Monsieur Thomas (Father's Own Son) · chunk 19 of 42
Fletcher, John · published 1639 · first performed or written 1615 [1610-c.1616] (Annals) comedy · Unknown · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T56 Magic, spells and conjuring · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T56: magic, faustus, charms, charm, conjure, spirits, skill, ho, power, spells.
Goodness guide thee: My wonder like to fearful shapes in dreams, Has wakened me out of my fit of folly, But not to shake it off: a spell dwells in me, A hidden charm shot from this beauteous woman, That fate can ne'er avoid, nor physic find, And by her counsel strengthened: only this Is all the help I have, I love fair virtue. Well, something I must do, to be a friend, Yet I am poor, and tardy: something for her too, Though I can never reach her excellence, Yet but to give an offer at a greatness. Be not uncivil Tom, and take your pleasure. Do you think I am mad? you'll give me leave To try her fairly? Do your best. Why there boy, But where's the sick man? Where are the gentlewomen That should attend him, there's the patent Me thinks these women. Thou thinkest nothing else. Go to him friend, and comfort him: I'll lead ye: O my best joy, my worthiest friend, pray pardon me, I am so overjoyed I want expression: I may live to be thankful: bid your friends welcome. How dost thou Frank? how dost thou boy, bear up man: What, shrink i'th' sinews for a little sickness? Deavolo morte. I am o'th' mending hand. How like a Flute thou speakest: o'th' mending hand man Gog's bores, I am well, speak like a man of worship. Thou art a mad companion: never stayed Tom? Let rogues be stayed that have no habitation, A gentleman may wander: sit thee down Frank, And see what I have brought thee: come discover, Open the scene, and let the work appear, A friend at need you rogue is worth a million. What hast thou there, a julip? He must not touch it, 'Tis present death. Ye are an Ass, a twirepipe, A Ieffrey John bo peep, thou mimister, Thou mend a lefthanded packsaddle, out puppey, My friend Frank, but a very foolish fellow: Dost thou see that bottle? view it well. I do Tom. There be as many lives in't, as a Cat carries, 'Tis everlasting liquor. What? Old Sack boy, Old reverend Sack, which for aught that I can read yet, Was that Philosopher's Stone the wise King Ptolomeus Did all his wonders by. I see no harm Tom, Drink with a moderation. Drink with sugar; Which I have ready here, and here a glass boy, Take me without my tools. Pray sir be temperate, You know your own state best. Sir, I much thank ye, And shall be careful: yet a glass or two So fit I find my body, and that so needful. Fill it, and leave your fooling: thou sayst true Frank. Where are these women I say? 'tis most necessary, Hang up your julips, and your portugal possets, Your barley broths, and sorrel sops, they are mangy, And breed the scratches only: give me Sack: I wonder where this wench is though: have at thee:
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)
Goodneſſe guide thee: My wonder like to fearefull ſhapes in dreames, Has wakened me out of my fit of folly, But not to ſhake it off: a ſpell dwels in me, A hidden charme ſhot from this beauteous woman, That fate can ne'r avoid, nor phyſicke finde, And by her counſell ſtrengthen'd: onely this Is all the helpe I have, I love faire vertue. Well, ſomething I muſt doe, to be a friend, Yet I am poore, and tardy: ſomething for her too, Though I can never reach her excellence, Yet but to give an offer at a greatneſſe. Be not uncivill Tom, and take your pleaſure. Doe you think I am mad? you'l give me leave To try her fairely? Doe your beſt. Why there boy, But wher's the ſicke man? Where are the gentlewomen That ſhould attend him, ther's the patent Me thinks theſe women. Thou thinkſt nothing elſe. Goe to him friend, and comfort him: Ile leade ye: O my beſt joy, my worthieſt friend, ptay pardon me, I am ſo over-joy'd I want expreſſion: I may live to be thankfull: bid your friends welcome. How do'ſt thou Frank? how do'ſt thou boy, beare up man: What, ſhrink i'th ſinewes for a little ſickneſſe? Deavolo morte. I am o'th mending hand. How like a Flute thou ſpeak'ſt: o'th mending hand man Gogs bores, I am well, ſpeake like a man of worſhip. Thou art a mad companion: never ſtaid Tom? Let rogues be ſtaid that have no habitation, A gentleman may wander: ſit thee down Frank, And ſee what I have brought thee: come diſcover, Open the ſceane, and let the work appeare, A friend at need you rogue is worth a million. What haſt thou there, a julip? He muſt not touch it, 'Tis preſent death. Ye are an Aſſe, a twirepipe, A Ieffrey John bo peepe, thou mimiſter, Thou mend a left-handed pack-ſaddle, out puppey, My friend Frank, but a very fooliſh fellow: Do'ſt thou ſee that bottle? view it well. I doe Tom. There be as many lives in't, as a Cat carries, 'Tis everlaſting liquor. What? Old Sack boy, Old reverend Sack, which for ought that I can reade yet, Was that Philoſophers Stone the wiſe King Ptolomeus Did all his wonders by. I ſee no harme Tom, Drinke with a moderation. Drinke with ſuger; Which I have ready here, and here a glaſſe boy, Take me without my tooles. Pray ſir be temperate, You know your owne ſtate beſt. Sir, I much thanke ye, And ſhall be carefull: yet a glaſſe or two So fit I finde my body, and that ſo needfull. Fill it, and leave your fooling: thou ſay'ſt true Frank. Where are theſe women I ſay? Tis moſt neceſſary, Hang up your julips, and your portugall poſſets, Your barly brothes, and ſorrell ſops, they are mangy, And breed the ſcratches onely: give me Sack: I wonder where this wench is though: have at thee: