The Magnetic Lady, or Humors Reconciled · chunk 37 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 0.72 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
That conjecture is a kind of Figure-flinging, or throwing the Dice, for a meaning was never in the Poet's purpose perhaps. Stay, and see his last Act, his Catastrophe, how he will perplex that, or spring some fresh cheat, to entertain the Spectators, with a convenient delight, till some unexpected, and new encounter break out to rectify all, and make good the Conclusion. Which, ending here, would have shown dull, flat, and unpointed; without any shape, or sharpness, Brother Damplay. Well, let us expect than: And wit be with us, o'the Poet's part. TRoth Mr. Item, here's a house divided, And quartered into parts, by your Doctor's engine. H'has cast out such aspersions on my Lady's Niece here, of having had a Child; as hardly Will be wiped of, I doubt. Why, is't not true? True! did you think it? Was she not in labour? The Midwife sent for? There's your error now! Ye ha' drunk o' the same water. I believed it, And gave it out too. Moore you wronged the party; She had no such thing about her, innocent creature! What had she than? only a fit o'the Mother, They burned old shoes, Goose-feathers, Assafoetida, A few horn shave, with a bone, or two, And she is well again, about the house;— Is't possible? See it, and than report it. Our Doctor's Vrinall-Judgement is halfe-cracked than. Cracked i' the case, most hugely, with my Lady, And sad Sir Moth, her brother; who is now Under a cloud a little. Of what? Disgrace? He is committed to Rudhudibras, The Captain Ironside, upon displeasure, From Mr. Compass, but it will blow of. The Doctor shall reverse his, instantly, And set all right again: if you'll assist But in a toy; Squire Needle, comes i' my noddle now. Good, Needle and Noddle! what may't be? I long for't. Why, but to go to bed: feign a distemper Of walking i'your sleep, or talking in't A little idly, but so much, as on ' it, The Doctor may have ground, to raise a cure For's reputation. Any thing, to serve The worship o' the man I love and honour. O! give you joy Madamoiselle Compass! You are his Whirlpool now: all to be married, Against your Mother's leave, and without counsel! HE has fished fair, and caught a Frog, I fear it. What fortune ha' you to bring him in dower? You can tell stories now: you know a world Of secrets to discover. I know nothing But what is told me; nor can I discover Anything. Not, you shall not, I'll take order. Go, get you in there: It is Ember-week! I'll keep you fasting from his flesh a while. See, who's here? she ' has been with my Lady; who kissed her, all to kissed her, twice or thrice. And called her Niece again, and viewed her Linen. You ha' done a Miracle, Mother Chair. Not I, My Caudle has done it. Thank my Caudle hearty.
nodes 2203–2263 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 37 of 45 in this edition
Length
496 words · 727 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.722 (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)
That conjecture is a kind of Figure-flinging, or throwing the Dice, for a meaning was never in the Poets purpoſe perhaps. Stay, and ſee his laſt Act, his Cataſtrophe, how hee will perplexe that, or ſpring ſome freſh cheat, to entertaine the Spectators, with a convenient delight, till ſome unexpected, and new encounter breake out to rectifie all, and make good the Concluſion. Which, ending here, would have ſhowne dull, flat, and unpointed; without any ſhape, or ſharpeneſſe, Brother Damplay. Well, let us expect then: And wit be with us, o'the Poets part. TRoth Mr. Item, here's a houſe divided, And quarter'd into parts, by your Doctors ingine. H'has caſt out ſuch aſperſions on my Ladies Neice here, of having had a Child; as hardly Will be wip'd off, I doubt. Why, is't not true? True! did you thinke it? Was ſhee not in labour? The Mid-wife ſent for? There's your errour now! Yo' ha' drunke o' the ſame water. I beleev'd it, And gave it out too. More you wrong'd the party; She had no ſuch thing about her, innocent creature! What had ſhe then? only a fit o'the Mother, They burnt old ſhoes, Gooſe-feathers, Aſſafoetida, A few horne ſhavings, with a bone, or two, And ſhe is well againe, about the houſe;— Is't poſſible? See it, and then report it. Our Doctors Vrinall-Judgement is halfe-crack'd then. Crack't i' the caſe, moſt hugely, with my Lady, And ſad Sir Moath, her brother; who is now Vnder a cloud a little. Of what? Diſgrace? He is committed to Rud-hudibras, The Captaine Ironſide, upon diſpleaſure, From Mr. Compaſſe, but it will blow off. The Doctor ſhall reverſe his, inſtantly, And ſet all right againe: if you'll aſſiſt But in a toy; Squire Needle, comes i' my nodle now. Good, Needle and Nodle! what may't be? I long for't. Why, but to goe to bed: faine a diſtemper Of walking i'your ſleepe, or talking in't A little idly, but ſo much, as on' it, The Doctor may have ground, to raiſe a cure For's reputation. Any thing, to ſerve The worſhip o' the man I love and honour. O! gi' you joy Madamoiſelle Compaſſe! You are his Whirle-poole now: all to be married, Againſt your Mothers leave, and without counſell! H' has fiſh'd faire, and caught a Frog, I feare it. What fortune ha' you to bring him in dower? You can tell ſtories now: you know a world Of ſecrets to diſcover. I know nothing But what is told me; nor can I diſcover Anything. No, you ſhall not, Ile take order. Goe, get you in there: It is Ember-weeke! Ile keepe you faſting from his fleſh a while. See, who's here? ſhe 'has beene with my Lady; who kiſt her, all to kiſt her, twice or thrice. And call'd her Neice againe, and view'd her Linnen. You ha' done a Miracle, Mother Chaire. Not I, My Cawdle has done it. Thanke my Cawdle heartily.