Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1598 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 506 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
But, THOMAS, this is not the secret, THOMAS, I told you of. No, sir. I do suppose it. Believe me, it is not. Sir. I do believe you. By heaven, it is not, that's enough. But, THOMAS, I would not, you should utter it, do you see? To any creature living, yet, I care not. Well, I must hence. THOMAS, conceive thus much. It was a trial of you, when I meant So deep a secret to you, I mean not this, But that I have to tell you, this is nothing, this. But, THOMAS, keep this from my wife, I charge you, Locked up in silence, midnight, buried here. No greater hell, than to be slave to fear. Locked up in silence, midnight, buried here. Whence should this flood of passion (trow) take head? ha? Best, dream no longer of this running humour, For fear I sink! the violence of the stream Already hath transported me so far, That I can feel no ground at all! but soft, Oh, 'tis our water-bearer: somewhat has crossed him, now. FAsting days? what tell you me of fasting days? 'Slid, would they were all on a light fire for me: They say, the whole world shall be consumed with fire one day, but would I had these ember-weeks, and villainous fridays burnt, in the mean time, and then— Why, how now COB, what moves thee to this choler? ha? Collar, master THOMAS? I scorn your collar, I sir, I am none o'your carthorse, though I carry, and draw water. An' you offer to ride me, with your collar, or halter either, I may hap show you a jade's trick, sir. O, you'll slip your head out of the collar? why, goodman COB, you mistake me. Nay, I have my rheum, & I can be angry as well as another, sir. Thy rheum, COB? thy humour, thy humour? thou mistak'st. Humour? mack, I think it be so, indeed: what is that humour? some rare thing, I warrant. marry, I'll tell thee, COB: It is a gentlemanlike monster, bred, in the special gallantry of our time, by affectation; and fed by folly. How? must it be fed? Oh ay, humour is nothing, if it be not fed. Didst thou never hear that? it's a common phrase, Feed my humour. I'll none on it: Humour, avant, I know you not, be gone. Let who will make hungry meals for your monster-ship, it shall not be I. Feed you, quoth he? 'Slid, I ha'much ado, to feed myself; especially, on these lean rascally days, too; an't had been any other day, but a fasting day (a plague on them all for me) by this light, one might have done the commonwealth good service, and have drowned them all i' the flood, two or three hundred thousand years ago. O, I do stomach them hugely! I have a maw now, an't were for Sir BEVIS his horse, against 'em. I pray thee, good COB, what makes thee so out of love with fasting-days?
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)
But, THOMAS, this is not the secret, THOMAS, I told you of. No, sir. I doe suppose it. Beleeue me, it is not. Sir. I doe beleeue you. By heauen, it is not, that's enough. But, THOMAS, I would not, you should vtter it, doe you see? To any creature liuing, yet, I care not. Well, I must hence. THOMAS, conceiue thus much. It was a tryall of you, when I meant So deepe a secret to you, I meane not this, But that I haue to tell you, this is nothing, this. But, THOMAS, keepe this from my wife, I charge you, Lock'd vp in silence, mid-night, buried here. No greater hell, then to be slaue to feare. Lock'd vp in silence, mid-night, buried here. Whence should this floud of passion (trow) take head? ha? Best, dreame no longer of this running humour, For feare I sinke! the violence of the streame Alreadie hath transported me so farre, That I can feele no ground at all! but soft, Oh, 'tis our water-bearer: somewhat ha's crost him, now. FAsting dayes? what tell you me of fasting dayes? S'lid, would they were all on a light fire for me: They say, the whole world shall bee consum'd with fire one day, but would I had these ember-weekes, and villanous fridayes burnt, in the meane time, and then— Why, how now COB, what moues thee to this choller? ha? Collar, master THOMAS? I scorne your collar, I sir, I am none o'your cart-horse, though I carry, and draw water. An' you offer to ride me, with your collar, or halter either, I may hap shew you a jades trick, sir. O, you'll slip your head out of the collar? why, goodman COB, you mistake me. Nay, I haue my rewme, & I can be angrie as well as another, sir. Thy rewme, COB? thy humour, thy humour? thou mistak'st. Humour? mack, I thinke it be so, indeed: what is that humour? some rare thing, I warrant. Mary, Ile tell thee, COB: It is a gentleman-like monster, bred, in the speciall gallantrie of our time, by affectation; and fed by folly. How? must it be fed? Oh I, humour is nothing, if it bee not fed. Didst thou neuer heare that? it's a common phrase, Feed my humour. Ile none on it: Humour, auant, I know you not, be gone. Let who will make hungrie meales for your monster-ship, it shall not bee I. Feed you, quoth he? S'lid, I ha'much adoe, to feed my selfe; especially, on these leane rascally dayes, too; and't had beene any other day, but a fasting day (a plague on them all for mee) by this light, one might haue done the common-wealth good seruice, and haue drown'd them all i' the floud, two or three hundred thousand yeeres agoe. O, I doe stomack them hugely! I haue a maw now, and't were for Sr BEVIS his horse, against 'hem. I pray thee, good COB, what makes thee so out of loue with fasting-dayes?