Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1599 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T37 Riches, poverty and covetousness · 514 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T37: wealth, riches, money, god, rich, poverty, men, learning, poor, ic.
Ha, ha, ha? I' not this good? Is't not pleasing this? Ha, ha, ha! God pardon me! ha, ha! Is't possible that such a spacious villain Should live, and not be plagued? or lies he hid Within the wrinkled bosom of the world, Where heaven cannot see him? 'sblood (me thinks) 'Tis rare, and strange, that he should breath, and walk, Feed with digestion, sleep, enjoy his health, And (like a boisterous whale, swallowing the poor) Still swim in wealth, and pleasure! is 't not strange? Unless his house, and skin were thunder-proof, I wonder at it! Me thinks, now, the hectic, Gout, leprosy, or some such loathed disease Might light upon him; or that fire (from heaven) Might fall upon his barns; or mice, and rats Eat up his grain; or else that it might rot Within the hoary reeks, e'en as it stands: Me thinkes this might be well; and after all The devil might come and fetch him. I, 'tis true! Mean time he surfeits in prosperity, And thou (in envy of him) gnaw'st thyself, Peace, fool, get hence, and tell thy vexed spirit, Wealth in this age will scarcely look on merit. Who brought this same, sirrah? Marry, sir, one of the justices men, he says 'tis a precept, and all their hands be at it: I, and the prints of them stick in my flesh, Deeper than i'their letters: They have sent me Pills wrapped in paper here, that should I take 'em, Would poison all the sweetness of my book, And turn my honey into homlocke juice. But I am wiser than to serve their precepts, Or follow their prescriptions. Here's a device, To charge me bring my grain unto the markets: I, much, when I have neither barn nor garner, Nor earth to hide it in, I'll bring it; till then, Each corn I send shall be as big as Paul's. O, but (say some) the poor are like to starve. Why let 'em starve, what's that to me? are bees Bound to keep life in drones, and idle moths? no: Why such are these (that term themselves the poor, Only because they would be pitied, But are indeed a sort of lazy beggars) Licentious rogues, and sturdy vagabonds, Bred (by the sloth of a fat plenteous year) Like snakes, in heat of summer, out of dung, And this is all that these cheap times are good for: Whereas a wholesome, and penurious dearth Purges the soil of such vile excrements, And kills the vipers up. O, but master, Take heed they hear you not. Why so? They will exclaim against you. I, their exclaims Move me as much, as thy breath moves a mountain! Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I at home Can be contented to applaud myself, To fit and clap my hands, and laugh, and leap, Knocking my head against my roof, with joy To see how plump my bags are, and my barns. Sirrah, go, hie you home, and bid your fellows, Get all their flails ready, again ' I come.
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)
Ha, ha, ha? I' not this good? Is't not pleasing this? Ha, ha, ha! God pardon me! ha, ha! Is't possible that such a spacious villaine Should liue, and not be plagu'd? or lies he hid Within the vvrinckled bosome of the vvorld, Where heauen cannot see him? Sbloud (me thinkes) 'Tis rare, and strange, that he should breathe, and vvalke, Feede vvith disgestion, sleepe, enjoy his health, And (like a boistrous vvhale, svvallowing the poore) Still swimme in vvealth, and pleasure! is 't not strange? Vnlesse his house, and skin were thunder-proofe, I vvonder at it! Me thinkes, novv, the hecticke, Gout, leprosie, or some such loth'd disease Might light vpon him; or that fire (from heauen) Might fall vpon his barnes; or mice, and rats Eate vp his graine; or else that it might rot Within the hoary reekes, e'ne as it stands: Me thinkes this might be well; and after all The deuill might come and fetch him. I, 'tis true! Meane time he sursets in prosperitie, And thou (in enuie of him) gnaw'st thy selfe, Peace, foole, get hence, and tell thy vexed spirit, "Wealth in this age will scarcely looke on merit. Who brought this same, sirha? Mary, sir, one of the Iustices men, he saies 'tis a precept, and all their hands be at it: I, and the prints of them sticke in my flesh, Deeper then i'their letters: They haue sent me Pils wrapt in paper here, that should I take 'hem, Would poison all the sweetness of my booke, And turne my honey into homlocke juyce. But I am wiser then to serue their precepts, Or follow their prescriptions. Here's a deuice, To charge me bring my graine vnto the markets: I, much, when I haue neither barne nor garner, Nor earth to hide it in, I'le bring it; till then, Ech corne I send shall be as big as Pales. O, but (say some) the poore are like to starue. Why let 'hem starue, what's that to me? are bees Bound to keepe life in drones, and idle moths? no: Why such are these (that terme themselues the poore, Only because they would be pittied, But are indeed a sort of lazie beggers) Licencious rogues, and sturdie vagabonds, Bred (by the sloth of a fat plentious yeere) Like snakes, in heat of summer, out of dung, And this is all that these cheape times are good for: Whereas a holsome, and penurious dearth Purges the soile of such vile excrements, And kils the vipers vp. O, but master, Take heed they heare you not. Why so? They will exclaime against you. I, their exclaimes Moue me as much, as thy breath moues a mountaine! Poore wormes, they hisse at me, whilst I at home Can be contented to applaud my selfe, To fit and clap my hands, and laugh, and leape, Knocking my head against my roofe, with ioy To see how plumpe my bags are, and my barnes. Sirrah, goe, hie you home, and bid your fellowes, Get all their flailes readie, again' I come.