Monsieur Thomas (Father's Own Son) · chunk 20 of 42
Fletcher, John · published 1639 · first performed or written 1615 [1610-c.1616] (Annals) comedy · Unknown · Blackfriars T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.82 · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
So long, and yet no bolting. Do, I'll pledge thee. Take it off thrice, and then cry heigh like a Huntsman With a clear heart, and no more fits I warrant thee. The only Cordial Frank. Are the things ready? And is the Barber come? An hour ago sir. Bring out the oils then. Now or never gentlemen, Do me a kindness and deliver me. From whom boy? From these things, that talk within there, Physicians, Tom, Physicians, scowring-sticks, They mean to read upon me. Let 'em enter. And be thou confident, we will deliver thee: For look ye Doctor, say the devil were sick now, His horns sawed off and his head bound with a Biggin, Sick of a calenture taken by a surfeit Of stinking souls at his nephews, and S. Dunstan's, What would you minister upon the sudden? Your judgement short and sound. A fool's head. No sir, It must be a Physicians for three causes, The first because it is a bald head likely, Which will down easily without apple-pap. A main cause. So it is, and well considered, The second, for 'tis filled with broken Greek sir, Which will so tumble in his stomach, Doctor, And work upon the crudities, conceive me The fears, and the fiddle strings within it, That those damned souls must disembogue again. Or meeting with the stygian humour. Right sir. Forced with a cataplasm of crackers. Ever. Scour all before him, like a Scavenger. Satis fecisti domine: my last cause, My last is, and not least, most learned Doctors, Because in most Physicians heads (I mean those That are most excellent, and old withal, And angry, though a patiented say his prayers, And Paracelsians that do trade with poisons, We have it by tradition of great writers) There is a kind of toadstone bread, whose virtue The Doctor being dried. We are abused sirs. I take it so, or shall be, for say the belly-ache Caused by an inundation of Peas-porridge, Are we therefore to open the port vein, Or the port Esquiline? A learned question: Or grant the diaphragma by a rapture, The sign being then in the head of Capricorn. Meet with the passion Hupercondriaca, And so cause a carnosity in the kidneys. Must not the brains being buttered with this humour Answer me that. Most excellently argued. The next fit you will have, my most fine schol Bedlam shall find a salve for: far ye well sir, We came to do you good, burthese young Doctors It seems have bored our noses. Drink hard Gentlemen, And get unwholesome drabs: 'tis ten to one then We shall hear further from ye; your note altered. And wilt thou be gone says one? And wilt thou be gone says tother? Then take the odd crown To mend thy old gown. And we'll be gone all together. My learned Tom. Sir, the young Gentlewomen Sent me to see what company ye had with ye They much desire to visit ye.
nodes 1342–1419 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 20 of 42 in this edition
Length
499 words · 681 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.815 (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)
So long, and yet no bolting. Doe, I'le pledge thee. Take it off thrice, and then cry heigh like a Huntſman With a cleere heart, and no more fits I warrant thee. The onely Cordiall Frank. Are the things ready? And is the Barber come? An houre agoe ſir. Bring out the oyles then. Now or never gentlemen, Doe me a kindeneſſe and deliver me. From whom boy? From theſe things, that talke within there, Phyſitians, Tom, Phyſitians, ſcowring-ſticks, They meane to reade upon me. Let 'em enter. And be thou confident, we will deliver thee: For looke ye Doctor, ſay the divell were ſicke now, His hornes ſaw'd off and his head bound with a Biggin, Sicke of a calenture takn by a ſurfet Of ſtinking ſoules at his nephews, and S. Dunſtans, What would you miniſter upon the ſudden? Your judgement ſhort and ſound. A fooles head. No ſir, It muſt be a Phyſitians for three cauſes, The firſt becauſe it is a bald head likely, Which will down eaſily without apple-pap. A maine cauſe. So it is, and well conſider'd, The ſecond, for 'tis fil'd with broken Greek ſir, Which will ſo tumble in his ſtomacke, Doctor, And worke upon the crudities, conceive me The feares, and the fidle ſtrings within it, That thoſe damn'd ſoules muſt diſembogue againe. Or meeting with the ſtygian humour. Right ſir. Forc'd with a cataplaſme of crackers. Ever. Scowre all before him, like a Scavenger. Satis feciſti domine: my laſt cauſe, My laſt is, and not leaſt, moſt learned Doctors, Becauſe in moſt Phyſitians heads (I meane thoſe That are moſt excellent, and old withall, And angry, though a patient ſay his prayers, And Paracelſians that doe trade with poyſons, We have it by tradition of great writers) There is a kinde of toad-ſtone bread, whoſe vertue The Doctor being dri'd. We are abus'd ſirs. I take it ſo, or ſhall be, for ſay the belly-ake Caus'd by an inundation of Peaſe-porridge, Are we therefore to open the port veyne, Or the port Eſquiline? A learned queſtion: Or grant the diaphragm by a rupture, The ſigne being then in the head of Capricorne. Meet with the paſſion Hupercondriaca, And ſo cauſe a carnoſitie in the kidneyes. Muſt not the brains being butter'd with this humour Anſwer me that. Moſt excellently argued. The next fit you will have, my moſt fine ſchol Bedlam ſhall finde a ſalve for: fare ye well ſir, We came to do you good, burtheſe yong Doctors It ſemes have boar'd our noſes. Drinke hard Gentlemen, And get unwholeſome drabs: 'tis ten to one then We ſhall heare further from ye; your note alter'd. And wilt thou be gone ſaies one? And wilt thou be gone ſaies to'ther? Then take the odde crowne To mend thy old gowne. And we'l be gone all together. My learned Tom. Sir, the yong Gentlewomen Sent me to ſee what company ye had with ye They much deſire to viſite ye.