Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) unassigned nearest T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe · 479 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
I Pray you let's go see him, how he looks After these libels. O, vexed, vexed, I warrant you. Do you think so? I should be sorry for him, If I found that. O, they are such bitter things, He cannot choose. But, is he guilty of 'em? Fuh! that's no matter. No? No. Here's his lodging; we'll steal upon him: or, let's listen, stay. He has a humour oft t' talk t' himself. They are your manners lead me, not mine own. The Fates have not spun him the coarsest thread That (free from knots of perturbation) Doth yet so live, although but to himself, As he can safely scorn the tongues of slaves; And neglect Fortune, more than she can him. It is the happiest thing, this not to be Within the reach of malice; It provides A man so well, to laugh of injuries: And never sends him farther for his vengeance Then the vexed bosom of his enemy. ay, now, but think, how poor their spite sets off, Who, after all their waste of sulphurous terms, And burst-out thunder of their charged mouths, Have nothing left, but the unsavoury smoke Of their black vomit, to upbraid themselves: Whilst I, at whom they shot, sit here shot-free, And as unhurt of envy, as unhit. ay, but the Multitude, they think not so, sir, They think you hit, and hurt: and dare give out Your silence argues it, in not rejoining To this, or that late libel? 'las, good rout! I can afford them leave, to err so still: And, like the barking students of Bears-College, To swallow up the garbage of the time With greedy gullets, whilst myself sit by Pleased, and yet tortured, with their beastly feeding. 'Tis a sweet madness runs along with them, To think, all that are aimed at, still are struck: Then, where the shaft still lights, make that the mark, And so, each fear, or fever-shaken fool May challenge Teucer's hand in archery. Good troth, if I knew any man so vile, To act the crimes, these whippers reprehend, Or what their servile apes gesticulate, I should not then much muse, their shreds were liked; Since ill men have a lust t' hear others sins, And good men have a zeal to hear sin shamed. But when it is all excrement, they vent, Base filth, and offal: or thefts, notable As Ocean piracies, or highway stands: And not a crime there taxed, but is their own, Or what their own foul thoughts suggested to them, And, that in all their heat of taxing others, Not one of them, but lives himself (if known) Improbior satyram scribente cinaedo. What should I say, more? then turn stone with wonder! I never saw this play bred all this tumult. What was there in it could so deeply offend? And stir so many hornets?
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 Pray you let's goe see him, how he lookes After these libells. O, vex'd, vex'd, I warrant you. Doe you thinke so? I should be sorry for him, If I found that. O, they are such bitter things, He cannot choose. But, is he guilty of 'hem? Fuh! that's no matter. No? No. Here's his lodging; Wee'll steale vpon him: or, let's listen, stay. He has a humor oft t' talke t' himselfe. They are your manners lead me, not mine owne. The Fates haue not spun him the coursest thred That (free from knots of perturbation) Doth yet so liue, although but to himselfe, As he can safely scorne the tongues of slaues; And neglect Fortune, more then she can him. It is the happiest thing, this not to be Within the reach of malice; It prouides A man so well, to laugh of iniuries: And neuer sends him farder for his vengeance Then the vex'd bosome of his enemy. I, now, but thinke, how poore their spight sets off, Who, after all their waste of sulphurous tearmes, And burst-out thunder of their charged mouthes, Haue nothing left, but the vnsau'ry smoake Of their blacke vomit, to vpbrayd themselues: Whilst I, at whom they shot, sit here shot-free, And as vn-hurt of enuy, as vnhit. I, but the Multitude, they thinke not so, sir, They thinke you hit, and hurt: and dare giue out Your silence argues it, in not reioyning To this, or that late libell? 'Lasse, good rout! I can affoord them leaue, to erre so still: And, like the barking students of Beares-Colledge, To swallow vp the garbadge of the time With greedy gullets, whilst my selfe sit by Pleas'd, and yet tortur'd, with their beastly feeding. 'Tis a sweet madnesse runnes along with them, To thinke, all that are aym'd at, still are strooke: Then, where the shaft still lights, make that the marke, And so, each feare, or feauer-shaken foole May challenge TEVCERS hand in archery. Good troth, if I knew any man so vile, To act the crimes, these whippers reprehend, Or what their seruile apes gesticulate, I should not then much muse, their shreds were lik'd; Since ill men haue a lust t' heare others sinnes, And good men haue a zeale to heare sinne sham'd. But when it is all excrement, they vent, Base filth, and offall: or thefts, notable As Ocean pyracies, or high-way stands: And not a crime there tax'd, but is their owne, Or what their owne foule thoughts suggested to them, And, that in all their hea of taxing others, Not one of them, but liues himselfe (if knowne) Improbior satyram scribente cinaedo. What should I say, more? then turne stone with wonder! I neuer saw this play bred all this tumult. What was there in it could so deeply offend? And stirre so many hornets?