Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida) · chunk 19 of 29
Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Why then should I put on the very flesh Of solid folly. No, this coxcomb is a crown Which I affect, even with unbounded zeal. 'twill thwart your plot, disgrace your high resolve. By wisdoms heart there is no essence mortal, That I can envy, but a plump cheeked fool: O, he hath a patent of immunities Confirmed by custom, sealed by policy, As large as spacious thought. You can not press among the courtiers, And have access to What? not a fool? Why friend, a golden ass, A babbled fool are sole canonical, Whilst pale cheeked wisdom, and lean ribbed art Are kept in distance at the halberd's point: All held Apocrypha, not worth survey. Why, by the Genius of that Florentine, Deep, deep observing, sound brained Machiavel, He is is not wise that strives not to seem fool. When will the Duke hold feed Intelligence, Keep wary observation in large pay, To dog a fools act? ay, but such feigning, known, disgraceth much. Pish, most things that morally adhere to souls, Wholly exist in drunk opinion: Whose reeling censure, if I value not, It values nought. You are transported with too slight a thought, If you but meditate of what is past, And what you plot to pass. even in that, note a fools beatitude: He is not capable of passion, Wanting the power of distinction, He bears an unturned sail with every wind: Blow East, blow West, he stirs his course alike. I never saw a fool lean: the chub-faced fop Shines sleek with full crammed fat of happiness, Whilst studious contemplation sucks the juice From wizard's cheeks: who making curious search For Nature's secrets, the first innating cause laughs them to scorn, as man doth busy Apes When they will zany men. Had heaven been kind, Creating me an honest senseless dolt, A good poor fool, I should want sense to feel The stings of anguish shoot through every vain, I should not know what 'twere to lose a father: I should be dead of sense, to view defame Blur my bright love; I could not thus run mad, As one confounded in a maze of mischief, Staggered, stark field with bruising stroke of chance. I should not shoot mine eyes into the earth, Poring for mischief, that might counterpoise mischief, murder and How now Lucio? My Lord, the Duke, with the Venetian States, Approach the great hall to judge Mellida. Asked he for Iulio yet? No motion of him: dare you trust this habit? Alberto, see you straight rumour me dead: Leave me, good mother, leave me Luceo, Forsake me all. Now patience hoop my sides, With steeled ribs, lest I do burst my breast With struggling passions. Now disguise stand bold. Poor scorned habits, oft choice souls enfold. ENTREAT me not: there's not a beauty lives, Hath that imperial predominance o'er my affects, as your enchanting graces: Yet give me leave to be myself. A villain. Just. Most just.
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)
Why then should I put on the verie flesh Of solid folly. No, this cockscombe is a crowne Which I affect, euen with vnbounded zeale. Twil twhart your plot, disgrace your high resolue. By wisdomes heart there is no essence mortal, That I can enuie, but a plumpe cheekt foole: O, he hath a patent of immunities Confirm'd by custome, seald by pollicie, As large as spatious thought. You can not presse among the courtiers, And haue accesse to What? not a foole? Why friend, a golden asse, A babl'd foole are sole canonicall, Whil'st pale cheekt wisdome, and leane ribd arte Are kept in distance at the halberts point: All held Apocrypha, not worth suruey. Why, by the Genius of that Florentine, Deepe, deepe obseruing, sound brain'd Macheueil, He is is not wise that striues not to seeme foole. When will the Duke holde feed Intelligence, Keepe warie obseruation in large pay, To dogge a fooles act? I, but such faining, known, disgraceth much. Pish, most things that morally adhere to soules, VVholly exist in drunke opinion: VVhose reeling censure, if I valew not, It valewes naught. You are transported with too slight a thought, If you but meditate of what is past, And what you plot to passe. Euen in that, note a fooles beatitude: He is not capeable of passion, VVanting the power of distinction, He beares an vnturnd sayle with euery winde: Blowe East, blowe West, he stirs his course alike. I neuer sawe a foole leane: the chub-fac'tfop Shines sleeke with full cramm'd fat of happinesse, Whil'st studious contemplation sucks the iuyce From wisards cheekes: who making curious search For Natures secrets, the first innating cause Laughes them to scorne, as man doth busie Apes When they will zanie men. Had heauen bin kinde, Creating me an honest senselesse dolt, A good poore foole, I should want sense to feele The stings of anguish shoot through euery vaine, I should not know what twere to loose a father: I should be deade of sense, to viewe defame Blur my bright loue; I could not thus run mad, As one confounded in a maze of mischiefe, Staggerd, starke feld with brusing stroke of chance. I should not shoote mine eyes into the earth, Poring for mischiefe, that might counterpoise mischiefe, murder and How now Lucio? My Lord, the Duke, with the Venetian States, Approach the great hall to iudge Mellida. Askt he for Iulio yet? No motion of him: dare you trust this habit? Alberto, see you streight rumour me dead: Leaue me, good mother, leaue me Luceo, Forsake me all. Now patience hoope my sides, With steeled ribs, least I doe burst my breast With struggling passions. Now disguise stand bolde. Poore scorned habits, oft choyce soules infould. INTREAT me not: ther's not a beauty liues, Hath that imperiall predominance Ore my affectes, as your inchanting graces: Yet giue me leaue to be my selfe. A villaine. Iust. Most iust.