Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.84 · 490 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
STay, Monster, ere thou sink, thus on thy head Set we our bolder foot; with which we tread Thy malice into earth: So spite should die, Despised and scorned by noble industry. If any muse why I salute the stage, An armed Prologue; know, 't is a dangerous age: Wherein, who writes, had need present his Scenes forty sold proof against the conjuring means Of base detractors, and illiterate apes, That fill up rooms in fair and formal shapes. 'Gainst these, have we put on this forc't defence: Whereof the allegory and hid sense Is, that a well erected confidence Can fright their pride, and laugh their folly hence. Here now, put case our Author should, once more, Swear that his play were good; he doth implore, You would not argue him of arrogance: howe'er that common spawn of ignorance, Our fry of writers, may beslime his fame, And give his action that adulterate name. Such full-blown vanity he more doth loathe, Then base dejection: There's a mean twixt both. Which with a constant firmness he pursues, As one, that knows the strength of his own muse. And this he hopes all free souls will allow, Others, that take it with a rugged brow, Their moods he rather pities, then envies: His mind it is above their injuries. THen, when this body falls in funeral fire, My name shall live, and my best part aspire. It shall go so. Young master, master OVID, do you hear? gods a me! away with your songs, and sonnets; and on with your gown and cap, quickly: here, here, your father will be a man of this room presently. Come, nay, nay, nay, nay, be brief. These verses too, a poison on 'em, I cannot abide 'em, they make me ready to cast, by the banks of helicon. Nay look, what a rascally untoward thing this poetry is; I could tear 'em now. Give me, how near's my father? Heart a'man: get a lawbook in your hand, I will not answer you else. Why so: now there's some formality in you. By JOVE, and three or four of the gods more, I am right of mine old master's humour for that; this villainous poetry will undo you, by the welkin. What, hast thou buskins on, LUSCUS, that thou swearest so tragically, and high? No, but I have boots on, sir, and so has your father too by this time: for he called for 'em, ere I came from the lodging. Why? was he no readier? O no; and there was the mad skeldring captain, with the velvet arms, ready to lay hold on him as he comes down: he that presses every man he meets, with an oath, to lend him money, and cries; (Thou must do't, old boy, as thou art a man, a man of worship.) Who? PANTILIUS TUCCA? ay, he: and I met little master LUPUS, the Tribune, going thither too.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 61–100 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 2 of 57 in this edition
Length
490 words · 690 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T9 — Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playerscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.844 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
STay, Monster, ere thou sinke, thus on thy head Set we our bolder foot; with which we tread Thy malice into earth: So spight should die, Despis'd and scorn'd by noble industrie. If any muse why I salute the stage, An armed Prologue; know, 't is a dangerous age: Wherein, who writes, had need present his Scenes Fortie sold proofe against the coniuring meanes Of base detractors, and illiterate apes, That fill vp roomes in faire and formall shapes. 'Gainst these, haue we put on this forc't defence: Whereof the allegorie and hid sence Is, that a well erected confidence Can fright their pride, and laugh their folly hence. Here now, put case our Authour should, once more, Sweare that his play were good; he doth implore, You would not argue him of arrogance: How ere that common spawne of ignorance, Our frie of writers, may beslime his fame, And giue his action that adulterate name. Such ful-blowne vanitie he more doth lothe, Then base deiection: There's a meane 'twixt both. Which with a constant firmenesse he pursues, As one, that knowes the strength of his owne muse. And this he hopes all free soules will allow, Others, that take it with a rugged brow, Their moods he rather pitties, then enuies: His mind it is aboue their iniuries. THen, when this bodie falls in funerall fire, My name shall liue, and my best part aspire. It shall goe so. Young master, master OVID, doe you heare? gods a mee! away with your songs, and sonnets; and on with your gowne and cappe, quickly: here, here, your father will be a man of this roome presently. Come, nay, nay, nay, nay, be briefe. These verses too, a poyson on 'hem, I cannot abide 'hem, they make mee readie to cast, by the bankes of helicon. Nay looke, what a rascally vntoward thing this poetrie is; I could teare 'hem now. Giue me, how neere's my father? Hart a'man: get a law-booke in your hand, I will not answere you else. Why so: now there's some formalitie in you. By IOVE, and three or foure of the gods more, I am right of mine olde masters humour for that; this villanous poetrie will vndoe you, by the welkin. What, hast thou buskins on, LVSCVS, that thou swear'st so tragically, and high? No, but I haue bootes on, sir, and so ha's your father too by this time: for he call'd for 'hem, ere I came from the lodging. Why? was he no readier? O no; and there was the madde skeldring captaine, with the veluet armes, readie to lay hold on him as hee comes downe: he that presses euerie man he meets, with an oath, to lend him money, and cries; (Thou must doo'r, old boy, as thou art a man, a man of worship.) Who? PANTILIVS TVCCA? I, hee: and I met little master LVPVS, the Tribune, going thither too.