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 0.75 · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
I, sir, that's but a borrowed name; as Ovid's Corinna, or Propertius his Cynthia, or your Nemesis, or Delia, Tibullus. It's the name of Horace his Witch, as I remember. Why? the ditty's all borrowed; 'tis Horace's: hang him Plagiary. How? he borrow of Horace? he shall pawn himself to ten Brokers, first. Do you hear, Poetasters? I know you to be Knights, and men of worship. He shall write with Horace, for a Talon: and let Maecenas and his whole College of Critics take his part: thou shalt do't young Phoebus: thou shalt, Phaeton; thou shalt. Alas, sir, Horace? he is a mere sponge; nothing but Humours and Observation; he goes up and down sucking from every society; and when he comes home, squeezes himself dry again. I know him, I. Thou sayest true, my poor Poetical Fury, he will pen all he knows. A sharp thorny-toothed Satirical Rascal, fly him; He carries Haye in his horn; he will sooner lose his best friend, than his least jest. What he once drops upon paper, against a man, lives eternally to upbraid him in the mouth of every slave Tankard-bearer, or Waterman: not a Bawd, or a boy that comes from the bake house, but shall point at him: 'tis all Dog, and Scorpion; he carries poison in his teeth, and a sting in his tail; fough. Body of Ioue! I'll have the slave whipped one of these days for his satires, and his Humours, by one cashiered Clerk, or another. We'll undertake him, Captain. I, and tickle him i'faith, for his Arrogancy, and his impudence, in commending his own things: and for his translating: I can trace him i'faith: o, he is the most open fellow, living; I had as lief as a new Suit, I were at it. Say no more then, but do it: 'tis the only way to get thee a new suit: sting him, my little Newts; I'll give you instructions: I'll be your Intelligencer, we'll all join, and hang upon him like so many horseleeches: the Players and all. We shall sup together soon; and then we'll conspire, i'faith. O, that Horace had stayed still, here. So would not I: for both these would have turned Pythagoreans then. What, mute? I, as fishes i'faith: come Ladies, shall we go? We await you, sir. But Mistress Chloë asks, if you have not a God to spare, for this Gentleman. Who, Captain Tucca? I; he. Yes, if we can invite him along, he shall be Mars. Has Mars any thing to do with Venus? O, most of all, Lady. Nay, than I pray let him be invited: and what shall Crispinus be? Mercury, Mistress Chloë. Mercury? that's a Poet? is't? No Lady; but somewhat inclining that way: he is a Herald at Arms. A Herald at Arms? good: and Mercury? pretty: he has to do with Venus too? A little, with her face, Lady; or so. 'Tis very well; pray let's go, I long to be at it.
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)
I, ſir, that's but a borrowed name; as Ouids Corinna, or Propertius his Cynthia, or your Nemeſis, or Delia, Tibullus. It's the name of Horace his Witch, as I remember. VVhy? the Ditt'is all borrowed; 'tis Horaces: hang him Plagiary. How? he borrowe of Horace? he ſhall pawne himſelfe to ten Brokers, firſt. Doe you heare, Poëtaſters? I knowe you to be Knightes, and men of worſhippe. Hee ſhall write with Horace, for a Talent: and let Mecoenas and his whole Colledge of Critickes take his part: thou ſhalt do't young Phoebus: thou ſhalt, Phaeton; thou ſhalt. Alas, ſir, Horace? he is a meere ſpunge; nothing but Humours and Obſeruation; he goes vp and down ſucking from euery ſocietie; and when he comes home, ſqueazes himſelfe dry againe. I knowe him, I. Thou ſayeſt true, my poore Poeticall Furie, he will pen all he knowes. A ſharpe thorny-tooth'd Satyricall Raſcall, flye him; He carries Haye in his horne; he will ſooner looſe his beſt friend, then his leaſt Ieaſt. VVhat he once drops vpon paper, againſt a man, liues eternally to vpbraide him in the mouth of euery ſlaue Tankerd-bearer, or Water-man: not a Baud, or a boy that comes from the bake houſe, but ſhall point at him: 'tis all Dogge, and Scorpion; hee carries poyſon in his teeth, and a ſting in his taile; fough. Bodie of Ioue! I'le haue the ſlaue whipt one of theſe daies for his Satyres, and his Humours, by one caſheer'd Clarke, or another. We'll vndertake him, Captaine. I, and tickle him i'faith, for his Arrogancie, and his impudence, in commending his owne thinges: and for his trā ſlating: I can trace him i'faith: ô, he is the moſt open fellowe, liuing; I had as lieue as a newe Suite, I were at it. Say no more then, but doe it: 'tis the onely way to get thee a newe ſuite: ſting him, my little Neufts; I'le giue you inſtructions: I'le be your Intelligencer, wee'll all ioyne, and hange vpon him like ſo many horſeleaches: the Players and all. Wee ſhall ſuppe togither ſoone; and then weele conſpire, i'-faith. O, that Horace had ſtayed ſtill, here. So would not I: for both theſe would haue turn'd Pythagoreans then. What, mute? I, as fiſhes i'faith: come Ladies, ſhall wee goe? VVee await you, ſir. But Miſtreſſe Chloë aſkes, if you haue not a God to ſpare, for this Gentleman. VVho, Captaine Tucca? I; hee. Yes, if wee can inuite him along, he ſhall be Mars. Ha's Mars any thing to doe with Venus? O, moſt of all, Ladie. Nay, then I pray' let him be inuited: and what ſhall Crispinus be? Mercury, Miſtreſſe Chloë. Mercury? that's a Poet? is't? No Ladie; but ſomewhat enclyning that way: hee is a Herald at Armes. A Herald at Armes? good: and Mercury? pretty: he ha's to doe with Venus too? A little, with her face, Ladie; or ſo. 'Tis verie well; pray' let's goe, I long to bee at it.