Jonson, Ben · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 477 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Tut, you'll conquer him, as you have done me; There's no standing out against you Sir, I see that. Either your Importunacy, or the Intimation of your good Parts; or— Nay, I'll bribe his Porter, and the Grooms of his Chamber; make his doors open to me that way first: and then, I'll observe my times. Say, he should extrude me his house to day; shall I therefore desist, or let fall my suit to morrow? No: I'll attend him, follow him, meet him i'the street, the high ways, run by his Coach, never leave him. What?" Man hath nothing given him, in this life, without much Labour. And Impudence. Archer of Heaven; Phoebus take thy Bow And with a full drawn shaft, nail to the earth This Python; that I may yet run hence, and live: Or Brawny Hercules, do thou come down; And (though thou makest it up thy thirteenth labour) Rescue me from this Hydra of discourse here. Horace. Well met. O welcome my Redeemer. Aristius, as thou lovest me, Ransom me. What ail'st thou, man? Death, I am seized on here By a Land- Remora, I cannot stir; Not move, but as he please. Wilt thou go, Horace? 'sheart! He cleaves to me like Alcides' shirt, Tearing my Flesh, and Sin was; o I ha' been vexed And tortured with him, worse than forty Fevers. For Ioues sake, find some means, to take me from him. Yes, I will: but I'll go first, and tell Maecenas. Come, shall we go? The jest will make his eyes run, i'faith. Nay, Aristius? Farewell, Horace. Death! will a'leaue me? Fuscus Aristius, do you hear? Gods of Rome, you said you had somewhat to say to me in private. I, but I see, you are now employed with that Gentleman: 'twere sin to trouble you. I'll take some fit opportunity, adieu. Mischief, and torment! O my Soul, and heart, How are you Cramped with anguish! Death itself Brings not the like Convulsion. O this day, That ever I should view thy tedious face? Horace, what Passion? what Humours this? Away, good Prodigy, afflictme not. A Friend, and mock me thus! never was man So left under the Axe— how now. THat's he, in the embroidered hat, there, with the Ash coloured Feather: his name is Liberius Crispinus. Liberius Crispinus; I arrest you in the Emperor's name. Me Sir? do you arrest me? I Sir, at the suit of Master Minos the Apothecary. Thanks, great Apollo: I will not slip thy favour offered me in my escape, for my fortunes. Master Minos? I know no Master Minos. Where's Horace? Horace? Horace? Sir, do not you know me? O yes; I know you, Master Minos:' cry you mercy. But Horace? God's 'Slid, is he gone? I, and so would you too, if you knew how. Officer look to him.
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)
Tut, you'le conquer him, as you haue done me; There's no ſtanding out againſt you Sir, I ſee that. Either your Importunacy, or the Intimation of your good Parts; or— Nay, I'le bribe his Porter, and the Groomes of his Chamber; make his doores open to me that way firſt: and then, I'le obſerue my times. Say, he ſhould extrude me his houſe to day; ſhall I therefore deſiſt, or let fall my ſuite to morrow? No: I'le attend him, follow him, meete him i'the ſtreete, the high waies, runne by his Coach, neuer leaue him. What? "Man hath nothing giuen him, in this life, without much Labor. And Impudence. Archer of Heauen; Phoebus take thy Bowe And with a full drawne ſhaft, nayle to the earth This Python; that I may yet runne hence, and liue: Or Brawny Hercules, doe thou come downe; And (though thou mak'ſt it vp thy thirteenth labor) Reſcue me from this Hydra of diſcourſe here. Horace. Well met. O welcome my Redeemer. Ariſtius, as thou loueſt me, Ranſome me. What aylſt thou, man? 'Death, I am ſeazd on here By a Land-Remora, I cannot ſtirr; Not moue, but as he pleaſe. Wilt thou goe, Horace? 'Hart! He cleaues to me like Alcides ſhirt, Tearing my Fleſh, and Sinne wes; ô I ha' beene vext And tortur'd with him, worſe then forty Feauers. For Ioues ſake, find ſome meanes, to take me from him. Yes, I will: but I'le goe firſt, and tell Mecoenas. Come, ſhall we goe? The ieſt will make his eyes runne, yfaith. Nay, Ariſtius? Farewell, Horace. Death! will a'leaue me? Fuſcus Ariſtius, doe you heare? Gods of Rome, you ſaid you had ſomewhat to ſay to me in priuate. I, but I ſee, you are now imployd with that Gentleman: 'twere ſinne to trouble you. I'le take ſome fitter opportunity, adue. Miſchiefe, and torment! O my Soule, and Hart, How are you Crampt with anguiſh! Death it ſelfe Brings not the like Conuulſion. O this day, That euer I ſhould viewe thy tedious face? Horace, what Paſſion? what Humours this? Away, good Prodigy, afflictme not. A Friend, and mocke me thus! neuer was man So left vnder the Axe— how now. THat's he, in the imbrodered hat, there, with the Aſh colourd Fether: his name is Liberius Crispinus. Liberius Crispinus; I arreſt you in the Emperors name. Me Sir? doe you arreſt mee? I Sir, at the ſuite of Maſter Minos the Apothecary. Thankes, greate Apollo: I will not ſlippe thy fauour offered me in my eſcape, for my fortunes. Maſter Minos? I know no Maſter Minos. Where's Horace? Horace? Horace? Sir, doe not you knowe mee? O yes; I knowe you, Maſter Minos: 'cry you mercie. But Horace? Gods 'Slid, is he gone? I, and ſo would you too, if you knewe how. Officer looke to him.