Nabbes, Thomas · published 1637 · first performed or written 1637 (Annals) masque · King's Revels Company (?) · Salisbury Court T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.82 · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Physander, Expire not yet: thy wounds are not so mortal. Help me to bear him yonder; gently raise His weakened body. What can we not endure, When pains are lessened by the hope of cure? What wretched piece of miserable riot Is this that needs the aid of Temperance▪ What caused his sickness? Liberty in ills To please his senses, which have surfeited With an excess: and if your art supply not, Death will divorce us. Pity then sweet Lady, And from your treasure of instructions Prescribe a powerful medicine that may quicken His cold defects, which more and more increase, lessening his weakened powers. To a chaste wife Preserve (now 'tis reformed) her husband's life. Let the earth be his bed; this rock his pillow; His curtains heaven; the murmur of this water Instead of music charm him into sleep. And for the cates which gluttony invents To make it called an art, confected juice Of Pontic nuts, and Idumean palms Candied with Ebosian sugar; lampreyes guts Fetched from Carpathian straits, and such like wantonness, Let him eat sparingly of what the earth Produceth freely▪ or is where 'tis barren Enforced by industry. Then pour this balsam Into his wounds, and whilst his senses rest Free from their passive working, and endure Partial privation of their means and objects, His slumbers shall present what more's required To make him sound. My endless thanks great power, Mother of other virtues. Whilst he sleeps, My cares shall watch him. Oh thou death like god, That chayn'st the senses captive, and dost raise Dreams out of humours, whose illusive shadows, Oft work on fancy to beget belief Of prophecies, let no black horrors mix Their frightful presence, but with gentle shows, (Yet such as are instructive) sweetly work Upon what wakes within whilst th'other cease; Then sleeps the figure of eternal peace. I feel quick sense return, and every Organ Is active to perform its proper office: I am not hurt. What miracle hath Heaven Wrought on me? Next to Heaven, the thanks are due To this thy life's restorer. She hath precepts, By which thou mayst preserve it to a length, And end it happy. What thy dreams presented, Put straight in act, and with a constancy Persever in't. Rewards will only crown The end of a well prosecuted good. Philosophy; religious solitude And labour wait on Temperance: in these Desire is bounded; they instruct the minds And bodies actions. 'Tis lascivious ease That gives the first beginning to all ills. The thoughts being busied on good objects, sin Can never find a way to enter in. Let me digest my joys; I only now Begin to live: the former was not perfect. we'll shortly to my father, who with joy Will entertain us. I will meet ye there; Where ye shall be invested by the hands Of justice, Prudence, Fortitude and me In the bright robes of immortality.
nodes 812–882 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 15 of 21 in this edition
Length
488 words · 653 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.818 (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)
Physander, Expire not yet: thy wounds are not so mortall. Helpe me to beare him yonder; gently rayse His weakned body. What can we not endure, When paynes are lessen'd by the hope of cure? What wretched piece of miserable riot Is this that needs the ayde of Temperance▪ What caus'd his sicknesse? Liberty in ills To please his senses, which have surfeited With an excesse: and if your art supply no, Death will divorce us. Pitty then sweet Lady, And from your treasure of instructions Prescribe a powerfull medicine that may quicken His cold defects, which more and more increase, Less'ning his weakned powers. To a chast wife Preserve (now 'tis reform'd) her husbands life. Let the earth be his bed; this rock his pillow; His curteines heaven; the murmur of this water Instead of musick charm him into sleepe. And for the cates which gluttony invents To make it call'd an art, confected juice Of Pontick nuts, and Idumean palmes Candy'd with Ebosian sugar; lampreyes guts Fetcht from Carpathian straights, and such like wantonnesse, Let him eat sparingly of what the earth Produceth freely▪ or is where 'tis barren Enforc't by industrye. Then poure this balsome Into his wounds, and whil'st his senses rest Free from their passive working, and endure Partiall privation of their meanes and objects, His slumbers shall present what mor's requir'd To make him sound. My endlesse thanks great power, Mother of other vertues. Whilst he sleepes, My cares shall watch him. Oh thou death like god, That chayn'st the senses captive, and do'st rayse Dreames out of humours, whose illusive shadowes, Oft work on fancy to beget beliefe Of prophecies, let no black horrours mixe Their frightfull presence, but with gentle showes, (Yet such as are instructive) sweetly worke Vpon what wakes within whilst th'other cease; Then sleepes the figure of eternall peace. I feele quick sence return, and every Organe Is active to performe its proper office: I am not hurt. What miracle hath Heaven Wrought on me? Next to Heaven, the thanks are due To this thy lifes restorer. She hath precepts, By which thou mayst preserve it to a length, And end it happie. What thy dreames presented, Put straight in act, and with a constancie Persever in't. Rewards will onely crowne The end of a well prosecuted good. Philosophie; religious solitude And labour waite on Temperance: in these Desire is bounded; they instruct the mindes And bodies actions. 'Tis lascivious ease That gives the first beginning to all ills. The thoughts being busied on good objects, sinne Can never find a way to enter in. Let me digest my joyes; I onely now Begin to live: the former was not perfect. Wee'l shortly to my father, who with joy Will entertaine us. I will meet ye there; Where ye shall be invested by the hands Of Iustice, Prudence, Fortitude and me In the bright robes of immortalitie.