Nabbes, Thomas · published 1637 · first performed or written 1637 (Annals) masque · King's Revels Company (?) · Salisbury Court T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.84 · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Excellent amourist. Here's to thee Melancholy. What do I see? blush gray-eyed morn, and spread Thy purple shame upon the mountain tops: O pale thy self with envie, since here com's A brighter Venus, than the dull-eyd star, That lights thee up Very fine Law now: Melancholy hath been some neglected Courtier: he's perfect in she-flattery. If he mistake me for the idol of his passion, I'll abuse him. Oh let me kiss those pair of red twinned cherries. That do distil Nepenthe. kiss and spare not. Bite not the cherry stones and eat, I care not. Oh turn not from me; let me smell the gums, Which thy rich breath creates. As for my gums you ' l find Sweeter here. I have no rotten teeth behind. This leg's not right. I know it. 'Tis my left. Carry your toes wider. Take heed that I foot not you. Now do your cinque pass cleanly. My cinque pass cleanly! A cook defies it. You lie too open. Guard yourself better, or I shall bang your coat. 'Tis a dangerous water. Here's an hypostasis argues a very bad stomach. Some Soldier perhaps that want's his Pay. This sediment betokens a great swelling in the belly. 'Tis some Chambermaid sick of a Midwife's timpany. 'Twere good she changed air. Remove her into the Country, and if she fall again into the green-sickness, she knows the cure. This water argues a great heartburning. 'Tis a Lovers that: or some misers that drank small beer in the Dog-days at his own charges. The owner of this hath an imposthume in his head, and it is near breaking. Perhaps 'tis a Fencers, or some Shopkeepers, whose wife sells underhand by retail. Let him compound for his light wife, and he may be cured without the charity of an Hospital. How on a sudden my delights are clouded? As when a surfeit makes the pleasant dish That caused it more distasteful than th'offence Of any bitter potion. My dulled senses Relish no objects. Colours do not take My filmed eyes. Mine ears are deaf to sounds, Though by a Chorus of those lovely maids Which ove begot on faire Mumsy Sung to Apollo's harp. Is it thereabouts? I'll play the state knave, and inform presently. Sickness begins To make this 〈…〉 mansion. fevers burn it, And shake the weak foundation: then a cold Chills it again, as if a thousand Winters Contracted into one scattered their snow With Northern blasts, and froze the very centre. Palsies disjoint the fabric: loosen all The house-supporters, and at length they fall. Help me good servants. We cannot help ourselves. Let's kill him, or he'll kill us. Phlegm do thou choke him. I'll empty his veins. I'll do it. blood's not worthy the employment. Worthier than Choler. Thou liest in thy throat. Thou hast inflamed me.
nodes 616–673 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 12 of 21 in this edition
Length
476 words · 664 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.841 (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)
Excellent amorist. Hee's to thee Melancholy. What do I see? lush gray-ey'd morne, and spread Thy purple shame upon the mountain topps: O pale thy self with envie, since here com's A brighter Venus, then the dull-eyd arre, That lights thee up Very fine Law now: Melancholy hath been some neglected Courtier: hee's perfect in she-flattery. If he mistake me for the idoll of his passion, Ile abuse him. Oh let me kisse those payre of red twinn'd cherries. That do distil Nepenhe. and spare not. Bite not the cherry stones and eate, I care not. Oh turn not from me let me smell the gumms, Which thy rich breath creates. As for my gumms you 'l find Sweeter here. I have no rotten teeth behind. This leg's not right. I know it. 'Tis my left. Carry your toes wider. Take beed that I fote not you. Now do your cinque passe cleanly. My cinque passe cleanly! A cooke defyes it. You lye too open. Guard your selfe better, or I shall bang your coate. 'Tis a dangerous wren. Here's an hypostass argues a very bad stomack. Some Souldier perhaps that want's his Pay. This sediment btokens a great sweling in the belly. 'Tis some Chamber-maide sick of a Midwifes timpany. 'Twere good she chang'd ayre. Remove her into the Countrey, and if she fall agen into the greene-sicknesse▪ she knows the . This water argues a great heart-burning. 'Tis a Lovers that: or some misers that dranke small beere in the Dog-dayes at his own charges. The owner of this hath an impostume in his head, and it is neere breaking. Perhaps 'tis a Fencers, or some Shopkeepers, whose wife sells underhand by retayle. Let him compound for his light wife, and he may b cu'd without the charity of an Hospitall. How on a sudden my delights are clowded? As when a surfeit makes the pleasant dish That caus'd it more diststefull then th'offence Of any bitter potion. My dull'd senses Relish no objects. Colours doe not take My filmed eyes. Mine eares are deafe to sounds, Though by a Chrus of those lovely maides Which ove begot on faire Mumsy Sung to Apollo's harpe. Is it thereabouts? Ile play the state knave, and informe presently. Sicknesse begins To make this mnion. Feavers burne it, And shake the weak foundation: then a cold Chills it agen, as if a thousand Winters Contracted into one scatter'd their snow With Northerne blasts, and froze the very centre. Palseys dis-joynt the fabrick: loosen all The house-supporters, and at length they fall. Helpe me good servants. We cannot helpe our selves. Let's kill him, or hee'l kill us. Phlegme doe thou choake him. Ile empty his veines. Ile doe it. Bloud's not worthy the imployment. Worthier then Choller. Thou ly'st in thy throat. Thou hast inflam'd me.