Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 532 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Dost thou hear, my little six and fifty, or thereabouts? Thou art not to learn the humours and tricks of that old bald cheater, Time: thou hadst not this chain for nothing. Men of worth have their Chimaeras, as well as other creatures: and they do see monsters, sometimes: they do, they do, brave boy. Better cheap than he shall see you, I warrant him. Thou must let me have six, six, drachmas, I mean, old boy; thou shalt do it: I tell thee, old boy, thou shalt, and in private too, dost thou see? Go, walk off: there, there. six is the sum. Thy son's a gallant spark, and must not be put out of a sudden: come hither, CALLINACHUS, thy father tells me thou art too poetical, boy, thou must not be so, thou must leave them, young novice, thou must, they are a sort of poor starved rascals; that are ever wrapped up in foul linen; and can boast of nothing but a lean visage, peering out of a seam-rent suit; the very emblems of beggary. No, dost hear? turn lawyer, Thou shalt be my solicitor: 'tis right, old boy, be't? You were best tell it, Captain. No: fare thou well mine honest horseman, and thou old beaver. Pray thee Roman, when thou comest to town, see me at my lodging, visit me sometimes: thou shalt be welcome, old boy. Do not baulk me, good swaggerer. JOVE keep thy chain from pawning, go thy ways, if thou lack money, I'll lend thee some: I'll leave thee to thy horse, now. Adieu. Farewell, good Captain. 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 poesy, thou spirit of arts, The soul of science, and the queen of souls, What profane violence, almost sacrilege, Hath here been offered thy divinities! 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 Muse Borne on the wings of her immortal thought, That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel, And bears at heaven gates with her bright hooves; They would not then with such distorted faces, And desp'rate censures stab at poesy. They would admire bright knowledge, and their minds Should ne'er descend on so unworthy objects, As gold, 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 barbarism is t'have wit, and want. " No matter now in virtue who excels, He, that hath coin, hath all perfection else.
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)
Do'st thou heare, my little sixe and fiftie, or thereabouts? Thou art not to learne the humours and tricks of that old bald cheater, Time: thou hadst not this chaine for nothing. Men of worth haue their chymaera's, as well as other creatures: and they doe see monsters, sometimes: they doe, they doe, braue boy. Better cheape then he shall see you, I warrant him. Thou must let me haue sixe, sixe, drachmes, I meane, old boy; thou shalt doe it: I tell thee, old boy, thou shalt, and in priuate too, do'st thou see? Goe, walke off: there, there. Sixe is the summe. Thy sonn's a gallant sparke, and must not be put out of a sudden: come hither, CALLINACHVS, thy father tells me thou art too poeticall, boy, thou must not be so, thou must leaue them, yong nouice, thou must, they are a sort of poore staru'd rascalls; that are euer wrapt vp in foule linnen; and can boast of nothing but a leane visage, peering out of a seame-rent sute; the very emblemes of beggerie. No, dost heare? turne lawyer, Thou shalt be my solicitor: Tis right, old boy, ist? You were best tell it, Captaine. No: fare thou well mine honest horse-man, and thou old beuer. Pray thee Romane, when thou commest to towne, see me at my lodging, visit me sometimes: thou shalt be welcome, old boy. Doe not balke me, good swaggerer. IOVE keepe thy chaine from pawning, goe thy waies, if thou lack money, I'le lend thee some: I'le leaue thee to thy horse, now. Adieu. Farewell, good Captaine. Boy, you can haue but halfe a share now, boy. 'Tis a strange boldnesse, that accompanies this fellow: Come. I'le 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 he. O sacred poesie, thou spirit of artes, The soule of science, and the queene of soules, What prophane violence, almost sacriledge, Hath here beene offered thy diuinities! That thine owne guiltlesse pouertie should arme Prodigious ignorance to wound thee thus! For thence, is all their force of argument Drawne forth against thee; or from the abuse Of thy great powers in a dultrate braines: When, would men learne but to distinguish spirits, And set true difference twixt those jaded wits That runne a broken pase for common hire, And the high raptures of a happy Muse Borne on the wings of her immortall thought, That kickes at earth with a disdainefull heele, And bears at heauen gates with her bright hooues; They would not then with such distorted faces, And desp'rate censures stab at poesie. They would admire bright knowledge, and their minds Should ne're descend on so vnworthy obiects, As gold, or titles: they would dread farre more, To be thought ignorant, then be knowne poore. "The time was once, when wit drown'd wealth: but now, "Your onely barbarisme is t'haue wit, and want. "No matter now in vertue who excells, "He, that hath coine, hath all perfection else.