Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) unassigned nearest T24 Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses · 498 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.
I do make verses, when I come in such a street as this: O your city-ladies, you shall ha''em sit in every shop like the Muses— offering you the castalian dews, and the thespian liquours, to as many as have but the sweet grace and audacity to— sip of their lips. Did you never hear any of my verses? No, sir (but I am in some fear, I must, now.) I'll tell thee some (if I can but recover 'em) I composed e'en now of a dressing, I saw a jewellers wife wear, who indeed was a jewel herself: I prefer that kind of tire now, what's thy opinion, HORACE? With your silver bodkin, it does well, sir. I cannot tell, but it stirs me more than all your court-curls, or your spangles, or your tricks: I affect not these high gable-ends, these Tuscan-tops, nor your coronets, nor your arches, nor your pyramids; give me a fine sweet— little delicate dressing, with a bodkin, as you say: and a mushroom, for all your other ornatures. Is't not possible to make an escape from him? I have remitted my verses, all this while, I think I ha' forget 'em. Here's he, could wish you had else. Pray JOVE, I can entreat 'em of my memory. You put your memory to too much trouble, sir. No, sweet HORACE, we must not ha' thee think so. I cry you mercy; then, they are my ears That must be tortured: well, you must have patience, ears. Pray thee, HORACE, observe. Yes, sir: your satin sleeve begins to fret at the rug that is underneath it, I do observe: And your ample velvet bases are not without evident stains of a hot disposition, naturally. O— I'll die them into another colour, at pleasure: how many yards of velvet dost thou think they contain? Heart! I have put him now in a fresh way To vex me more: Faith, sir, your mercer's book Will tell you with more patience, than I can; (For I am crossed, and so's not that, I think.) 'Slight, these verses have lost me again: I shall not invite 'em to mind, now. Rack not your thoughts, good sir; rather, defer it To a new time; I'll meet you at your lodging, Or where you please: Till then, JOVE keep you, sir. Nay, gentle HORACE, stay: I have it, now. Yes, sir. APOLLO, HERMES, JUPITER, look down upon me. Rich was thy hap, sweet, dainty cap, There to be placed: Where thy smooth black, sleek white may smack, And both be graced. white, is there usurped for her brow; her forehead: and then sleek, as the parallel to smooth, that went before. A kind of paranomasy, or Agnomination: do you conceive, sir? Excellent. Troth, sir, I must be abrupt, and leave you. Why, what haste hast thou? pray thee, stay a little: thou shalt not go yet, by PHOEBUS. I shall not? what remedy? Fie, how I sweat with suffering!
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)
I doe make verses, when I come in such a street as this: O your city-ladies, you shall ha'hem it in euery shop like the Muses—offring you the cslian dewes, and the thespian liquors, to as many as haue but the sweet grace and audacitie to— sip of their lips. Did you neuer heare any of my verses? No, sir (but I am in some are, I must, now.) I'le tell thee some (if I can but recouer 'hem) I compos'd e'en now of a dressing, I saw a iewellers wife weare, who indeede was a iewell herselfe: I preferre that kind of tire now, what's thy opinion, HORACE? With your siluer bodkin, it does well, sir. I cannot tell, but it stirres me more then all your court-curles, or your spangles, or your tricks: I affect not these high gable-ends, these tuscane-tops, nor your coronets, nor your arches, nor your pyramids; giue me a fine sweet— little delicate dressing, with a bodkin, as you say: and a mushrome, for all your other ornatures. Is't not possible to make an escape from him? I haue remitted my verses, all this while, I thinke I ha' forget 'hem. Here's he, could wish you had else. Pray IOVE, I can intreat 'hem of my memorie. You put your memorie to too much trouble, sir. No, sweet HORACE, we must not ha' thee thinke so. I crie you mercy; then, they are my eares That must be tortur'd: well, you must haue patience, eares. Pray thee, HORACE, obserue. Yes, sir: your sattin sleeue begins to fret at the rug that is vnderneath it, I doe obserue: And your ample veluet bases are not without euident staines of a hot disposition, naturally. O— I'le die them into another colour, at pleasure: how many yards of veluet dost thou thinke they containe? Hart! I haue put him now in a fresh way To vexe me more: Faith, sir, your mercers booke Will tell you with more patience, then I can; (For I am crost, and so's not that, I thinke.) S'light, these verses haue lost me againe: I shall not inuite 'hem to mind, now. Racke not your thoughts, good sir; rather, deferre it To a new time; I'le meete you at your lodging, Or where you please: Till then, IOVE keepe you, sir. Nay, gentle HORACE, stay: I haue it, now. Yes, sir. APOLLO, HERMES, IVPITER, looke down vpon me. Rich was thy hap, sweet, deintie cap, There to be placed: Where thy smooth blacke, sleeke white may smacke, And both be graced. white, is there vsurpt for her brow; her forehead: and then sleeke, as the paralell to smooth, that went before. A kind of Paranomasie, or Agnomination: doe you conceiue, sir? Excellent. Troth, sir, I must be abrupt, and leaue you. Why, what haste hast thou? pray thee, stay a little: thou shalt not goe yet, by PHOEBVS. I shall not? what remedie? Fie, how I sweat with suffering!