The Magnetic Lady, or Humors Reconciled · chunk 29 of 45
Jonson, Ben · published 1640 · first performed or written 1632 [licensed for stage, Oct 12] (Annals) comedy · King's Men T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.67 · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
I had been slured else. Thank you noble Captain! Your quarrelling caused all this. Where's Compass? Gone, Shrunk hence,! contracted to his Centre, I fear. The slip is his than. I had like t'have been Abused i' the business, had the slip slured on me, A Counterfeit. Sir, we are all abused: As many as were brought on to be Suitors; And we will join in thanks, all to the Captain, And to his fortune that so brought us of. This was a pitiful poor shift o' your Poet, Boy, to make his prime woman with child, and fall in labour, just to compose a quarrel. With whose borrowed ears, have you heard, Sir, all this while, that you can mistake the current of our Scene so? The stream of the Argument, threatened her being with child from the very beginning, for it presented her in the first of the second Act, with some apparent note of infirmity, or defect: from knowledge of which, the Auditory were rightly to be suspended by the Author, till the quarrel, which was but the accidental cause, hastened on the discovery of it, in occasioning her affright; which made her fall into her throws presently, and within that compass of time allowed to the Comedy, wherein the Poet expressed his prime Artifice, rather than any error, that the detection of her being with child, should determine the quarrel, which had produced it. The Boy is too hard for you. Brother Damplay, best mark the Play, and let him alone. I care not for marking the Play: I'll damn it, talk, and do that I come for. I will not have Gentlemen loose their privilege, nor I myself my prerogative, for near an overgrown, or superannuated Poet of 'em all. He shall not give me the Law; I will censure, and be witty, and take my Tobacco, and enjoy my Magna Charta of reprehension, as my Predecessors have done before me. Even to licence, and absurdity. Not now, because the Gentlewoman is in travel: and the Midwife may come on the sooner, to put her and us out of our pain. Well, look to your business afterwards, Boy, that all things be clear, and come properly forth, suited, and set together; for I will search what follows severely and to the nail. Let your nail run smooth than, and not scratch: jest the Author be bold to pair it to the quick, and make it smart: you'll found him as severe as yourself. A shrewd Boy! and has me every where. The Midwife is come, she has made haste. Stay Mr. Needle, you do prick too fast Vpo' the business: I must take some breath: Lend me my stool, you ha' drawn a stitch upon me, In faith, son Needle, with your haste. Good Mother, piece up this breach; I'll give you a new Gown, A new silke-Grogoran Gown. I'll do't Mother.
nodes 1703–1730 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 29 of 45 in this edition
Length
487 words · 652 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.668 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I had beene ſlur'd elſe. Thanke you noble Captaine! Your quarrelling caus'd all this. Where's Compaſſe? Gone, Shrunke hence,! contracted to his Center, I feare. The ſlip is his then. I had like t'have beene Abus'd i' the buſines, had the ſlip ſlur'd on me, A Counterfeit. Sir, we are all abus'd: As many as were brought on to be Suitors; And we will joyne in thankes, all to the Captaine, And to his fortune that ſo brought us off. This was a pittifull poore ſhift o' your Poët, Boy, to make his prime woman with child, and fall in labour, juſt to compoſe a quarrell. With whoſe borrowed eares, have you heard, Sir, all this while, that you can miſtake the current of our Scene ſo? The ſtreame of the Argument, threatned her being with child from the very beginning, for it preſented her in the firſt of the ſecond Act, with ſome apparent note of infirmity, or defect: from knowledge of which, the Auditory were rightly to bee ſuſpended by the Author, till the quarrell, which was but the accidentall cauſe, haſtned on the diſcovery of it, in occaſioning her affright; which made her fall into her throwes preſently, and within that compaſſe of time allow'd to the Comedy, wherein the Poët expreſt his prime Artifice, rather then any errour, that the detection of her being with child, ſhould determine the quarrell, which had produc'd it. The Boy is too hard for you. Brother Damplay, beſt marke the Play, and let him alone. I care not for marking the Play: Ile damne it, talke, and doe that I come for. I will not have Gentlemen loſe their priviledge, nor I my ſelfe my prerogative, for neere an overgrowne, or ſuperannuated Poët of 'hem all. Hee ſhall not give me the Law; I will cenſure, and be witty, and take my Tobacco, and enjoy my Magna Charta of reprehenſion, as my Predeceſſors have done before me. Even to licenſe, and abſurdity. Not now, becauſe the Gentlewoman is in travell: and the Midwife may come on the ſooner, to put her and us out of our paine. Well, looke to your buſines afterward, Boy, that all things bee cleare, and come properly forth, ſuited, and ſet together; for I will ſearch what followes ſeverely and to the naile. Let your naile run ſmooth then, and not ſcratch: leſt the Author be bold to pare it to the quick, and make it ſmart: you'l find him as ſevere as your ſelfe. A ſhrewd Boy! and has mee every where. The Mid-wife is come, ſhe has made haſte. Stay Mr. Needle, you doe prick too faſt Vpo' the buſines: I muſt take ſome breath: Lend me my ſtoole, you ha' drawne a ſtitch upon me, In faith, ſonne Needle, with your haſte. Good Mother, peice up this breach; Ile gi' you a new Gowne, A new ſilke-Grogoran Gowne. Ile do't Mother.