Jonson, Ben · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) · Blackfriars T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.67 · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
Nay, and he be under their arrest, I may (with safety enough) read over my Elegy, before he come. God's a me! what'll you do? why, young master, you are not Castalian mad, lunatic, frantic, desperate? ha? What ailest thou, Luscus? God be with you sir, I'll leave you to your Poetical fancies and furies. I'll not be guilty, I. Be not, good ignorance: I'm glad thou'rt gone: For thus alone, our Ear shall better judge The hasty errors of our morning Muse. ENVY, why twit'st thou me, my Time's spent ill? And call'st my verse, fruits of an idle quill? Or that (unlike the line from whence I sprung) Wars dusty honours I pursue not young? Or that I study not the tedious laws; And prostitute my voice in every cause? Thy scope is mortal; mine eternal Fame, Which through the world shall ever chant my name. Homer will live, whilst Tenedos stands, and I'd, Or to the sea, fleet Simoïs' doth slide: And so shall Hesiod too, while vines do bear, Or crooked sickles crop the ripened ear. Callimachus, though in Invention low, Shall still be sung, since he in Art doth flow. No loss shall come to Sophocles proud vain, With Sun and Moon Aratus shall remain. Whilst Slaves be false, Father's hard, & Bawds be whorish, Whilst Harlots flatter, shall Menander flourish. Ennius, though rude, and Accius high-reared strain, A fresh applause in every age shall gain. Of Varro's name, what ear shall not be told? Of Iasons Argo? and the Fleece of gold? Then, shall Lucretius lofty numbers die, When Earth, and Seas in fire and flames shall fry. Titirus, Tillage, Aeney shall be read, Whilst Rome of all the conquered world is head. Till Cupid's fires be out, and his bow broken, Thy verses (neat Tibullus) shall be spoken. Our Gallus shall be known from East to West: So shall Lycoris, whom he now loves best. The suffering Ploughshare or the Flint may wears But heavenly Poesy no death can fear. King's shall give place to it, and kingly shows, The banks o'er which gold-bearing Tagus flows. Kneel hinds to trash: me let bright Phoebus swell, With cups full flowing from the Muses Well. The frost-drad Myrtle shall empale my head, And of sad lovers I'll be often read. Envy, the living, not the dead, doth bite. For after death all men receive their right. Then when this body falls in funera'l fire, My name shall live, and my best part aspire. YOUR name shall live indeed sir; your say true: but how infamously, how scorned and contemned in the eyes and ears of the best and gravest Romans, that you think not on: you never so much as dream of that. Are these the fruits of all my Travail & Expenses? is this the Scope and Aim of thy studies? are these the hopeful courses, wherewith I have so long flattered my expectation from thee? Verses? Poetry? Ovid, whom I thought to see the Pleader, become Ovid the Playmaker?
seed 43: T16 · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Nay, and he be vnder their arreſt, I may (with ſafetie enough) reade ouer my Elegy, before he come. Gods a mee! What'll you doe? why, yong maſter, you are not Caſtalian mad, lunatike, frantike, deſperate? ha? VVhat aileſt thou, Luſcus? God be with you ſir, Ile leaue you to your Poeticall fancies and furies. Ile not be guilty, I. Be not, good ignorance: I'm glad th'art gone: For thus alone, our Eare ſhall better iudge The haſtie errors of our morning Muſe. ENVIE, why twitſt thou me, my Time's spent ill? And call'ſt my verſe, fruites of an idle quill? Or that (vnlike the line from whence I sprong) Wars duſtie honors I purſue not young? Or that I ſtudie not the taedious lawes; And proſtitute my voice in euery cauſe? Thy ſcope is mortall; mine eternall Fame, Which through the world ſhall euer chaunt my name. Homer will liue, whil'ſt Tenedos ſtands, and Ide, Or to the ſea, fleete Simoïs doth ſlide: And ſo ſhall Heſiod too, while vines doe beare, Or crooked ſickles crop the ripened eare. Callimachus, though in Inuention lowe, Shall ſtill be ſung, ſince he in Arte doth flowe. No loſſe ſhall come to Sophocles proud vaine, With Sunne and Moone Aratus ſhall remaine. Whil'st Slaues be falſe, Fathers hard, & Bauds be whoriſh, VVhilst Harlots flatter, ſhall Menander floriſh. Ennius, though rude, and Accius high-reard ſtraine, A freſh applauſe in euery age ſhall gaine. Of Varro's name, what eare ſhall not be tolde? Of Iaſons Argo? and the Fleece of golde? Then, ſhall Lucretius lofty numbers die, VVhen Earth, and Seas in fire and flames ſhall frye. Titirus, Tillage, Aeney ſhall be read, Whil'ſt Rome of all the conquer'd world is head. Till Cupids fires be out, and his bowe broken, Thy verſes (neate Tibullus) ſhall be spoken. Our Gallus ſhall be knowne from Eaſt to Weſt: So ſhall Lycoris, whome he now loues beſt. The ſuffring Plough-ſhare or the Flint may weares But heauenly Poëſie no death can feare. Kings ſhall giue place to it, and kingly ſhowes, The bankes ore which gold-bearing Tagus flowes. Kneele hindes to traſh: me let bright Phoebus ſwell, With cups full flowing from the Muſes Well. The froſt-drad Myrtle ſhall impale my heade, And of ſad louers Ile be often read. "Enuie, the liuing, not the deade, doth bite. "For after death all men receiue their right. Then when this bodie fals in funera'l fire, My name ſhall liue, and my beſt part aſpire. YOVR name ſhall liue indeede ſir; your ſay true: but how infamouſly, how ſcorn'd and contemn'd in the eyes and eares of the beſt and graueſt Romanes, that you think not on: you neuer ſo much as dreame of that. Are theſe the fruits of all my Trauaile & Expenſes? is this the Scope and Aime of thy ſtudies? are theſe the hopeful courſes, wherwith I haue ſo long flattered my expectation from thee? Verſes? Poetry? Ouid, whome I thought to ſee the Pleader, become Ouid the Play-maker?