The Scottish History of James the Fourth · chunk 31 of 40
Greene, Robert · published 1598 · first performed or written c.1590 (Annals) romance · Unknown T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.83 · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Believe me bonny Scot, these strange events, Are passing pleasing, may they end as well. Else say that Bohan hath a barren skull, If better motions yet then any past, Do not more glee to make the fairy greet, But my small son made pretty handsome shift, To save the Queen his Mistress by his speed. Yea you Lady for his sport he made, Shall see when least he hopes, I'll stand his friend, Or else he capers in a halter's end. What hang my son? I trow not Obiran: I'll rather die, then see him woe begone. Bohan be pleased, for do they what they will, Here is my hand, I'll save thy son from ill. My gentle friend beware in taking air, Your walks grow not offensive to your wounds. madam I thank you of your courteous care, My wounds are well nigh closed, though sore they are. methinks these closed wounds should breed more grief, Since open wounds have cure, and find relief. madam, if undiscovered wounds you mean, They are not cured, because they are not seen. I mean the wounds which do the heart subdue. Oh that is love, madam speak I not true? Say it were true, what salve for such a sore? Be wise, and shut such neighbours out of door. How if I cannot drive him from my breast? Then chain him well, and let him do his best. In ripping up their wounds, I see their wit, But if these wounds be cured I sorrow it. Why are you so intentive to behold, My pale and woeful looks, by care controlled? Because in them a ready way is found, To cure my care, and heal my hidden wound. Good Master shut your eyes, keep that conceit, Surgeons give, quoin, to get a good receipt. Peace wanton son, this Lady did amend My wounds: mine eyes her hidden grief shall end, Look not too much, it is a weighty case. Where as a man puts on a maiden's face, For many times if Ladies wear them not, A nine months wound with little work is got. I'll break off their dispute, least love proceed, From covert smiles, to perfect love indeed. The cats abroad, stir not, the mice be still, Tut, we can she such cats when so we will. How fares my guest, take cheer, nought shall default, That either doth concern your health or joy, Use me, my house, and what is mine is yours. Thanks gentle knight, and if all hopes be true, I hope ere long to do as much for you. Your virtue doth acquit me of that doubt: But courteous sit, since troubles calls me hence, I must to Edinburgh unto the king, There to take charge, and weight him in his wars: meanwhile good madam take this squire in charge, And use him so as if it were myself. Sir Cutbert doubt not of my diligence: meanwhile, till your return God send you health.
nodes 1583–1641 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 31 of 40 in this edition
Length
499 words · 635 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.833 (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)
Beleue me bonny Scot, these strange euents, Are passing pleasing, may they end as well. Else say that Bohan hath a barren skull, If better motions yet then any past, Do not more glee to make the fairie greet, But my small son made prittie hansome shift, To saue the Queene his Mistresse by his speed. Yea you Ladie for his sport he made, Shall see when least he hopes, Ile stand his friend, Or else hee capers in a halters end. What hang my son? I trowe not Obiran: Ile rather die, then see him woe begon. Bohan be pleasd, for do they what they will, Heere is my hand, Ile saue thy son from ill. My gentle friend beware in taking aire, Your walkes growe not offensiue to your woundes. Madame I thank you of your courteous care, My wounds are well nigh clos'd, tho sore they are. Me thinks these closed wounds should breed more griefe, Since open wounds haue cure, and find reliefe. Madame, if vndiscouered wounds you meane, They are not curde, because they are not seene. I meane the woundes which do the heart subdue. Oh that is loue, Madame speake I not true? Say it were true, what salue for such a sore? Be wise, and shut such neighbours out of dore. How if I cannot driue him from my brest? Then chaine him well, and let him do his best. In ripping vp their wounds, I see their wit, But if these woundes be cured I sorrow it. Why are you so intentiue to behold, My pale and wofull lookes, by care controld? Because in them a readie way is found, To cure my care, and heale my hidden wound. Good Maister shut your eyes, keepe that conceit, Surgeons giue, Quoie, to get a good receit. Peace wanton son, this Ladie did amend My woundes: mine eyes her hidden griefe shall end, Looke not too much, it is a waightie case. Where as a man puts on a maidens face, For many times if Ladies weare them not, A nine moneths wound with little worke is got. Ile breake off their dispute, least loue proceed, From couert smiles, to perfect loue indeed. The cats abroad, stirre not, the mice bee still, Tut, wee can she such cats when so we will. How fares my guest, take cheare, nought shall default, That eyther doth concerne your health or ioy, Vse me, my house, and what is mine is yours. Thankes gentle knight, and if all hopes be true, I hope ere long to do as much for you. Your vertue doth acquite me of that doubt: But courteous sit, since troubles calles me hence, I must to Edenbourg vnto the king, There to take charge, and waight him in his warres: Meane while good Madame take this squire in charge, And vse him so as if it were my selfe. Sir Cutbert doubt not of my dilligence: Meane while, till your returne God send you health.