Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) T8 Captains, gallants and cheats typicality 0.75 · 485 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T8: captain, master, money, gentleman, little, lieutenant, rogue, pray, minos, honest.
But, you know nothing by him, do you, to make a play of? Faith, not much, Captain: but our Author will devise, that, that shall serve in some sort. Why, my PARNASSUS, here, shall help him, if thou wilt: Can thy Author do it impudently enough? O, I warrant you, Captain, and spitefully enough, too; he has one of the most overflowing rank wits, in Rome. He will slander any man that breathes, if he disgust him. I'll know the poor, egregious, nitty rascal, and he have these commendable qualities, I'll cherish him (stay, here comes the Tartar) I'll make a gathering for him, I: a purse, and put the poor slave in fresh rags. Tell him so, to comfort him: well said, boy. Where art thou, boy? where is CALIPOLIS? Fight earthquakes, in the entrails of the earth, And eastern whirlwinds in the hellish shades: Some foul contagion of th'infected heavens Blast all the trees; and in their cursed tops The dismal night-raven, and tragic owl Breed, and become forerunners of my fall. Well, now fare thee well, my honest penny-biter: Commend me to seven-shares and a half, and remember tomorrow— if you lack a service, you shall play in my name, rascals, but you shall buy your own cloth, and I'll ha' two shares for my countenance. Let thy author stay with me. Yes, sir. 'Twas well done, little MINOS, thou didst stalk well; forgive me that I said thou stunkst, MINOS: 'twas the savour of a poet, I met sweating in the street, hangs yet in my nostrils. Who? HORACE? I; he, dost thou know him? O, he forsook me most barbarously, I protest. Hang him fusty satire, he smells all goat; he carries a ram, under his armholes, the slave: I am the worse when I see him. Did not MINOS impart? Yes, here are twenty drachmas, he did convey. Well said, keep 'em, we'll share anon; come, little MINOS. Faith, Captain, I'll be bold to show you a mistress of mine, a jewellers wife, a gallant, as we go along. There spoke my Genius. MINOS, some of thy eringoes, little MINOS; send: come hither, PARNASSUS, I must ha' thee familiar with my little locust, here, 'tis a good vermin, they say. See, here's HORACE, and old TREBATIUS, the great lawyer, in his company; let's avoid him, now: He is too well seconded. THere are, to whom I seem excessive sour; And past a satires law, t'extend my power: Others, that think whatever I have writ Wants pith, and matter to eternize it; And that they could, in one days light, disclose A thousand verses, such as I compose. What shall I do, TREBATIUS? say. Surcease. And shall my Muse admit no more increase? So I advise. An ill death let me die. If 'twere not best; but sleep avoids mine eye: And I use these, lest nights should tedious seem.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 886–921 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 26 of 57 in this edition
Length
485 words · 729 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T8 — Captains, gallants and cheatscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.751 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T11 · seed 44: T14 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
But, you know nothing by him, doe you, to make a play of? Faith, not much, Captaine: but our Author will deuise, that, that shall serue in some sort. Why, my PARNASSVS, here, shall helpe him, if thou wilt: Can thy Author doe it impudently enough? O, I warrant you, Captaine, and spitefully inough, too; hee ha's one of the most ouer-flowing ranke wits, in Rome. He will slander any man that breathes, if he disgust him. I'le know the poore, egregious, nitty rascall, and he haue these commendable qualities, I'le cherish him (stay, here comes the Tartar) I'le make a gathering for him, I: a purse, and put the poore slaue in fresh rags. Tell him so, to comfort him: well said, boy. Where art thou, boy? where is CALIPOLIS? Fight earth-quakes, in the entrailes of the earth, And easterne whirle-windes in the hellish shades: Some foule contagion of th'infected heauens Blast all the trees; and in their cursed tops The dismall night-rauen, and tragicke owle Breed, and become fore-runners of my fall. Well, now fare thee well, my honest penny-biter: Commend me to seuen-shares and a halfe, and remember to morrow— if you lacke a seruice, you shall play in my name, rascalls, but you shall buy your owne cloth, and I'le ha' two shares for my countenance. Let thy author stay with mee. Yes, sir. 'Twas well done, little MINOS, thou didst stalke well; forgiue me that I said thou stunkst, MINOS: 'twas the sauour of a poet, I met sweating in the street, hangs yet in my nostrills. Who? HORACE? I; he, do'st thou know him? O, he forsooke me most barbarously, I protest. Hang him fustie satyre, he smells all goate; hee carries a ram, vnder his arme-holes, the slaue: I am the worse when I see him. Did not MINOS impart? Yes, here are twentie drachmes, he did conuey. Well said, keepe 'hem, wee'll share anon; come, little MINOS. Faith, Captaine, I'le be bold to shew you a mistris of mine, a iewellers wife, a gallant, as we goe along. There spoke my Genius. MINOS, some of thy eringoes, little MINOS; send: come hither, PARNASSVS, I must ha' thee familiar with my little locust, here, 'tis a good vermine, they say. See, here's HORACE, and old TREBATIVS, the great lawier, in his companie; let's auoid him, now: He is too well seconded. THere are, to whom I seeme excessiue sower; And past a satyres law, t'extend my power: Others, that thinke what euer I haue writ Wants pith, and matter to eternise it; And that they could, in one daies light, disclose A thousand verses, such as I compose. What shall I doe, TREBATIVS? say. Surcease. And shall my Muse admit no more encrease? So I aduise. An ill death let mee die. If 'twere not best; but sleepe auoids mine eye: And I vse these, lest nights should tedious seeme.