Marston, John / Webster, John · published 1604 · first performed or written 1604 [1602-1604] (Annals) tragicomedy · Children of the Chapel (second) T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.88 · 526 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
I faith my Lord, that beast with many heads The staggering multitude recoils apace, Though thorough great men's envy, most men's malice, Their much intemperate heat hath banished you. Yet now they find envy and malice near, Produce faint reformation. The Duke, the too soft Duke lies as a block, For which two tugging factions seem to saw, But still the iron through the ribs they draw. I tell thee Celzo, I have ever found Thy breast most far from shifting cowardice And fearful baseness: therefore I'll tell thee Celzo, I find the wind begins to come about, I'll shift my suit of fortune, I know the Florentine whose only force, By marrying his proud daughter to this Prince, Both banished me, and made this weak Lord Duke, Will now forsake them all, be sure he will: I'll lie in ambush for conveniency, Upon their severance to confirm myself. Is Ferneze interred? Of that at leisure: he lives. But how stands Mendoza, how be't with him? Faith like a pair of snuffers, snibs filth in other men, and retains it in itself. He does fly from public notice me thinks, as a hare does from hounds, the feet whereon he flies betrays him. I can track him Celso. O my disguise fools him most powerfully: For that I seem a desperate Malcontent, He fain would clasp with me; he is the true slave That will put on the most affected grace, For some wild second cause. he's here. Give place. Illo, ho, ho, ho, art there old true penny? Where hast thou spent thyself this morning? I see flattery in thine eyes, and damnation in thy soul. Ha thou huge rascal▪ Thou art very merry. As a scholar futuens gratis: How doth the devil go with thee now? Malevole, thou art an arrant knave. Who I, I have been a Sergeant man. Thou art very poor. As Iob, an Alchemist, or a Poet. The Duke hates thee. As Irishmen do bum-crackes. Thou hast lost his amity. As pleasing as maids lose their virginity. Would thou wert of a lusty spirit, would thou wert noble. Why sure my blood gives me I am noble, sure I am of noble kind; for I find myself possessed with all their qualities; love Dogs, Dice▪ and Drabs, scorn wit in stuff clothes, have ●eat my Shoemaker, knocked my Sempsters, cuckolded my Apothecary▪ and undone my Tailor. Noble, why not? since the stoic said, Neminem servum non ex regibus, neminem regem non ex servis esse ●ri●ndum, only busy fortune towses, and the provident chances blends them together; i'll give you a simil●●; Did you ere see a well with two buckets, whilst one comes up full to be emptied, another goes down empty to be filled; such is the state of all humanity: why look you, I may be the son of some Duke; for believe me, intemperate lascivious bastardy makes Nobility doubtful: I have a lusty daring heart Mendoza. Let's grasp, I do like thee infinitely, wilt enact one thing for me? Shall I get by it? Command me, I am thy slave, beyond death and hell. Murder the Duke.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 807–856 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 21 of 38 in this edition
Length
526 words · 737 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T0 — Court life: dukes, favour and honourcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.883 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I faith my Lord, that beast with many heads The staggering multitude recoiles apace, Though thorow great mens enuie, most mens malice, Their much intemperate heate hath banisht you. Yet now they finde enuie and mallice neere, Produce faint reformation. The Duke, the too soft Duke lies as a blocke, For which two tugging factions seeme to sawe, But stil the yron through the ribbes they draw. I tell thee Celzo, I haue euer found Thy breast most farre from shifting cowardice And fearefull basenesse: therefore Ile tell thee Celzo, I finde the winde beginnes to come about, Ile shift my suite of fortune, I know the Florentine whose onely force, By marrying his prowde daughter to this Prince, Both banisht me, and made this weake Lord Duke, Will now forsake them all, be sure hee will: Ile lie in ambush for conueniencie, Vpon their seuerance to confirme my selfe. Is Ferneze interred? Of that at leisure: he liues. But how standes Mendoza, how ist with him? Faith like a paire of snuffers, snibbes filth in other men, and retaines it in it selfe. He doo's flie from publike notice me thinkes, as a hare do's from houndes, the feete whereon he flies betraies him. I can tracke him Celso. O my disguise fooles him most powerfully: For that I seeme a desperate Malecontent, He faine would claspe with me; he is the true slaue That will put on the most affected grace, For some vilde second cause. Hee's heere. Giue place. Illo, ho, ho, ho, arte there olde true penny? Where hast thou spent thy selfe this morning? I see flattery in thine eies, and damnation in thy soule. Ha thou huge rascall▪ Thou art very merry. As a scholler futuens gratis: How dooth the diuell goe with thee now? Maleuole, thou art an arrant knaue. Who I, I haue beene a Sergeant man. Thou art very poore. As Iob, an Alcumist, or a Poet. The Duke hates thee. As Irishmen doe bum-crackes. Thou hast lost his amitie. As pleasing as maids loose their virginitie. Would thou wert of a lusty spirit, wold thou wert noble. Why sure my bloud giues me I am noble, sure I am of noble kinde; for I finde my selfe possessed with all their qualities; loue Dogs, Dice▪ and Drabs, scorne witte in stuffe clothes, haue eat my Shoomaker, knockt my Semsters, cuckold my Potecary▪ and vndone my Tayler. Noble, why not? since the Stocke saide, Neminem seruum non ex regibus, neminem regem non ex seruis esse rindum, only busie fortune towses, and the prouident chances blends them together; ile giue you a simil; Did you ere see a wel with two buckets, whilst one comes vp ful to be emptied, another goes downe empty to be filled; such is the state of all humanitie: why looke you, I may be the son of some Duke; for beleeue me, intemperate lasciuious bastardy makes Nobiltie doubtfull: I haue a lusty daring heart Mendoza. Let's graspe, I doe like thee infinitely, wilt inact one thing for me? Shall I get by it? Commaund me, I am thy slaue, beyond death and hell. Murther the Duke.