Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) unassigned nearest T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi · 501 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
HORACE, well met. O welcome, my reliever, ARISTIUS, As thou lov'st 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? 'heart! he cleaves to me like ALCIDES shirt, Tearing my flesh, and sinews; O, I ha' been vexed And tortured with him, beyond forty fevers. For IOVES 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' leave me? FUSCUS ARISTIUS, do you hear? Gods of Rome! you said, you had somewhat to say to me, in private. ay, but I see, you are now employed with that gentleman: 'twere offence to trouble you. I'll take some fitter opportunity, farewell. Mischief, and torment! O, my soul, and heart, How are you cramped with anguish! Death itself Brings not the like convulsions. O, this day, That ever I should view thy tedious face— HORACE, what passion? what humour is this? Away, good prodigy, afflict me 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 LABERIUS CRISPINUS. LABERIUS CRISPINUS; I arrest you in the emperors name. Me, sir? do you arrest me? ay, sir, at the suit of Master MINOS the pothecary. 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 me, is he gone? ay, and so would you too, if you knew how. Officer, look to him. Do you hear, master MINOS? pray let's be used like a man of our own fashion. By JANUS, and JUPITER, I meant to have paid you next week, every drachm. Seek not to eclipse my reputation, thus vulgarly. Sir, your oaths cannot serve you, you know I have forborn you long. I am conscious of it, sir. Nay, I beseech you, gentlemen, do not exhale me thus; remember 'tis but for sweet meats— Sweet meat must have sour sauce, sir. Come along. Sweet, master MINOS: I am forfeited to eternal disgrace, if you do not commiserate. Good officer, be not so officious. WHy, how now, my good brace of bloodhounds? whither do you drag the gent'man? you mongrels, you curs, you bandogs, we are Captain TUCCA, that talk to you, you inhuman pilchers. Sir, he is their prisoner. Their pestilence. What are you, sir? A citizen of Rome, sir. Then you are not far distant from a fool, sir. A pothecary, sir. I knew thou wast not a physician; fough: out of my nostrils, thou stinkest of lotium, and the syringe: away, quacksalver. Follower, my sword.
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)
HORACE, well met. O welcome, my releeuer, ARISTIVS, As thou lou'st me, ransome me. What ayl'st thou, man? 'Death, I am seaz'd on here By a Land-Rmora, I cannot stirre; Not moue, but as he please. Wilt thou goe, HORACE? 'Hart! he cleaues to me like ALCIDES shirt, Tearing my flesh, and sinnewes; Ô, I ha' beene vext And tortur'd with him, beyond fortie feuers. For IOVES 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, ARISTIVS? Farewell, HORACE. 'Death! will a' leaue me? FVSCVS ARISTIVS, doe you heare? Gods of Rome! you said, you had somewhat to say to me, in priuate. I, but I see, you are now imploi'd with that gentleman: 'twere offence to trouble you. I'le take some fitter oportunitie, farewell. Mischiefe, and torment! Ô, my soule, and heart, How are you crampt with anguish! Death it selfe Brings not the like convulsions. Ô, this day, That euer I should view thy tedious face— HORACE, what passion? what humour is this? Away, good prodigie, afflict me 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-colour'd feather: his name is LABERIVS CRISPINVS. LABERIVS CRISPINVS; I arrest you in the Emperours name. Me, sir? doe you arrest me? I, sir, at the sute of Master MINOS the pothecarie. Thankes, great APOLLO: I will not slip 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 know me? O yes; I know you, master MINOS: 'crie you mercy. But HORACE? Gods me, is he gone? I, and so would you too, if you knew how. Officer, looke to him. Doe you heare, master MINOS? pray let's be vs'd like a man of our owne fashion. By IANVS, and IVPITER, I meant to haue paied you next weeke, euery drachme. Seeke not to eclipse my reputation, thus vulgarly. Sir, your oathes cannot serue you, you know I haue forborne you long. I am conscious of it, sir. Nay, I beseech you, gentlemen, doe not exhale me thus; remember 'tis but for sweet meates— Sweet meat must haue sowre sawce, sir. Come along. Sweet, master MINOS: I am forfeited to eternall disgrace, if you doe not commiserate. Good officer, be not so officious. WHy, how now, my good brace of bloud-hounds? whither doe you dragge the gent'man? you mungrels, you curres, you bandogs, wee are Captaine TVCCA, that talke to you, you inhumane pilchers. Sir, he is their prisoner. Their pestilence. What are you, sir? A citizen of Rome, sir. Then you are not farre distant from a foole, sir. A pothecarie, sir. I knew thou wast not a physician; fough: out of my nostrils, thou stink'st of lom, and the syringe: away, quack-saluer. Follower, my sword.