Jonson, Ben · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T35 Fools, wit and railing typicality 0.82 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
By my wits? No sir, I scorn to live by my wits, I; I have better means I tell thee, than to take such base courses, as to live by my wits. 'sblood dost thou think I live by my wits? methinks jester, you should not relish this well. Ha? does he know me? Though yours be the worst use a man can put his wit too of thousands, to prostitute it at every Tavern and Ordinary; yet (methinks) you should have turned your broad side at this, and have been ready with an Apology, able to sink this Hulk of Ignorance into the bottom, and depth of his Contempt. 'sblood 'tis Macilente: signor, you are well encountered, how is't? O we must not regard what he says man, a Trout, a shallow fool, he has no more brain than a Butterfly, a mere stuffed suit, he looks like a musty Bottle, new wickered, his head's the Cork, light, light. I am glad to see you so well returned signor. You are? Gramercy good Ianus. Is he one of your acquaintance? I love him the better for that. God's precious, come away man, what do you mean? and you knew him as I do, you'd shun him, as you'd do the plague? Why sir? O, he's a black fellow, take heed on him. Is he a Scholar or a Soldier? Both, both; a lean Mungrell, he looks as if he were chap-fallen with barking at other men's good fortunes: 'ware how you offend him, he carries Oil and Fire in his pen, will scald where it drops, his Spirit's like Powder, quick, violent: he'll blow a man up with a jest: I fear him worse than a rotten Wall does the Cannon, shake an hour after at the report: away, come not near him. For God's sake let's be gone, and he be a Scholar, you know I cannot abide him, I had as lief see a Cockatrice, specially as Cockatrices go now. What, you'll stay signor? this gentleman Sogliardo and I are to visit the knight Puntarvolo, and from thence to the City, we shall meet there. ay, when I cannot shun you, we will meet. 'Tis strange: of all the creatures I have seen, I envy not this buffoon, for indeed Neither his fortunes nor his parts deserve it; But I do hate him as I hate the devil, Or that brass-visaged monster Barbarism. O, 'tis an open-throated, black-mouthed cur, That bites at all, but eats on those that feed him, A slave, that to your face will (Serpent-like) Creep on the ground, as he would eat the dust; And to your back will turn the tail and sting More deadly than a Scorpion: stay, who's this? Now for my soul, another minion Of the old lady Chance's: I'll observe him. O rare, good, good, good, good, good, I thank my Christ, I thank my Christ for it.
nodes 390–418 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 11 of 74 in this edition
Length
490 words · 681 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T35 — Fools, wit and railingcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.819 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
By my wits? No sir, I scorne to liue by my wits, I; I haue better meanes I tell thee, than to take such base courses, as to liue by my wits. Sbloud doest thou thinke I liue by my wits? Me thinkes Iester, you should not relish this well. Ha? does he know me? Though yours be the worst vse a man can put his wit too of thousands, to prostitute it at euery Tauerne and Ordinarie; yet (me thinks) you should haue turn'd your broad side at this, and haue been readie with an Apologie, able to sinke this Hulke of Ignorance into the bottome, and depth of his Contempt. Sbloud 'tis Macilente: Signior, you are wel encountred, how is't? O we must not regard what he saies man, a Trout, a shallow foole, he ha's no more braine than a Butterflie, a meer stuft suit, he looks like a mustie Bottle, new wickerd, his head's the Corke, light, light. I am glad to see you so well return'd Signior. You are? Gramercie good Ianus. Is he one of your acquaintance? I loue him the better for that. Gods pretious, come away man, what do you mean? and you knew him as I do, you'ld shun him, as you'ld do the plague? VVhy sir? O, hee's a blacke fellow, take heed on him. Is he a Scholler or a Soldior? Both, both; a leane Mungrell, hee lookes as if he were chap-falne with barking at other mens good fortunes: 'ware how you offend him, hee carries Oile and Fire in his pen, will scald where it drops, his Spirit's like Powder, quick, violent: hee'le blow a man vp with a jest: I feare him worse than a rotten VVall do's the Cannon, shake an hower after at the report: away, come not neere him. For Gods sake let's be gone, and he be a Scholler, you know I cannot abide him, I had as leeue see a Cocatrice, specially as Cocatrices goe now. VVhat, you'le stay signior? this gentleman Sogliardo and I are to visit the knight Puntavolo, and from thence to the Citie, we shall meet there. I, when I cannot shun you, we will meet. 'Tis strange: of all the creatures I haue seene, I enuie not this Buffon, for indeed Neither his fortunes nor his parts deserue it; But I doe hate him as I hate the deuill, Or that brasse-visag'd monster Barbarisme. O, 'tis an open-throated, blacke-mouth'd curre, That bites at all, but eates on those that feed him, A slaue, that to your face will (Serpent-like) Creepe on the ground, as he would eat the dust; And to your backe will turne the taile and sting More deadly than a Scorpion: stay, who's this? Now for my soule, another minion Of the old lady Chance's: I'le obserue him. O rare, good, good, good, good, good, I thanke my Christ, I thanke my Christ for it.