The Gentleman Usher (Vincentio and Margaret) · chunk 22 of 42
Chapman, George · published 1606 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) or Children of Paul’s (second) T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.72 · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Do you or he pick out what you can; & so farewell. And so fare well. Is this all? ay, and he may thank your Syrens tongue that it is so much. A proper Letter if you mark it. Well sir, though it be not so proper as the writer; yet 'tis as proper as the inditer; Every woman cannot be a gentleman Usher; they that cannot go before, must come behind. Well Lady, this I will carry instantly, I commend me tee Lady. Pitiful Usher, what a pretty sleight, Goes to the working up of every thing? What sweet variety serves a woman's wit? W make men fue to vs for that we wih. Poor men; hold out a while; and do not sue, And spite of Custom we will sue to you. O God, how weary I am? Aunt, Madam. Cynanche, Aunt? How now? O God, Aunt: O God Aunt: O God. What bad news brings this man? where is my Lord? O Aunt, my Uncle, he's shot. Shot, ay me! How is he shot? Why with a forked shaft As he was hunting, full in his left side. O me accursed, where is he? bring me, where? Coming with Doctor Beniuemus, I'll leave you, and go tell my Lord Vincentio. See the sad sight, I dare not yield to grief, But force feigned patience to recomfort him: My Lord, what chance is this? how fares your lordship? Wounded, and faint with anguish, let me rest. A chair. O Doctor, is't a deadly hurt? I hope not Madam, though not free from danger. Why pluck you not the arrow from his side? We cannot Lady, the forked head so fast Sticks in the bottom of his solid rib. No mean then Doctor rests there to educe it? This only, my good Lord, to give your wound A greater orifice, and in sunder break The pierced rib; which being so near the midriff, And opening to the region of the heart, Will be exceeding dangerous to your life. I will not see my bosom mangled so, Nor sternly be anatomized alive, I'll rather perish with it sticking still. O no; sweet doctor think upon some help. I told you all that can be thought in Art, Which since your Lordship will not yield to use, Our last hope rests in Nature's secret aid, Whose power at length may happily expel it. Must we attend at death's abhorred door, The torturing delays of slavish Nature? My life is in mine own powers to dissolve: And why not then the pains that plague my life? Rise furies, and this fury of my bane, Assail and conquer; what men madness call (That hath no eye to sense, but frees the foul, Exempt of hope, and fear with instant fate) Is manliest reason; manliest reason then, Resolve and rid me of this brutish life, Hasten the cowardly protracted cure Of all diseases: King of Physicians, death, I'll dig thee from this Mine of misery.
Children of the Chapel (second) or Children of Paul’s (second)
Genre (British Drama)
comedy
Play type
Boys Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 533 · TCP A18413 · DEEP 419
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 1282–1342 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 22 of 42 in this edition
Length
501 words · 669 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.717 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
Do you or he icke out what you can; & so farewell. And so fare well. Is this all? I, and he may thanke your Syrens tongue that it is so much. A proper Letter if you marke it. Well sir, though it be not so proper as the writer; yet tis as proper as the diter; Euerie woan cannot be a gntleman Vsher; they that cannot go beore, must come behind. Well Ladie, this I will carrie instantly, I commend me tee Ladie. Pittifull Vsher, what a prettie sleght, Goes to the workng vp of euerie thing? What swet varietie seues a womans wit? W make men fue to vs for that we wih. Poore men; hold ot a while; and do not sue, And spite of Custome we will se t ou. O Go, how wearie I am? Aunt, Mdam. Cynanche, Aunt? How now? O God, Aunt: O God Aunt: O God. What bad newes brings this man? wher is my Lord? O Aunt, my Vnkle, hees shot. Shot, ay me! How is he shot? Why with a forked shaft As he was hunting, full in his left side. O me accurst, where is hee? bring me, where? Comming with Doctor Beniuemus, Ile leaue you, and goe tell my Lord Vincentio. See the sad sight, I dare not yeeld to griefe, But force faind patience to recomfort him: My Lord, what chance is this? how fares your lordship? Wounded, and faint with anguish, let me rest. A chaire. O Doctor, ist a deadly hurt? I hope not Madam, though not free from danger▪ Why plucke you not the arrow from his side? We cannot Lady, the forckt head so fast Stickes in the bottome of his sollide ribbe. No meane then Doctor rests there to educe it? This onely, my good Lord, to giue your wound A greater orifice, and in sunder break The pierced ribbe; which being so neere the midiffe, And opening to the region of the heart, Will be exceeding dangerous to your life. I will not see my bosome mangled so, Nor sternely be anatomizde aliue, Ile rather perish with it sticking still. O no; sweete doctor thinke vpon some help. I tolde you all that can be thought in Arte, Which since your Lordship will not yeelde to vse, Our last hope rests in Natures secret aide, Whose power at length may happily expell it. Must we attend at deaths abhorred doore, The torturing delaies of slauish Nature? My life is in mine owne powers to dissolue: And why not then the paines that plague my life? Rise furies, and this furie of my bane, and conquer; what men madnesse calle (Tht hath no eye to sense, but frees the foule, Exempt of hope, and feare with instant fate) Is mnliest reason; manliest reason then, Resolue and rid me of this brutish life, Hastn the cowardly protracted cure Of all diseases: King of Phisitians, death, Ile dig thee from this Mine of miseie.