Glapthorne, Henry · published 1640 · first performed or written 1636 [licensed for stage, Mar 12] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · before the Court T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.82 · 467 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Pish, he talks like an Apothecary to the Doctor. You mistake, it does not, 'tis the blood sticking to the sword achieves The cure: there is a real sympathy Twixt it, and that which has the juice of life, Moistens the body wounded. Rare Paracelsian, thy Annals shall be cut in Brass by Pen of steel. You may as well Report a real sympathy between The nimble soul in its swift flight to heaven, And the cold carcase it has lately left, As a loathed habitation: blood, when like The sap of Trees, which weeps upon the Axe Whose cruel edge does from the aged Trunk Dissever the green Branches from the Veins, Ravished, foregoes his Native heat, and has No more relation to the rest, than some Desertless servant, whom his Lord casts off, Has to his virtuous fellows. Mr. Freewit returned again, and in discourse With Mr. Doctor: I'll not disturb your conference. So please your Ladyship we had even done. I am glad she's come to rescue me. There was a touch for him Cosen Fortress, victus, victa, victum, he looks like a Schoolboy vanquished at capping verses: hark you sir, repent your error, and in time you may be saved; you see the virtue of the salve the Doctor had dressed his Speaking weapon with it. It hurt you, and it has cured you Beware you fall not into a relapse: there was another touch for him Cosen Doctor give your hand (father I should have said) some famed Historian, some Gallobelgicus shall Chronicle thee and thy salve, there was a touch for him Cosen Fortress. Come you shall see my Mistress. Mr. Freewit have you yet found the injured Woman out, I motioned at last parting? Truly Mistress, had she been worthy the seeking, your Command should not have been protracted, but 'Twere a stain to my own honour to be inquisitive After a prostitute, and a blot to your Discretion, should nice judgements know you enjoined me So manifest a folly. 'Twas a greater to be the author of her shame, Whom now you slight so infinitely. Could I slight her more, 'Twere a due justice which I owe myself, (In hazarding the forfeit of your love) Undone by her, but your most serious thoughts Will sure convert your soul from the intent Of my most certain ruin, which your last Discourse perhaps, for trial of my faith, Seemed to invert upon me. You mistake; needless are second trials, when a first Proves you perfidious; doubtless you confirmed Your love to her, with the same sad protests You've done to me (yet left her) for her sake, And in revenge of woman's innocence, martyred by you, I here to heaven pronounce a sure disjunction Of our loves and vows for ever.
before the Court;Phoenix/Cockpit;Indoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
comedy
Play type
Boys Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1148 · TCP A01773 · DEEP 980
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 888–938 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 22 of 40 in this edition
Length
467 words · 627 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.818 (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)
Pish, he talkes like an Apothecary to the Doctor. You mistake, it does not, Tis the blood sticking to the sword atchieves The cure: there is a reall simpathy Twixt it, and that which has the juyce of life, Moystens the body wounded. Rare Paraclsian, thy Annalls shall be cut in Brasse by Pen of steele. You may as well Report a reall simpathy betweene The nimble soule in its swift light to heaven▪ And the cold carkasse it has lately left, As a loath'd habitation: blood, when like The sap of Trees, which weepes upon the Axe Whose cruell edge does from the aged Trunke Dissever the green Branches from the Veines, Ravish'd, forgoes his Native heate, and has No more relation to the rest, than some Desertlesse servant, whom his Lord casts off, Has to his vertuous fellowes. Mr. Free-wit return'd agen, and in discourse With Mr. Doctor: Ile not disturbe your conference. So please your Ladyship we had even done. I am glad she's come to rescue me. There was a touch for him Cosen Fortresse, victus, victa, victum, he lookes like a Schoole-boy vanquish'd at capping verses: harke you sir, repent your errour, and in time you may bee sav'd; you see the vertue of the salve the Doctor had dress'd his Speaking weapon with it. It hurt you, and it has cured you Beware you fall not into a relapse: there was another touch for him Cosen Doctor give your hand (father I should have said) some fam'd Historian, some Gallo-Belgicus shal Chronicle thee and thy salve, there was a touch for him Cosen Fortresse. Come you shall see my Mistris. Mr. Freewit have you yet found the injur'd Woman out, I motioned at last parting? Truely Mistris, had she bin worthy the seeking, your Command should not have beene protracted, but 'Twere a staine to my owne honour to be inquisitive After a prostitute, and a blot to your Discretion, should nice judgements know you enjoyn'd me So manifest a folly. 'Twas a greater to be the authour of her shame, Whom now you slight so infinitely. Could I slight her more, 'Twere a due justice which I owe my selfe, (In hazarding the forfeit of your love) Undone by her, but your most serious thoughts Will sure convert your soule from the intent Of my most certaine ruine, which your last Discourse perhaps, for triall of my faith, Seem'd to invert upon me. You mistake; needlesse are second trialls, when a first Proves you perfidious; doubtlesse you confirm'd▪ Your love to her, with the same sad protests You've done to me (yet left her) for her sake, And in revenge of womans innocence, martyr'd by you, I here to heaven pronounce a sure disjunction Of our loves and vowes for ever.