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 · 475 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Will thy master never awake? No, I think he sleeps for a wager: but how shall we spend the time? Sir Tophas is so far in love that he pineth in his bed, and cometh not abroad? But here cometh Epi, in a pelting chafe. A pox of all false Proverbs, and were a Proverb a Page, I would have him by the ears. Why art thou angry? Why? you know it is said, the tide tarrieth no man. True. A monstrous lie; for I was tide two hours, and tarried for one to unlose me. Alas poor Epi. Poor? No, no, you base conceited slaves, I am a most complete Gentleman, although I be in disgrace with sir Tophas. Art thou out with him. ay, because I cannot get him a lodging with Endymion, he would fain take a nap for forty or fifty years. A short sleep, considering our long life. Is he still in love? In love? why he doth nothing but make Sonnets. Canst thou remember any one of his Poems? ay, this is one. The beggar Love that knows not where to lodge: At last within my heart when I slept, he crept, I waked, and so my fancies began to fadge. That's a very long verse. Why the other was short, the first is called from the thumb to the little finger, the second from the little finger to the elbow, and some he hath made to reach to the crown of his head, and down again to the soul of his foot: it is set to the tune of the black Saunce, ratio est, because Dipsas is a black Saint. Very wisely, but pray thee Epi how art thou complete, and being from thy Master what occupation wilt thou take? No my hearts, I am an absolute Microcosmus, a petty world of myself, my library is my head, for I have no other books but my brains: my wardrobe on my back, for I have no more apparel than is on my body; my armory at my finger's ends, for I use no other Artillery than my nails; my treasure in my purse. Sic omnia mea mecum porto. Good. Now sirs, my Palace is paved with grass, and tiled with stars: for celo tegitur qui non habet urnam, he that hath no house, must he in the yard. A brave resolution, But how wilt thou spend thy time? Not in any Melancholy sort, for mine exercise I will walk horses. Too bad. Why is it not said: It is good walking when one hath his horse in his hand? Worse, and worse, but how wilt thou live? By angling; O 'tis a stately occupation to stand four hours in a cold Morning, and to have his nose bitten with frost, before his bait be mumbled with a Fish.
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)
Will thy master neuer awake? No, I thinke hee sleepes for a wager: but how shall wee spende the time? Sir Tophas is so farre in loue that he pineth in his bedde, and commeth not abroade? But here commeth Epi, in a pelting chafe. A poxe of all false Prouerbes, and were a Prouerbe a Page, I would haue him by the eares. Why art thou angry? Why? you knowe it is sayd, the tyde tarieth no man. True. A monstrous lye; for I was tide two houres, and tarried for one to vnlose mee. Alas poore Epi. Poore? No, no, you base conceited slaues, I am a most complyt Gentleman, although I bee in disgrace with sir Tophas. Art thou out with him. I, because I cannot gette him a lodging with Endimion, hee would faine take a nappe for fortie or fifty yeeres. A short sleepe, considering our long life. Is he still in loue? In loue? why he doth nothing but make Sonets. Canst thou remember any one of his Poems? I, this is one. The beggar Loue that knows not where to lodge: At last within my hart when I slept, he crept, I wakt, and so my fancies began to fodge. That's a verie long verse. Why the other was shorte, the first is called from the thombe to the little finger, the second from the little finger to the elbowe, and some hee hath made to reach to the crowne of his head, and downe again to the soule of his foote: it is sette to the tune of the blacke Saunce, ratio est, because Dipsas is a black Saint. Very wisely, but pray thee Epi how art thou complet, and beeing from thy Maister what occupation wilt thou take? No my harts, I am an absolute Microcosmus, a pettie worlde of my selfe, my library is my heade, for I haue no other bookes but my braines: my wardrope on my backe, for I haue no more apparrell then is on my body; my armorie at my fingers ends, for I vse no other Artillarie then my nailes; my treasure in my purse. Sie omnia mea mecum porto. Good. Now syrs, my Pallace is pau'd with grasse, and tyled with starres: for celo tegitur qui non habet vrnam, he that hath no house, must he in the yard. A braue resolution, But how wilt thou spend thy time? Not in any Melancholie sort, for mine exercise I will walke horses. Too bad. Why is it not saide: It is good walking when one hath his horse in his hand? Worse, and worse, but how wilt thou liue? By angling; O tis a stately occupation to stande foure houres in a colde Morning, and to haue his nose bytten with frost, before hys baite be mumbled with a Fish.