Mayne, Jasper · published 1639 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1638(?)] (Annals) comedy · King's Men · before the Court T27 Uncles, nephews and cousins: kinship and typicality 0.76 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T27: uncle, niece, nephew, gentlemen, faith, cousin, wife, house, gentleman, money.
Surely friend, You are a witch, he is so. Then I must tell The news to you, 'tis sad. I'll hear't as sadly. Your Uncle, Sir, and Mr Seathrift are Both drowned some 8 mile below Greenwich. Drowned? They went i'th' Tilt boat, Sir, and I was one Oth' oars that rowed 'em, a coal-ship did over run us, I scaped by swimming, the two old Gentlemen Took hold of one another, and sunk together. How some men's prayers are heard? we did invoke The sea this morning, and see, the Thames has took 'em. It cannot be, such good news, Gentlemen, Cannot be true. 'tis very certain, Sir, 'twas talk upon th' Exchange. We heard it too In Paul's now as we came. There friend, there is A fair for you; I'm glad you scaped; I had Not known the news so soon else. Sir, excuse me, Sir, it is conscience; I do believe you might Sue me in Chancery. Sir, you show The virtues of an Heir. Are you rich Ware-house Heir, Sir? Yes, Sir, his transitory pelf, And some twelve hundred pound a year in earth, Is cast on me. Captain, the hour is come, You shall no more drink. Ale, of which one draught Makes Cowards, and spoils valour; nor take off Your moderate quart-glass. I intend to have A Musket for you, or glass Canon, with A most capacious barrel, which we'll charge, And discharge with the rich valiant grape of My Uncle's cellar, every charge shall fire The glass, and burn itself i'th' filling, and look Like a Piece going off. I shall be glad To give thanks for you, Sir, in pottle draughts, And shall love Scotch coal for this wrack the better, As long as I know fuel. Then my Poet, No longer shall write Catches, or thin Sonnets, Nor preach in verse, as if he were suborned By him that wrote the whip, to pen lean Acts, And so to overthrow the stage for want Of salt or wit. Nor shall he need torment Or persecute his Muse; but I will be His God of wine t'inspire him. He shall no more Converse with the five yard butler, who like Thunder Can turn beer with his voice, and roar it sour; But shall come forth a Sophocles, and write Things for the Buskin. Instead of Pegasus, To strike a spring with's hoof, we'll have a steel Which shall but touch a But, and straight shall flow A purer, higher, wealthier Helicon. Frank, Thou shalt be my Phoebus. My next Poem Shall be thy Uncle's Tragedy or the life And death of two Rich Merchants. Gentlemen, And now i'faith what think you of the fish? Why as we ought, Sir, strangely. But d'you think It is a very fish? Yes. 'tis a man. This valiant Captain and this man of wit First foxed him, then transformed him. we will wake him And tell him the news. Ho Mr Timothy!
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T37 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Surely friend, You are a witch, he is so. Then I must tell The newes to you, tis sad. Ile hear't as sadly. Your Uncle, Sir, and Mr Seathrift are Both drownd some 8 mile below Greenwitch. Drownd? They went ith' Tilt boat, Sir, and J was one Oth' oares that rowed 'em, a Cole-ship did ore run us, I scapt by swimming, the two old Gentlemen Took hold of one another, and sunk together. How some mens prayers are heard? we did invoke The sea this morning, and see, the Thames has took 'em. It cannot be, such good newes, Gentlemen, Cannot be true. Tis very certaine, Sir, Twas talke upon th' Exchange. We heard it too In Pauls now as we came. There friend, there is A fayre for you; I'me glad you scapt; I had Not knowne the newes so soone else. Sir, excuse me, Sir, it is conscience; J doe believe you might Sue me in Chancery. Sir, you show The vertues of an Heyre. Are you rich Ware-house Heyre, Sir? Yes, Sir, his transitory pelfe, And some twelve hundred pound a yeare in earth, Is cast on me. Captaine, the houre is come, You shall no more drink. Ale, of which one draught Makes Cowards, and spoiles valour; nor take off Your moderate quart-glasse. I intend to have A Musket for you, or glasse Canon, with A most capacious barrell, which we'l charge, And discharge with the rich valiant grape of My Uncles sellar, every charge shall fire The glasse, and burne it selfe ith' filling, and look Like a Peece going off. I shall be glad To give thanks for you, Sir, in pottle draughts, And shall love Scotch cole for this wrack the better, As long as I know fuell. Then my Poet, No longer shall write Catches, or thinne Sonnets, Nor preach in verse, as if he were suborn'd By him that wrote the whip, to pen leane Acts, And so to overthrow the stage for want Of salt or wit. Nor shall he need torment Or persecute his Muse; but I will be His God of wine t'inspire him. He shall no more Converse with the five yard butler, who like Thunder Can turne beere with his voice, and roare it sower; But shall come forth a Sophocles, and write Things for the Buskin. Insteed of Pegasus, To strike a spring with's hoofe, we'l have a steele Which shall but touch a But, and straight shall flow A purer, higher, wealthier Helicon. Frank, Thou shalt be my Phoebus. My next Poem Shall be thy Uncles Tragoedie or the life And death of two Rich Merchants. Gentlemen, And now yfaith what think you of the fish? Why as we ought, Sir, strangely. But d'you think It is a very fish? Yes. Tis a man. This valiant Captaine and this man of wit First foxt him, then transform'd him. we will wake him And tell him the newes. Ho Mr Timothy!