfull. I am confident Your wisdome is too to need instruction From your