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 0.82 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
Boy, you can have but half a share now, boy. 'tis a strange boldness, that accompanies this fellow: Come. I'll give attendance on you, to your horse, Sir; Please you.— No: keep your chamber, and fall to your studies; do so: the Gods of Rome bless thee. And give me stomach to digest this law; That should have followed sure, had I been he. O sacred Poësy, thou spirit of Arts, The soul of Science, and the Queen of Souls, What profane violence, almost sacrilege, Hath here been offered thy Divinities! Hmh! that thine own guiltless Poverty should arm Prodigious Ignorance to wound thee thus! For thence, is all their force of Argument Drawn forth against thee; or from the abuse Of thy great powers in Adulterate brains; When, would men learn but to distinguish spirits, And set true difference twixt those jaded wits, That run a broken pace for common hire, And the high Raptures of a happy soul, Borne on the wings of her immortal thought, That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel, And beats at Heaven gates with her bright hooves; They would not then with such distorted faces, And dudgeon Censures stab at Poesy: They would admire bright knowledge, and their minds Should near descend on so unworthy objects, As Gould or Titles: they would dread far more, To be thought ignorant, then be known poor. The time was once, when wit drowned wealth: but now, Your only Barbarisms, to have wit, and want. No matter now in virtue who excels, He, that hath coin, hath all perfection else. Ovid? Whose there? Come in. Good morrow Lawyer. Good morrow (dear Tibullus) welcome: sit down. Not I what: so hard at it? Let's see, What's here? Numa in Decimo nono? Pray thee away. If thrice in field, a man vanquish his foe, 'tis after in his choice to serve, or no. How now Ovid! Law cases in verse? In troth, I know not: they run from my Pen Unwittingly, if they be verse. What's the news abroad? Off with this gown, I come to have thee walk. No, good Tibullus; I'm not now in case. Pray thee let me alone. How? not in case! 'Slight thou'rt in too much case, by all this Law. Troth, if I live, I will new dress the Law, In sprightly poesies Acoutrements. The hell thou wilt. what, turn Law into verse? Thy father has schooled thee I see. Here, read that same. there's subject for you: and if I mistake not, A Supersedeas to your Melancholy. How! subscribed Iulia! O my life, my Heaven! Is the Mood changed? Music of wit! Note for th'harmonious Spheres! Celestial Accents, how you ravish me! What is it, Ovid? That I must meet my Iulia, the Princess julia. Where? Why at heart, I have forgot: my passion so transports me. I'll save your pains: it is at Albius house, The jewellers, where the fair Eycoris lies. Who? Cytheris, Cornelius Gallus Love?
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)
Boy, you can haue but halfe a ſhare now, boy. Tis a ſtrange boldnes, that accompanies this fellow: Come. Ile giue attendance on you, to your horſe, Sir; Pleaſe you.— No: keepe your chamber, and fall to your ſtudies; doe ſo: the Gods of Rome bleſſe thee. And giue me ſtomacke to digeſt this law; That ſhould haue followed ſure, had I beene hee. O ſacred Poëſy, thou ſpirit of Arts, The ſoule of Science, and the Queene of Soules, What prophane violence, almoſt ſacriledge, Hath here beene offered thy Diuinities! Hmh! that thine owne guiltleſſe Pouerty ſhould arme Prodigious Ignorance to wound thee thus! For thence, is all their force of Argument Drawne foorth againſt thee; or from the abuſe Of thy great powers in Adultrate braines; When, would men learne but to diſtinguiſh ſpirits, And ſet true difference twixt thoſe iaded wits, That runne a broken paſe for common hire, And the high Raptures of a happy ſoule, Borne on the winges of her immortall thought, That kickes at earth with a diſdainefull heele, And beates at Heauen gates with her bright hooues; They would not then with ſuch diſtorted faces, And dudgeon Cenſures ſtab at Poeſy: They would admire bright knowledge, and their minds Should nere deſcend on ſo vnworthy obiects, As Gould or Titles: they would dread farre more, To be thought ignorant, then be knowne poore. "The time was once, when wit drownd wealth: but now, "Your onely Barbariſm's, to haue wit, and want. "No matter now in vertue who excells, "He, that hath coyne, hath all perfection elſe. Ouid? Whoſe there? Come in. Good morrow Lawyer. Good morrow (deare Tibullus) welcome: ſit downe. Not I. what: ſo hard at it? Lets ſee, Whats here? Numa in Decimo nono? Pray thee away. If thrice in field, a man vanquiſh his foe, Tis after in his choice to ſerue, or no. How now Ouid! Law caſes in verſe? In troth, I know not: they runne from my Penne Vnwittingly, if they be verſe. What's the newes abroad? Off with this gowne, I come to haue thee walke. No, good Tibullus; I'm not now in caſe. Pray thee let me alone. How? not in caſe! S'light thou'rt in too much caſe, by all this Law. Troth, if I liue, I will new dreſſe the Law, In ſprightly Poeſyes Acoutrements. The hell thou wilt. what, turne Law into verſe? Thy father has ſchoold thee I ſee. Here, read that ſame. Ther's ſubiect for you: and if I miſtake not, A Superſedeas to your Melancholy. How! ſubſcrib'd Iulia! O my life, my Heauen! Is the Mood chang'd? Muſique of wit! Note for th'harmonious Spheares! Celeſtiall Accents, how you rauiſh me! What is it, Ouid? That I muſt meete my Iulia, the Princeſſe Iulia. Where? Why at Hart, I haue forgot: my paſſion ſo tranſports me. Ile ſaue your paines: it is at Albius houſe, The Iewellers, where the faire Eycoris lies. Who? Cytheris, Cornelius Gallus Loue?