Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1598 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 478 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
I am vexed, I can hold ne'er a bone of me still! Heart, I think, they mean to build, and breed here! Sister, you have a simple servant here, that crowns your beauty, with such encomions, and devices: you may see, what it is to be the mistress of a wit! that can make your perfections so transparent, that every blear eye may look through them, and see him drowned over head, and ears, in the deep well of desire. Sister KITELY, I marvel, you get you not a servant, that can rhyme, and do tricks, too. Oh monster! impudence itself! tricks? Tricks, brother? what tricks? Nay, speak, I pray you, what tricks? ay, never spare anybody here: but say, what tricks? Passion of my heart! do tricks? 'Slight, here's a trick vied, and reuyed! why, you monkeys, you? what a caterwauling do you keep? has he not given you rhymes, and verses, and tricks? O, the fiend! Nay, you, lamp of virginity, that take it in snuff so! come, and cherish this tame poetical fury, in your servant, you'll be begged else, shortly, for a concealment: go to, reward his muse. You cannot give him less than a shilling, in conscience, for the book, he had it out of, cost him a teston, at least. How now, gallants? Mr. MATTHEW? Captain? What? all sons of silence? no spirit? Come, you might practise your ruffian-tricks somewhere else, and not here, I wiss: this is no tavern, nor drinking-school, to vent your exploits in. How now! whose cow has calved? marry, that has mine, sir. Nay, Boy, never look askance at me, for the matter; I'll tell you of it, ay, sir, you, and your companions, mend yourselves, when I ha' done? My companions? Yes sir, you companions, so I say, I am not afraid of you, nor them neither: your hang-byes here. You must have your Poets, and your potlings, your soldadoes, and fooladoes, to follow you up and down the city, and here they must come to domineer, and swagger. Sirrah, you, ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there, get you out; get you home: or (by this steel) I'll cut off your ears, and that, presently. 'Slight, stay, let's see what he dare do: cut off his ears? cut a whetstone. You are an ass, do you see? touch any man here, and by this hand, I'll run my rapier to the hilts in you. Yea, that would I feign see, boy. O Iesu! murder. THOMAS, GASPAR! Help, help, THOMAS. Gentlemen, forbear, I pray you. Well, sirrah, you, HOLOFERNES: by my hand, I will pink your flesh, full of holes, with my rapier for this; I will, by this good heaven: Nay, let him come, let him come, gentlemen, by the body of Saint GEORGE, I'll not kill him. Hold, hold, good gentlemen. You whoreson, bragging coistrel:
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 am vext, I can hold ne're a bone of mee still! Heart, I thinke, they meane to build, and breed here! Sister, you haue a simple seruant here, that crownes your beautie, with such encomions, and deuises: you may see, what it is to be the mistris of a wit! that can make your perfections so transparent, that euery bleare eye may looke through them, and see him drown'd ouer head, and eares, in the deepe well of desire. Sister KITELY, I maruaile, you get you not a seruant, that can rime, and doe tricks, too. Oh monster! impudence it selfe! tricks? Tricks, brother? what tricks? Nay, speake, I pray you, what tricks? I, neuer spare any body here: but say, what tricks? Passion of my heart! doe tricks? S'light, here's a trick vyed, and reuyed! why, you munkies, you? what a catter-waling doe you keepe? ha's hee not giuen you rimes, and verses, and tricks? O, the fiend! Nay, you, lampe of virginitie, that take it in snuffe so! come, and cherish this tame poeticall furie, in your seruant, you'll be begg'd else, shortly, for a concealement: goe to, reward his muse. You cannot giue him lesse then a shilling, in conscience, for the booke, he had it out of, cost him a teston, at least. How now, gallants? Mr. MATTHEW? Captayne? What? all sonnes of silence? no spirit? Come, you might practise your ruffian-tricks somewhere else, and not here, I wusse: this is no tauerne, nor drinking-schole, to vent your exploits in. How now! whose cow ha's calu'd? Mary, that ha's mine, sir. Nay, Boy, neuer looke askance at me, for the matter; Ile tell you of it, I, sir, you, and your companions, mend your selues, when I ha' done? My companions? Yes sir, you companions, so I say, I am not afraid of you, nor them neither: your hang-byes here. You must haue your Poets, and your potlings, your soldado's, and foolado's, to follow you vp and downe the citie, and here they must come to domineere, and swagger. Sirrha, you, ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there, get you out; get you home: or (by this steele) Ile cut off your eares, and that, presently. S'light, stay, let's see what he dare doe: cut off his eares? cut a whetstone. You are an asse, doe you see? touch any man here, and by this hand, Ile runne my rapier to the hilts in you. Yea, that would I faine see, boy. O Iesu! murder. THOMAS, GASPAR! Helpe, helpe, THOMAS. Gentlemen, forbeare, I pray you. Well, sirrah, you, HOLOFERNES: by my hand, I will pinck your flesh, full of holes, with my rapier for this; I will, by this good heauen: Nay, let him come, let him come, gentlemen, by the body of Saint GEORGE, Ile not kill him. Hold, hold, good gentlemen. You whorson, bragging coystrill: