Dekker, Thomas · published 1636 · first performed or written 1631 [1619-1631] (Annals) comedy · Prince Charles's Men (first) (?) T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.78 · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
A my trat 'tis verament, she longa to do some ting in Love uponle gentle home. Doctor thou hittest her heart, 'tis there she's wounded, By a poisoned Arrow, shot from a villain's hand; One Angelo of the Lotti Family, And till that head be plucked out, she will pine, Unless controlled by some deep Art of thine. All tings possibela me fall undergo, me ha' read Galen, Hippocratus, Avicen, but no point can peek out le remedy for de Madam in de briars of love. No medicine you say in any of them for Love. Aim, trat not worth a louse, only in my peregrination about le grand globe of de world, me find out a fine trick for make a de man, and Woman do, dat is tickla in love. The man and the woman do? how do, how do? To be cura, and all whole, Admirable vell. As how pray? Me have had under my fingera, many brave vench, and most Noble gentle Dames, dat have be much troubla, upon de wild vorme in de tail for de man. Very good. And be my troth my Lord, by experiment me find dat de heart of de man; you understanda me. Yes, yes, the heart of the man. we we, de heart of de man being all dry as peppera. So so. And rub upon de ting (vat you call it) fall make it moulder all to crumble and dust. Oh, oh, a Grater. Ee by my troth you say vell, rub a de man's dry Art upon de Grater, and drink de powder in de pot le Vine, by de Gentlewoman, and by gars-blor, she presentamently kick up de heel at de man she lova. Excellent. No point more remembra, but cry out le French poo upon le varlet. So she will hate her lover. Begar, as myself hate le puz-cat, cry mew at my shin; and vill have de rambling a de gut, for de other gentle home. Thou com'st up close to me now, my brave Doctor. Begar me hope so, and derfore my Lord apply le desperate Medicine, to le perilous malady, and have dis Angelo be cut in de troate, and be manslaughtered. You then advise me to have Angelo slain. we. And then to have my daughter drink his heart. we, we. Grated and dried, and so— we, we, we. I would I gripped it fast now in this hand, And eat it panting hot, to teach a peasant To climb above his being, Doctor, he dies. Knocka de pate down begar. But stay, stay, he's fled Florence; It will be A work to find him first out, and being found, A task to kill him; for our Gallants speak Much of his worth; The varlet is valiant. No matera for dat; for-two tree four crown, dare be Rascals fall run him in on de backside. He shall be sought for, and being found, he dies.
nodes 715–759 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 30 in this edition
Length
494 words · 684 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.777 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T3 · seed 44: T4 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A my trat 'tis verament, she longa to do some ting in Love uponle gentle home. Doctor thou hit'st her heart, 'tis there shee's wounded, By a poyson'd Arrow, shot from a villaines hand; One Angelo of the Lotti Familie, And till that head be pluckt out, shee will pine, Vnlesse controul'd by some deepe Art of thine. All tings possibela me fall undergoe, mee ha read Gallen, Hipocratus, Avicen, but no point can peeke out le remedie for de Madam in de bryars of love. No medicine you say in any of them for Love. Ayme, trat not worth a lowse, onely in my perigrination about le grand gloabe of de world, me find out a fine trick for make a de man, and Voman doe, dat is tickla in love. The man and the woman doe? how doe, how doe? To be cura, and all whole, Admirable vell. As how pray? Me have had under my fingera, many brave vench, and most Noble gentle Dames, dat have bee much troubla, upon de wilde vorme in de taile for de man. Very good. And bee my tra my Lord, by experement me finde dat de heart of de man; you understanda me. Yes, yes, the heart of the man. Wee wee, de heart of de man being all dry as peppera. So so. And rub upon de ting (vat you call it) fall make it moulder all to crumble and dust. Oh, oh, a Grater. Ee by my tra you say vell, rub a de mans dry Art upon de Grater, and drinke de powder in de pot le Vine, by de Gentle-voman, and by gars-blor, she present amently kick up de heele at de man she lova. Excellent. No point more remembra, but cry out le French poo upon le varlet. So shee will hate her lover. Be-gar, as my selfe hate le puz-cat, cry mew at my shin; and vill have de rombling a de gut, for de other gentle home. Thou com'st up close to me now, my brave Doctor. Be-gar me hope so, and derfore my Lord apply le desperate Medicine, to le perilous maladie, and have dis Angelo be cut in de troate, and be man-slaughtered. You then advise me to have Angelo slaine. Wee. And then to have my daughter drincke his heart. Wee, wee. Grated and dried, and so— Wee, wee, wee. I wo'd I grip'd it fast now in this hand, And eat it panting hot, to teach a peasant To climbe above his being, Doctor, hee dies. Knocka de pate downe be-gar. But stay, stay, hee's fled Florence; It will bee A worke to find him first out, and being found, A taske to kill him; for our Gallants speake Much of his worth; The varlet is valiant. No matera for dat; for-two tree foure crowne, dar be Rascalls fall run him in on de backe-shide. He shall be sought for, and being found, he dies.