Jonson, Ben · published 1600 · first performed or written 1599 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
ay, he: they have hired a chamber and all private to practise in, for the making of the petoun, the Receipt Reciprocal, and a number of other mysteries, not yet extant. I brought some dozen or twenty Gallants this morning to view 'em (as you'd do a piece of Perspective) in at a keyhole; and there we might see Sogliardo sit in a Chair, holding his snout up like a Sow under an Appletree, while th'other opened his Nostrils with a Poking-stick, to give the smoke a more free delivery. They had spit some three or fourscore ounces between 'em, afore we came away. How! spit three or fourscore ounces? ay, and preserved it in Porringers, as a Barber does his Blood when he pricks a vein. Out Pagan; how dost thou prick the Vain of thy friend? Friend? Is there any such foolish thing i'the world? ha? 'Slid I ne'er relished it yet. Thy Humour is the more dangerous. No not a whit signor: Tut, a man must keep time in all: I can oil my tongue when I meet him next, and look with a good slick forehead; 'twill take away all soil of Suspicion, and that's enough: what Lynceus can see my heart? Pish, the title of a Friend, it's a vain idle thing, only venerable among fools: you shall not have one that has any opinion of wit affect it. Save you good Sir Puntarvolo. signor Deliro! Welcome. Pray you sir, did you see Master Fastidius Brisk? I heard he was to meet your Worship here. You heard no Figment sir, I do expect him every minute my Watch strikes. In good time sir. There's a fellow now, looks like one of the Patricians of Sparta, mary his wit's after ten i'the hundred. A good Bloodhound, a close mouthed Dog, he follows the scent well, marry he's at a fault now methinks. I should wonder at that Creature is free from the danger of thy tongue. O I cannot abide these limbs of Satin, or rather Sathan indeed, that 'll walk (like the children of darkness) all day in a melancholy shop, with their pockets full of Blanks, ready to swallow up as many poor unthrifts, as come within the verge. So: and what hast thou for him that is with him now? O (Damn me) Immortality, I'll not meddle with him, the pure Element of Fire, all Spirit, Extraction. How Carlo? ha, what is he man? A scholar, Macilente, do you not know him? a lank rawboned Anatomy, he walks up and down like a charged Musket, no man dares encounter him: that's his Rest there. His Rest? why has he a forked head? Pardon me, that's to be suspended, you are too quick, too apprehensive. Troth (now I think on't) I'll defer it till some other time. Gods-precious, not by any means signor, you shall not lose this opportunity, he will be here presently now. Yes faith Macilente, 'tis best. For look you sir, I shall so exceedingly offend my wife in't, that—
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)
I, hee: they hue hir'd a chamber and all priuat to practise in, for the making of the Patoun, the Receit Reciprocall, and a number of other mysteries, not yet extant▪ I brought some dosen or twentie Gallants this morning to view'hem (as you'ld doe a piece of Perspectiue) in at a key-hole; and there we might see Sogliardo sit in a Chaire, holding his snowt vp like a Sow vnder an Apple-tree, while th'other open'd his Nostrills with a Poking-sticke, to giue the smoake a more free deliuerie. They had spit some three or fourescore ounces betweene 'hem, afore we came away. How! spit three or fourscore ounces? I, and preseru'd it in Porrengers, as a Barber does his Blood when he pricks a veine. Out Pagan; how dost thou pricke the Vaine of thy friend? Friend? Is there any such foolish thing i'the world? ha? S'lid I ne're rellisht it yet. Thy Humor is the more dangerous. No not a whit Signior: Tut, a man must keepe time in all: I can oyle my tongue when I meet him next, and looke with a good slicke forehead; 'twill take away all soyle of Suspicion, and that's inough: what Lynceus can see my heart? Pish, the title of a Friend, it's a vaine idle thing, only venerable among fooles: you shall not haue one that has any opinion of wit affect it. Saue you good Sir Puntarvolo. Signior Deliro! Welcome. Pray you sir, did you see Master Fastidius Briske? I heard he was to meet your VVorship here. You heard no Figment s, I doe expect him euery minute my VVatch strikes. In good time sir. There's a fellow now, lookes like one of the Patricians of Sparta, mary his wit's after ten i'the hundred. A good Bloudhound, a close mouth'd Dog, hee followes the sent well, marry hee's at a fault now me thinks. I should wonder at that Creature is free from the daunger of thy tongue. O I cannot abide these limmes of Sattin, or rather Sathan indeed, that 'll walke (like the children of darkenesse) all day in a melancholy shop, with their pockets full of Blankes, readie to swallow vp as many poore vnthrifts, as come within the verge. So: and what hast thou for him that is with him now? O (Damne me) Immortalitie, I'le not meddle with him, the pure Element of Fire, all Spirit, Extraction. How Carlo? ha, what is he man? A scholler, Macilente, doe you not know him? a lanke rawbon'd Anatomie, he walks vp and down like a charg'd Musket, no man dares encounter him: that's his Rest there. His Rest? why has he a forked head? Pardon me, that's to be suspended, you are too quick, too apprehensiue. Troth (now I think on't) I'le defer it til some other time. Gods-pretious, not by any meanes Signior, you shall not loose this opportunitie, he will be here presently now. Yes faith Macilente, 'tis best. For looke you sir, I shall so exceedingly offend my wife in't, that—