The Sophister (Fallacy, or The Troubles of Great Hermenia) · chunk 28 of 32
Zouche, Richard · published 1639 · first performed or written 1614 [c.1614-1620] (Annals) comedy unassigned nearest T3 Sickness, physic and doctors · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
What Panic fury hath o'errun the world, Or universal madness reigns this day? Are there nor fellows, those whose subtle brains Would have spun forth the finest villainies? Those whose sound heads so oft I have employed In working deep designments; and see now What wild confusion hath ta'en hold of them? Was't not enough that truth, and Intellect With hated science and opinion, Escaped by them, art set at liberty? But they in this disordred fashion Must make me odious, scorned, and despised? Oh that I could convey me from this world, Or know where to hide me, but my doors Are locked against me, and my wicked walls Late surfeiting with filthy luxury, Do seem surcharged clean to spew me out. Is't possible that I should be thus crossed? What is there any goodness in the world Of force enough to countervail the wit Of proud Fallacy? or is't some fiend, Some devil not of his own confederacy, That with his counterplots controls my skill? Or was myself the cause, my cursed self, Lulled asleep in fond security? 'Twas well you came so timely Aequipolency, The memory of this foul imposture may survive In that recovered couple. Sir they added, As they found ease amidst their vomiting, Pouring forth curses against Fallacy, How for his sake they had thrust the worthy Brothers, Topicus and Demonstration, into their desperate fury. Now I do verily believe Analysis, That villain's cause of all, it will appear He forced his father's madness. Aequipolency, Leave the perfume behind you. Look you use fresh pigeons, Until the venom of their wounds be quite exhaled, There were no loss of them but at this time, Their words may be produced, therefore pray be careful. I will. Now let him be brought hither, fear not stirring him, I warrant he's secure. Invention You shall do well, if against his waking you provide some show, And Music, which may welcome home his wandering senses. I'll see what may be done for both. Analysis lets Discourse blood. Now see Iudicium, here's no blood but humours, This black stuff is the excrement of Melancholy: This sometimes makes him 'mongst the groves and rivers, Pen Sonnets to the Nymphs and Goddesses; In good assemblies to withdraw his thoughts, And dictate to his Desk and Closet walls, Dangers with which a wise man scarce would trust His very bosom— this next Is Choler, hast thou met with voices, Breathing seditious discontent and malice, This humour rules them, from this fiery vapour, 'Tis not the Chair of State or justice seat, Can shield the Prince or public Magistrate, Yea unto Heaven itself it oft aspires, Against Religion and the sacred Arts, Casting profane and impurer darts: This watery Phlegm, is that which putrifying. His springs of breath, infects the neighbouring air With blasts of slothful envy, whence destruction Casts mists upon the best endeavours. Now methinks The blood appears, 'twere best Analysis You stop the Orifice.
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)
What Pannick fury hath o'rerun the world, Or universall madnesse raignes this day? Are there nor fellowes, those whose subtile braines Would have spun forth the finest villanyes? Those whose sound heads so oft I have employ'd In working deepe designments; and see now What wilde confusion hath tane hold of them? Was't not enough that truth, and Intellect With hated science and opinion, Escap't by them, art set at liberty? But they in this disordred fashion Must make me odious, scorned, and despis'd? Oh that I could convey me from this world, Or know where to hide me, but my dores Are lock't against me, and my wicked wals Late surfetting with filthy luxury, Doe seeme surcharged cleae to spew me out. Is't possible that I should be thus crost? What is there any goodnesse in the world Offorce enough to contervaile the wit Of proud Fallacy? or is't some feind, Some divell not of his owne confederacy, That with his counterplots controlls my skill? Or was my selfe the cause, my cursed selfe, Lulled asleepe in fond security? 'Twas well you came so timely Aequipolency, The memory of this foule imposture may survive In that recover'd couple. Sir they added, As they found ease amidst their vomiting, Pouring forth curses against Falacie, How for his sake they had thrust the worthy Brothers, Topicus and Demonstration, into their desperate fury. Now I doe verily believe Analysis, That villain's cause of all, it will appeare He forc't his fathers madnesse. Aequipolency, Leave the perfume behinde you. Looke you use fresh pigeons, Vntill the venome of their wounds be quite exhal'd, There were no losse of them but at this time, Their words may be produc'd, therefore pray be carefull. I will. Now let him be brought hither, feare not stirring him, I warrant he's secure. Invention You shall doe well, if against his waking you provide some show, And Musick, which may welcome home his wandring senses. Ile see what may be done for both. Analysis lets Discourse blood. Now see Iudicium, here's no blood but humours, This black stuffe is the excrement of Melancholy: This sometimes makes him 'mongst the groves and rivers, Pen Sonnets to the Nymphs and Goddesses; In good assemblies to withdraw his thoughts, And dictate to his Desk and Closet walls, Dangers with which a wise man scarce would trust His very bosome—this next Is Choler, hast thou met with voyces, Breathing seditious discontent and malice, This humour rules them, from this siery vapour, 'Tis not the Chaire of State or Iustice seate, Can shield the Prince or publike Magistrate, Yea unto Heav'n it selfe it oft aspires, Against Religion and the sacred Arts, Casting prophaner and impurer darts: This watry Phlegme, is that which putrifying. His springs of breath, infects the neighbouring ayre With blasts of slothfull envie, whence destruction Casts mists upon the best endeavours. Now me thinkes The blood appeares, 'twere best Analysis You stop the Orifice.