Cynthia's Revels, or The Fountain of Self-Love · chunk 13 of 66
Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1600 [1600-1601] (Annals) satire · Children of the Chapel (second) T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.78 · 544 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
COS, sir, COS. Cos? How happily hath fortune furnished him with a whetstone? I do entertain you, COS, conceal your quality till we be private; if your parts be worthy of me, I will countenance you; if not, catechize you: gentles, shall we go? Stay, sir; I'll but entertain this other fellow, and then— I have a great humour to taste of this water too, but I'll come again alone for that— mark the place. What's your name, youth? PROSAITES, sir. PROSAITES? A very fine name, CRITES? be't not? Yes, and a very ancient, sir, the beggar. Follow me, good PROSAITES: Let's talk. He will rank even with you (ere't be long) If you hold on your course. O vanity, How are thy painted beauties doted on, By light, and empty idiots! how pursued With open and extended appetite! How they do sweat, and run themselves from breath, Raised on their toes, to catch thy airy forms, Still turning giddy, till they reel like drunkards, That buy the merry madness of one hour, With the long irksomeness of following time! O how despised and base a thing is a man, If he not strive t'erect his groveling thoughts Above the strain of flesh! But how more cheap When, even his best and understanding part, (The crown, and strength of all his faculties) Floats like a dead drowned body, on the stream Of vulgar humour, mixed with commonest dregs? I suffer for their guilt now, and my soul (Like one that looks on ill-affected eyes) Is hurt with mere intention on their follies: Why will I view them then? my sense might ask me: Or be't a rarity, or some new object, That strains my strict observance to this point? O would it were, therein I could afford My spirit should draw a little near to theirs, To gaze on novelties: so vice were one. Tut, she is stale, rank, foul, and were it not That those (that woo her) greet her with locked eyes, (In spite of all the impostures, paintings, drugs, Which her bawd custom daubs her cheeks withal) She would betray her loathed and leprous face, And fright th'enamoured dotards from themselves: But such is the perverseness of our nature, That if we once but fancy levity, (How antic and ridiculous soe'er It suit with us) yet will our muffled thought Choose rather not to see it, then avoid it: And if we can but banish our own sense, We act our mimic tricks with that free licence, That lust, that pleasure, that security, As if we practised in a pasteboard case, And no one saw the motion, but the motion. Well, check thy passion, lest it grow too loud: While fools are pitied, they wax fat, and proud. WHy, this was most unexpectedly followed (by divine delicate MERCURY) by the beard of JOVE, thou art a precious deity. Nay, CUPID, leave to speak improperly, since we are turned cracks, let's study to be like cracks; practise their language, and behaviours, and not with a dead imitation: act freely, carelessly, and capriciously, as if our veins ran with quicksilver, and not utter a phrase, but what shall come forth steeped in the very brine of conceit, and sparkle like salt in fire.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
COS, sir, COS. Cos? How happily hath fortune furnisht him with a whetstone? I doe entertaine you, COS, conceale your qualitie till wee be priuate; if your parts be worthie of me, I will countenance you; if not, catechize you: gentles, shall we goe? Stay, sir; Ile but entertaine this other fellow, and then—I haue a great humour to taste of this water too, but Ile come againe alone for that—marke the place. What's your name, youth? PROSAITES, sir. PROSAITES? A verie fine name, CRITES? ist not? Yes, and a verie ancient, sir, the begger. Follow me, good PROSAITES: Let's talke. He will ranke euen with you (er't be long) If you hold on your course. O vanitie, How are thy painted beauties doted on, By light, and emptie ideots! how pursu'de With open and extended appetite! How they doe sweate, and run themselues from breath, Rais'd on their toes, to catch thy ayrie formes, Still turning giddie, till they reele like drunkards, That buy the merrie madnesse of one houre, With the long irke somenesse of following time! O how despisde and base a thing is a man, If he not striue t'erect his groueling thoughts Aboue the straine of flesh! But how more cheape When, euen his best and vnderstanding part, (The crowne, and strength of all his faculties) Floates like a dead drown'd bodie, on the streame Of vulgar humour, mixt with commonst dregs? I suffer for their guilt now, and my soule (Like one that lookes on il-affected eyes) Is hurt with meere intention on their follies: Why will I view them then? my sense might aske me: Or ist a racitie, or some new obiect, That straines my strict obseruance to this point? O would it were, therein I could affoord My spirit should draw a little neere to theirs, To gaze on nouelties: so vice were one. Tut, she is stale, ranke, foule, and were it not That those (that woo her) greet her with lockt eyes, (In spight of all the impostures, paintings, drugs, Which her bawd custome dawbes her cheekes withall) Shee would betray her loth'd and leprous face, And right th'enamor'd dotards from themselues: But such is the peruersenesse of our nature, That if we once but fancie leuitie, (How antike and ridiculous so ere It sute with vs) yet will our muffled thought Choose rather not to see it, then auoide it: And if we can but banish our owne sense, We act our mimicke trickes with that free licence, That lust, that pleasure, that securitie, As if we practiz'd in a paste-boord case, And no one saw the motion, but the motion. Well, checke thy passion, lest it grow too lowd: "While fooles are pittied, they waxe fat, and proud. WHy, this was most vnexpectedly followed (by diuine delicate MERCVRY) by the beard of IOVE, thou art a precious deitie. Nay, CVPID, leaue to speake improperly, since wee are turn'd cracks, let's studie to be like cracks; practise their language, and behauiours, and not with a dead imitation: act freely, carelessely, and capriciously, as if our veines ranne with quick-siluer, and not vtter a phrase, but what shall come forth steept in the verie brine of conceipt, and sparkle like salt in fire.