Sicily and Naples, or The Fatal Union · chunk 13 of 38
Harding, Samuel · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) not in BritDrama T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.82 · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
As if?— abuse me not, thy art Shall be no privilege; she's gone, she's gone. Ben't so passionate; but hear him. Ursini, I have done. After a strict enquiry into the nature Of her disease, I find it by each symptom, A melancholy deep, not dangerous: The parents which produced it, grief and abstinence From meat, and sleep; which as it hath increased. Has brought her now to such an extreme dotage, That she does verily suppose herself, While living dead: In which false supposition I've caused her women to continue her, By shrouding her to her own desire, Strewing her o'er with flowers, then weeping o'er her What help from this? Much Sir, this will work her Into a strong opinion, that she's dead Indeed, to confirm which I have prepared Some two or three, tricked up in the same fashion With shrouds, and chaplets, who shall sit down by her, Walk, talk, eat, drink, sleep, in all which actions Calantha will straight imitate them: Now I have prepared A potion which they shall give her, To make her sleep, the only remedy Of her disease; this I lately practised in the French Court, Yet lost no credit by the experiment. You may believe him Sir, he's one of the skilfullest Physicians our age has boasted of, Padua is proud of such an ornament. Thus my Virginio. My best, my dearest Virginio: thou dost breathe A music to my soul, cures my distemper: Thou art an honest man, we'll found a College, With a large pension to maintain the Students In thy rare science; thou shalt govern there, And when thou diest, we'll build a monument Unto thy name, taller than Egypt's Pyramids. These o'er your Court promises, I'll only study some revenge, for you old Lord, Then I'll return toth' University, & dream on 'em. For thee Ursini, we will only live To do thee honour, that shall be our glory; The world shall know thee great, and envy thee Thy share, both in our kingdom, and our soul. Your goodness, my Lord, is as unlimited As heavens. You're sad Ursini: has our Niece Given you no cause of joy, by her soft answer? None,— The obstacle? tell me; if t' be any in Court she affects, by my honour I'll remove him. None but this, that she's too much wedded to Heaven, and her devotions. If that be all, she's thine. A bliss, I would for ever live t'enjoy.— With me?— What would that Moore? He has letters here from his holiness, In which I'm certified, that he lately turned Christian, And has well deserved i'th' wars, Against the Turk;— The King admits you to His hand. I am in heaven too soon. We'll view his holiness commendations, Then hear this Moore, discourse the fight at large; My griefs begin to vanish; they're much lighter Than of late they were, I know not why, But 'tis a good presage.
University/Inns of Court;Closet/Unacted;Nonprofessional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 1153 · TCP A02629 · DEEP 986
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 704–768 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 38 in this edition
Length
492 words · 673 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.823 (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)
As if? — abuſe mee not, thy art Shall be no priviledge; ſhe's gone, ſhe's gone. Ben't ſo paſſionate; but heare him. Ʋrſini, I have done. After a ſtrict enquiry into the nature Of her diſeaſe, I finde it by each ſymptome, A melancholy deepe, not dangerous: The parents which produc't it, griefe and abſtinence From meate, and ſleepe; which as it hath encrea'ſt. Has brought her now to ſuch an extreame dotage, That ſhe do's verily ſuppoſe her ſelfe, While living dead: In which falſe ſuppoſition I've caus'd her women to continue her, By ſhrowding her to her owne deſire, Strewing her o're with flowers, then weeping o're her What helpe from this? Much Sir, this will worke her Into a ſtrong opinion, that ſhee's dead Indeed, to confirme which I have prepar'd Some two or three, trick't up in the ſame faſhion With ſhrowdes, and chaplets, who ſhall ſit downe by her, Walke, talke, eate, drinke, ſleepe, in all which actions Calantha will ſtreight imitate them: Now I have prepar'd A potion which they ſhall give her, To make her ſleepe, the onely remedy Of her diſeaſe; this I lately practis'd in the French Court, Yet loſt no credit by the experiment. You may beleeve him Sir, he's one of the skilfulleſt Phyſitians our age has boaſted of, Padua is proud of ſuch an ornament. Thus my Virginio. My beſt, my dear'ſt Virginio: thou doſt breath A muſicke to my ſoule, cures my diſtemper: Thou art an honeſt man, we'le found a Colledge, With a large penſion to maintaine the Students In thy rare ſcience; thou ſhalt governe there, And when thou dyeſt, we'le build a monument Unto thy name, taller than Aegypts Pyramides. Theſe o're your Court promiſes, I'le onely ſtudie ſome revenge, for you old Lord, Then I'le returne to'th Univerſitie, & dream on 'em. For thee Ʋrſini, we will onely live To do thee honour, that ſhall be our glory; The world ſhall know thee great, and envie thee Thy ſhare, both in our kingdome, and our ſoule. Your goodneſſe, my Lord, is as unlimited As heavens. You're ſad Ʋrſini: has our Niece Given you no cauſe of joy, by her ſoft anſwer? None, — The obſtacle? tell mee; ift' be any in Court ſhe affects, by my honour I'le remove him. None but this, that ſhe's too much wedded to Heaven, and her devotions. If that be all, ſhee's thine. A bliſſe, I would for ever live t'enjoy.— With mee?— What would that Moore? He has letters here from his holineſſe, In which I'me certifi'd, that he lately turn'd Chriſtian, And has well deſerv'd i'th warres, Againſt the Turke;— The King admits you to His hand. I am in heaven too ſoone. We'le view his holineſſe commendations, Then heare this Moore, diſcourſe the fight at large; My griefes begin to vaniſh; they'r much lighter Than of late they were, I know not why, But 'tis a good preſage.