The Magnetic Lady, or Humors Reconciled · chunk 40 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 0.79 · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Go thou thither, That better hast deserved it, shame of Doctors: Where could she be delivered? by what charm? Restored to her strength so soon? who is the Father? Or where the Infant? Ask your Oracle, That walks, and talks in his sleep. Where is he? gone? You ha' lost a fortune listening to her, to her Tabour. Good Madam lock her up. You must give losers Their leave to speak, good Doctor. Fellow his footing Before he get to his bed: This rest is lost else. Where is my wife? what ha' you done with my wife, Gossip o' the Counsels? I, sweet Mr. Compass? I honour you, and your wife. Well, do so still. I will not call you Mother tho', but Polish. Good Gossip Polish, where ha' you hid my wife? I hid your wife? Or she's run away. That would make all suspected, Sir, a fresh. Come we will found her, if she be i' the house. Why should I hid your wife, good Mr. Compass? I know no cause, but that you are goo'dy Polish, That's good at malice; good at mischief; all That can perplex, or trouble a business, throughly. You may say what you will: ye are Mr. Compass, And carry a large sweep, Sir, i' your Circle. I'll sweep all corners, Gossip, to spring this. If't be above ground, I will have her cried, By the Common-cryer, through all the Ward, But I will found her. It will be an Act Worthy your justice, Madam. And become The integrity, and worship of her name. 'Tis such a Fly, this Gossip, with her buzz, She blows on every thing, in every place! A busy woman, is a fearful grievance! Will he not sleep again? Yet instantly, As soon as he is warm. It is the nature Of the disease, and all these cold dry fumes, That are melancholic, to work at first, Slow, and insensibly in their ascent, Till being got up, and than distilling down Vpo' the brain; they have a pricking quality That breeds this restless rest, which we, the sons Of Physic, call a walking in the sleep, And telling mysteries, that must be heard. Softly, with art, as we were sowing pillows Under the Patient's elbows, else they'd fly Into a frenzy, run into the Woods, Where there are Noises, hunt, shoutings, hallowings, Amidst the brakes, and furzes, over bridges Fall into waters: Scratch their flesh: Sometimes Drop down a precipice, and there be lost. How now! what does her? He is up again, And begins to talk. O' the former matter, Item? The treasure, and the Lady: That's his argument. O me, happy man! he cannot of it. I shall know all than. With what appetite Our own desires delude us! Hear you Tim? Let no man interrupt us. Sir Diaphanous, And Mr. Bias, his Court-friend's, desire To kiss his Neices hands, and gratulate The firm recovery of her good fame, And honour—
nodes 2406–2479 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 40 of 45 in this edition
Length
495 words · 689 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.794 (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)
Goe thou thither, That better haſt deſerv'd it, ſhame of Doctors: Where could ſhe be deliver'd? by what charme? Reſtor'd to her ſtrength ſo ſoone? who is the Father? Or where the Infant? Aske your Oracle, That walkes, and talkes in his ſleepe. Where is he? gone? You ha' loſt a fortune liſtning to her, to her Tabour. Good Madam lock her up. You muſt give looſers Their leave to ſpeake, good Doctor. Follow his footing Before he get to his bed: This reſt is loſt elſe. Where is my wife? what ha' you done with my wife, Goſſip o' the Counſels? I, ſweet Mr. Compaſſe? I honour you, and your wife. Well, doe ſo ſtill. I will not call you Mother tho', but Poliſh. Good Goſſip Poliſh, where ha' you hid my wife? I hide your wife? Or ſhe's run away. That would make all ſuſpected, Sir, a freſh. Come we will find her, if ſhe be i' the houſe. Why ſhould I hide your wife, good Mr. Compaſſe? I know no cauſe, but that you are goo'dy Poliſh, That's good at malice; good at miſchiefe; all That can perplexe, or trouble a buſines, throughly. You may ſay what you will: yo' are Mr. Compaſſe, And carry a large ſweep, Sir, i' your Circle. Ile ſweep all corners, Goſſip, to ſpring this. If't be above ground, I will have her cry'd, By the Common-cryer, through all the Ward, But I will find her. It will be an Act Worthy your juſtice, Madam. And become The integrity, and worſhip of her name. 'Tis ſuch a Fly, this Goſſip, with her buz, Shee blowes on every thing, in every place! A buſie woman, is a fearefull grievance! Will hee not ſleepe againe? Yet inſtantly, As ſoone as he is warme. It is the nature Of the diſeaſe, and all theſe cold dry fumes, That are melancholicke, to worke at firſt, Slow, and inſenſibly in their aſcent, Till being got up, and then diſtilling downe Vpo' the braine; they have a pricking quality That breeds this reſtleſſe reſt, which we, the ſonnes Of Phyſick, call a walking in the ſleepe, And telling myſteries, that muſt be heard. Softly, with art, as we were ſowing pillowes Vnder the Patients elbowes, elſe they'd fly Into a phrenſie, run into the Woods, Where there are Noiſes, huntings, ſhoutings, hallowings, Amidſt the brakes, and furzes, over bridges Fall into waters: Scratch their fleſh: Sometimes Drop downe a praecipice, and there be loſt. How now! what does her? He is up againe, And 'gins to talke. O' the former matter, Item? The treaſure, and the Lady: That's his argument. O mee, happy man! he cannot off it. I ſhall know all then. With what appetite Our owne deſires delude us! Heare you Tim? Let no man interrupt us. Sir Diaphanous, And Mr. Bias, his Court-friend's, deſire To kiſſe his Neices hands, and gratulate The firme recovery of her good fame, And honour—