Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1631 [licensed for stage, May 17] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.78 · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
So Dandalo, be faithful to your trust, no interruption, Giotto prosper in thy sin, thy deed Will make me happy, though my honour bleed. YouAre very jocund on the sudden. Thank your love for't, that provided Such a cure for melancholy; To myself I seem not to go but dance, When shall we have a mask My Lord? You'd be revelling again. I am all for sport, your honour is much bound To the Gentleman your friend, trust me my Lord He is a rare physician. He's well skilled in women's pulses. There's no fear my Lord, But he'll recover me, I do like him infinitely For my body, the best in Padua. Good, good he gave you gentle physic, But you hope 'twill work. No Esculapius Could ha' behaved him more judicially Did our Court Ladies know his skill They would be all his Patients, and be sick a purpose. You hold him then sufficient. He has a way So easy to do good upon's. Upon ye i'th' name of lust, you see I had a care. 'twas more compassion, and I am bound To acknowledge it, I was all heaviness; A thousand plummets hung upon my heart, 'tis by your means I am made light. I think so, very light, ha, is she not quick already, She moves so nimbly, Giotto has done't, I have it here, I feel it spread, hark you: You're a whore. Does your Lordship love bastard next your heart, Though some hold wine unwholesome, it may thaw Your congealed blood; oh the difference of constitutions. hay, she jeers me, how now? My Lord, her grace hath sent a strict command You wait tonight at Court. Ha? The messenger seemed full of haste, he only Took time to say her highness had resolved, This Night, to clear all doubts, and from her Court Make happy one, with title of a Duke. Be dumb, thou bringst destruction tonight, Pray you may be mistaken, I am undone else. It is my unhappiness then my Lord, to bring unwelcome truth. tonight, why 'tis impossible To sue out a divorce, I'm lost, my plots Rebound and strike me dead. My Lord, you seem Troubled, does your head ache, I'll into th' garden And gather a few simples. Madam a word w'e, You magnified but now a courtesy I did you, you were ever grateful, I Know't, you shall not do the benefit If you will yet kill yourself. That's a small matter. I know 'tis, considering thouart stained, Lost in thine honour, held but a disease That grows upon thy sex, a tumour; prithee Lance thyself 'tis soon done. That's a poor favour, Well, I'll think on't tomorrow. 'T must be done tonight, and early to, for else 'twill Do me no pleasure dear Carintha, make thy memory Religious. I am thinking where the sign is, Hah, 'tis in Capricornus, I'll go let myself blood i'th' knees, and die praying, That your Lordship may recover your wits again.
nodes 1797–1871 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 25 of 32 in this edition
Length
500 words · 697 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.782 (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 Dandalo, be faithful to your trust, no intērruption, Giotto prosper in thy sinne, thy deed Will make me happy, though my honour bleed. Y'Are very jocund on the suddaine. Thanke your love for't, that provided Such a cure for melancholly; To my selfe I seeme not to goe but dance, When shall we have a maske My Lord? You'd be revelling againe. I am all for sport, your honour is much bound To the Gentleman your friend, trust me my Lord He is a rare physitian. He's well skild in womens pulces. Theres no feare my Lord, But heele recover me, I doe like him infinitely For my body, the best in Padua. Good, good he gave you gentle phisicke, But you hope twill worke. No Esculapius Could ha behaved him more judicially Did our Court Ladyes know his skill They would be all his Patients, and be sicke a purpose. You hold him then sufficient. He has a way So easie to doe good upon's. Vpon ye ith' name of lust, you see I had a care. Twas more compassion, and I am bound To acknowledge it, I was all heavinesse; A thousand plummets hung upon my heart, Tis by your meanes I am made light. I thinke so, very light, ha, is she not quicke already, She moves so nimbly, Giotto has don't, I have it here, I feele it spread, hake you: Y'are a whore. Does your Lordship love bastard next your heart, Though some hold wine unholesome, it may thaw Your congealed blood; oh the difference of constitutions. Hey, she jeeres me, how now? My Lord, her grace hath sent a strict command You waite to night at Court. Ha? The messenger seemēd full of hast, he onēly Tooke time to say her highnesse had resolv'd, This Night, to cleere all doubts, and from her Court Make happy one, with title of a Duke. Be dumbe, thou bringst destruction to night, Pray you may be mistaken, I am undone else. It is my unhappinesse then my Lord, to bring unwelcome truth. To night, why tis impossible To sue out a divorce, Ime lost, my plots Rebound and strike me dead. My Lord, you seeme Troubled, does your head ake, Ile into th' garden And gather a few simples. Madam a word w'e, You magnified but now a courtesie I did you, you were ever gratefull, I Know't, you shall not doe the benefit If you will yet kill your selfe. That's a small matter. I know tis, considering th'art stained, Lost in thine honour, held but a disease That growes upon thy sex, a tumour; prethee Lance thy selfe tis soone done. That's a poore favour, Well, Ile thinke on't to morrow. 'T must be done to night, and earely to, for else twill Doe me no pleasure deare Carintha, make thy memory Religious. I am thinking where the signe is, Hah, tis in Capricornus, Ile goe let My selfe blood ith' knees, and dye praying, That your Lordship may recover your wits againe.