Lingua, or The Combat of the Tongue and the Five Senses for Superiority · chunk 47 of 51
Tomkis, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 [1602-1607] (Annals) comedy; allegory unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Content. So now's the time that I would gladly meet, These madding Senses that abused me thus; What? haunt me like an owl? make an Ass of me? No they shall know, ●I scorn to serve such masters, As cannot master their affections, Their iniurie● have changed my nature, Now I 'llle be no more called hungry parasite: But henceforth answer to the wrathful name Of angry Appetite, my choler's up: cool me quickly with thy fan, Ore●ce I le cut thy cheeks, why this is brave: Fa●●e better than to faun at Gustus' table, For a few scraps, no, no, such words as these, By Pluto stab the villain, kill the slave: By the infernal hags, I'll hough the rogue, And paunch the rascal that abused me thus, Such words as these fit angry Appetite. Somnus, Somnus, come hither, come hither quickly, he's here, he's here. I marry is he sirrah, what of that? base miscreant Crap pula. O gentle Appetitus. You muddy gulche, darest look me in the face, while mine eyes sparkle, with revengeful fire? (tiff, toff, tiff, toff,) Good Appetitus. Peace you fat bawson, peace, (tiff, toff, tiff, toff,) Seest not this fatal engine of my wrath? Villain I'll maul thee for thine old offences, And grind thy bones to powder with this pestle: You when I had no weapons to defend me, Could beat me out of doors; but now prepare, Make thyself ready, for thou shalt not scape. Thus doth the great revengeful Appetite, Upon his fat foe, wreak his wrathful spite. Why how now Crapula? Am I not dead? is not my soul departed? No, no, see where he lies, that would have ●iurt thee? fear nothing? So rest you all in silent quietness, Let nothing wake you till the power of sleep, With his sweet dew, cooling your brains inflamed, Hath rectified the vain and idle thoughts, Bred by your surfeit, and distemperature: Lo here the Senses late outrageous, All in a round together sleep like friends, For there's no difference twixt the King and Clown, The poor and rich, the beauteous and deformed, Wrapped in the vail of night, and bonds of sleep, Without whose power, and sweet dominion, Our life were Hell, and pleasure painfulness, The sting of envy, and the dart of love, Avarice talons, and the fire of hate: Would poison, wound, distract, and soon consume, The heart, the liver life and mind of man; The 〈◊〉 Mower, that with brawny arms, Wi●●deth the crooked scythe, in many a swath, Cutting the flowery pride on the velvet plain, Lies down at night, and in the weaty folds Of his wives arms, forgets his labour past, The painful Mariner, and careful Smith, The toiling Ploughman, all Artificers, Most humbly yeeld to my dominion, Without due rest, nothing is durable. Lo thus doth Somnus conquer all the world With his most awful waud, and halfe the year Reigns over the best and proudest Emperors. Only the nurslings of the Sisters nine,
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)
Content. So now's the time that I would gladly meete, These madding Senses that abus'd mee thus; What? haunt me like an owle? make an Asse of me? No they shall know, I scorne to serue such masters, As cannot master their affections, Their iniurie haue chang'd my nature, Now I le be no more called hungry parasite: But heceforth answere to the wrathfull name Of angry Appetite, my choller's vp: coole me quickly with thy fanne, Orece I le cut thy cheekes, why this is braue: Fae better then to faune at Gustus table, For a few scrappes, no, no, such words as these, By Pluto stabbe the villaine, kill the slaue: By the infernall hagges, Ile hough the rogue, And paunch the rascall that abusd me thus, Such words as these fitte angry Appetite. Somnus, Somnus, come hether, come hether quickly, hee's here, hee's here. I marry is he sirra, what of that? base miscreant Cra pula. O gentle Appetitus. You muddy gulche, darst looke me in the face, while mine eyes sparkle, with reuengfull fire? (tiff, toff, tiff, toff,) Good Appetitus. Peace you fat bawson, peace, (tiff, toff, tiff, toff,) Seest not this fatall engine of my wrath? Villaine Ile maule thee for thine old offences, And grinde thy bones to powder with this pestle: You when I had no weapons to defend me, Could beate me out of dores; but now prepare, Make thy selfe ready, for thou shalt not scape. Thus doth the great reuengefull Appetite, Vpon his fatte foe, wreake his wrathfull spite. Why how now Crapula? Am I not dead? is not my soule departed? No, no, see where he lyes, that would haue iurt thee? feare nothing? So rest you all in silent quietnesse, Let nothing wake you till the power of sleepe, With his sweete dew, cooling your braines inflamed, Hath rectified the vaine and idle thoughts, Bred by your surfet, and distemperature: Loe here the Senses late outragious, All in a round together sleepe like friends, For there's no difference twixt the King and Clowne, The poore and rich, the beautious and deformed, Wrapt in the vaile of night, and bonds of sleepe, Without whose powre, and sweete dominion, Our life were Hell, and pleasure painfulnesse, The sting of enuie, and the dart of loue, Aarice talons, and the fire of hate: Would poison, wound, distract, and soone consume, The heart, the liuer life and minde of man; The Mower, that with rawnie armes, Wideth the crooked sithe, in many a swathe, Cutting the flowrie pride on the veluet plaine, Lies downe at night, and in the weaty folds Of his wiues armes, forgets his labour past, The painfull Marriner, and carefull Smith, The toyling Plowman, all Artificers, Most humbly yceld to my dominion, Without due rest, nothing is durable. Loe thus doth Somnus conquer all the world With his most awfull waud, and halfe the yeare Raignes ouer the best and proudest Emperours. Onely the nurslings of the Sisters nine,