Fletcher, John / Massinger, Philip · published 1637 · first performed or written 1625(?) (Annals) comedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T52 Prodigals, portions and poor kin · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T52: brother, father, uncle, cousin, son, poor, bread, old, given, master.
You see Eustace, How I travail to possess you of a fortune You were not borne to, be you worthy of it, I'll furnish you for a Suitor; visit her And prosper in't. she's mine Sir, fear it not: In all my travails, I ne'er met a Virgin That could resist my Courtship. If this take now, W'are made for ever, and will revel it. In tough welsh parsley, which in our vulgar Tongue Is strong hempen halters; My poor Master cozened, And I a looker on! If we have studied Our majors, and our minors, antecedents, And consequents, to be concluded coxcombs, W'have made a fair hand on't, I'm glad I have found Out all their plots, and their conspiracies, This shall t'old Monsieur Miramont, one, that though He cannot read a Proclamation, yet Dotes on learning, and loves my Master Charles For being a Scholar, I hear he's coming hither, I shall meet him, and if he be that old Rough tasty blade he always used to be, I'll ring him such a peal as shall go near To shake their belroome, peradventure, beat ''em, For he is fire and flax, and so have at him. NAy brother, brother. Pray Sir be not moved, I meddle with no business but mine own, And in mine own 'tis reason I should govern. But how to govern then, and understand Sir, And be as wise as y'are hasty, though you be My brother and from one blood sprung, I must tell ye Heartily and home too. What Sir? What I grieve to find, You are a fool, and an old fool, and that 'tis two we'll part 'em, if you please. No they're entailed to 'em, Seek to deprive an honest noble spirit, Your eldest son Sir, and your very Image, (But he's so like you that he fares the worse for't) Because he loves his book and dotes on that, And only studies how to know things excellent, Above the reach of such course brains as yours, Such muddy fancies, that never will know farther Than when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchants, And choke your hidebound Tenants with musty harvests. You go too fast. I'm not come to my pace yet, Because h' has made his study all his pleasure, And is retired into his Contemplation, Not meddling with the dirt and chaff of nature, That makes the spirit of the mind mud too, Therefore must he be flung from his inheritance? Must he be dispossessed, and Monsieur jingle boy His younger brother?— You forget yourself, Because h' has been at Court and learned new tongues, And how to speak a tedious piece of nothing, To vary his face as Seamen do their Compass, To worship images of gold and silver, And fall before the she Calves of the Season, Therefore must he jump into his brother's land?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
You see Eustace, How I travaile to possesse you of a fortune You were not borne to, be you worthy of it, Ile furnish you for a Suitor; visite her And prosper in't. Shee's mine Sir, feare it not: In all my travailes, I nere met a Virgin That could resist my Courtship. If this take now, W'are made for ever, and will revell it. In tough welsh parsly, which in our vulgar Tongue Is strong hempen halters; My poore Master cooz'nd, And I a looker on! If we have studied Our majors, and our minors, antecedents, And consequents, to be concluded coxcombes, W'have made a faire hand on't, I'm glad I h've found Out all their plots, and their conspiracies, This shall t'old Monsieur Miramont, one, that though He cannot reade a Proclamation, yet Dotes on learning, and loves my Master Charles For being a Scholar, I heare hee's comming hither, I shall meet him, and if he be that old Rough teasty blade he alwayes us'd to be, Ile ring him such a peale as shall goe neere To shake their belroome, peradventure, beat'm, For he is fire and flaxe, and so have at him. NAy brother, brother. Pray Sir be not moved, I meddle with no businesse but mine owne, And in mine owne 'tis reason I should governe. But how to governe then, and understand Sir, And be as wise as y'are hasty, though you be My brother and from one bloud sprung, I must tell yee Heartely and home too. What Sir? What I grieve to finde, You are a foole, and an old foole, and that 'ts two Wee'l part 'em, if you please. No they're entail'd to 'em, Seeke to deprive an honest noble spirit, Your eldest sonne Sir, and your very Image, (But hee's so like you that he fares the worse for't) Because he loves his booke and doates on that, And onely studies how to know things excellent, Above the reach of such course braines as yours, Such muddy fancies, that never will know farther Then when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchants, And choake your hide-bound Tenants with musty harvests. You goe too fast. I'm not come to my pace yet, Because h' has made his study all his pleasure, And is retyr'd into his Contemplation, Not medling with the dirt and chaffe of nature, That makes the spirit of the minde mud too, Therefore must he be flung from his inheritance? Must he be dispossess'd, and Monsieur gingle boy His younger brother?— You forget your selfe, Because h' has been at Court and learn'd new tongues, And how to speake a tedious peece of nothing, To vary his face as Seamen doe their Compasse, To worship images of gold and silver, And fall before the she Calves of the Season, Therefore must he jumpe into his brothers land?