Lyly, John · published 1591 · first performed or written 1588 [Feb 2(?)] (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (first) · before the Court unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 470 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Now our Masters are in love up to the ears, what have we to do, but to be in knavery, up to the crowns. O that we had Sir Tophas that brave Squire, in the midst of our mirth, & ecce autem, will you see the devil? Epi. Here sir. I brook not this idle humour of love, it tickleth not my liver, from whence the Love-mongers in former age seemed to infer they should proceed. Love sir may lie in your lungs, and I think it doth, and that is the cause you blow, and are so pursy. Tush boy, I think it but some device of the Poet to get money. A Poet? what's that? Dost thou not know what a Poet is? No. Why fool, a Poet is as much as one should say, a Poet. But soft, yonder be two Wrens, shall I shoot at them? They are two lads. Larks or wrens, I will kill them. Larks? are you blind? they are two little Boys. Birds, or boys, they are both but a pittance for my breakfast, therefore have at them, for their brains must as it were embroider my bolts. Stay your courage valiant Knight, for your wisdom is so weary that it stayeth itself. Why Sir Tophas have you forgotten your old friends? friends? Nego argumentum. And why not friends? Because Amicitia (as in old Annuals we find) is inter pares, now my pretty companions, you shall see how unequal you be to me, but I will not cut you quite off, you shall be my half friends, for reaching to my middle, so far as from the ground to the waist I will be your friend. Learnedly. But what shall become of the rest of your body, from the waist to the crown? My children quod supra vos nihil ad vos, you must think the rest immortal, because you cannot reach it. Nay I tell ye my Master is more than a man. And thou less than a mouse. But what be you two? I am Samias, page to Endymion. And I Dares, page to Eumenides. Of what occupation are your Masters. Occupation, you clown, why they are honourable, and warriors. Then are they my prentices. Thine, and why so? I was the first that ever devised war, and therefore by Mars himself given me for my Arms a whole armory, and thus I go as you see, clothed with Artillery, it is not Silks (milksops) nor tissues, nor the fine wool of Cares, but iron, steel, swords, flame, shot, terror, clamour, blood, and ruin, that rocks asleep my thoughts, which never had any other cradle, but cruelty. Let me see, do you not bleed? Why so? Commonly my words wound. What then do your blows? Not only confound, but also confound.
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)
Now our Maisters are in loue vp to the eares, vvhat haue wee to doe, but to be in knauery, vp to the crownes. O that we had Sir Tophas that braue Squire, in the midst of our myrth, & ecce autem, vvyl you see the deuill? Epi. Heere syr. I brooke not thys idle humor of loue, it tickleth not my lyuer, from whence the Loue-mongers in former age seemed to inferre they should proceede. Loue sir may lye in your lunges, and I thinke it doth, and that is the cause you blow, and are so pursie. Tush boy, I thinke it but some deuise of the Poet to get money. A Poet? whats that? Doost thou not know what a Poet is? No. Why foole, a Poet is as much as one shoulde say, a Poet. But soft, yonder be two Wrennes, shall I shoote at them? They are two lads. Larkes or wrennes, I will kill them. Larkes? are you blinde? they are two lyttle Boyes. Byrdes, or boyes, they are both but a pittance for my breakefast, therefore haue at them, for theyr braines must as it were imbroder my bolts. Stay your courage valiant Knight, for your wisdome is so wearie that it stayeth it selfe. Why Syr Tophas haue you forgotten your olde freendes? Freendes? Nego argumentum. And why not freends? Because Amicitia (as in old Annuals we find) is inter pares, now my pretty companions, you shall see how vnequall you be to mee, but I will not cut you quite off, you shall be my halfe friendes, for reaching to my middle, so farre as from the ground to the wast I wil be your freend. Learnedly. But what shall become of the rest of your bodie, from the wast to the crowne? My children quod supra vos nihil ad vos, you must thinke the rest immortall, because you cannot reach it. Nay I tell ye my Maister is more then a man. And thou lesse then a mouse. But what be you two? I am Samias, page to Endimion. And I Dares, page to Eumenides. Of what occupation are your Masters. Occupation, you clowne, why they are honourable, and warriers. Then are they my prentises. Thine, and why so? I was the first that euer deuised warre, and therefore by Mars himselfe giuen me for my Armes a whole Armorie, and thus I goe as you see, clothed with Artillary, it is not Silkes (milksops) nor Tyssues, nor the fine wooll of Cares, but yron, steele, swords, flame, shot, terror, clamor, blood, and ruine, that rocks a sleepe my thoughts, which neuer had any other cradle, but crueltie. Let me see, doe you not bleede? Why so? Commonly my words wound. What then doe your blowes? Not onely confound, but also confound.