Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1599 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 498 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Me thinks, jester, you should not relilsh this well. Ha? does he know me? Though yours be the worst use a man can put his wit to, of thousands, to prostitute it at every tavern and ordinary; yet (me thinks) 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 JANUS. 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 mongrel, 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 leeve 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. I, 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 (serpentlike) 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 Stars, I thank my Stars for it. Said I not true? doth not his passion speak Out of my divination? O my senses, Why lose you not your powers, and become Dulled, if not deadded with this spectacle? I know him, 'tis SORDIDO, the farmer, A Boor, and brother to that swine was here.
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)
Me thinkes, Iester, you should not relilsh this well. Ha? does he know me? Though yours bee the worst vse a man can put his wit to, of thousands, to prostitute it at euery tauerne and ordinarie; yet (mee thinkes) you should haue turn'd your broad side at this, and haue beene 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 well encountred, how is't? O, we must not regard what he saies man, a trout, a shallow foole, he ha's no more braine then a butter-flie, a meere stuft suit, he looks like a mustie bottle, new vvickerd, his head's the corke, light, light. I am glad to see you so well return'd, Signior. You are? Gramercie, good IANVS. Is he one of your acquaintance? I loue him the better for that. Gods precious, come away man, what doe you meane? and you knew him as I doe, you'ld shun him, as you'ld doe the plague? Why, sir? O, hee's a blacke fellow, take heed on him. Is he a Scholler, or a Souldier? Both, both; a leane mungrell, he lookes as if he were chapfalne, with barking at other mens good fortunes: 'ware how you offend him, he carries oile and fire in his pen, vvill scald vvhere it drops: his spirit's like powder, quick, violent: hee'le blow a man vp with a jest: I feare him vvorse then a rotten wall do's the cannon, shake an houre 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 Cockatrice, specially as cockatrices goe now. What, you'le stay, signior? this gentleman SOGLIARDO, and I, are to visit the knight PVNTARVOLO, and from thence to the citie, wee shall meet there. I, vvhen I cannot shun you, vve will meet. 'Tis strange! of all the creatures I haue seene, I enuie not this BVFFON, for indeede 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, black-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 eate the dust; And to your backe will turne the taile, and sting More deadly then 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 Starres, I thanke my Starres for it. Said I not true? doth not his passion speake Out of my diuination? O my senses, Why loose you not your powers, and become Dull'd, if not deadded vvith this spectacle? I know him, 'tis SORDIDO, the farmer, A Boore, and brother to that swine vvas here.