Dekker, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [c.1606-1607] (Annals) history; allegory · Prince Henry's Men T35 Fools, wit and railing typicality 0.75 · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Put yourself, and your grief into my hands. Say ye? Put yourself & your grief into my hands. Are you a Doctor? your hands Sir, pray why? You know me not. Do you know yourself? your business▪ Are you a scholar? judge of that by these. (●…ool▪ Oh Sir, I have seen many heads under such That scarce had brains to line it: if you're a scholar, Me thinks you should know manners, by your leave Pray leave your name behind you. Sir. Name, Campeius. Campeius▪ umh: Campeius? a lucky planet strikes out this hour: Campeius Babyl●…, His name hath in her tables: on his forehead, Our Queen hath set her mark: it is a mould Fit to cast mischief in▪ none sooner rent A Church in two, then scholars discontent. I must not lose this Martin's nest,— once more You're happily met. This burr still hang on m●…▪ And you Sir. Tell me pray, did you never tast-I'me bold-did you Those clear & redolent fountains that do nourish, ne'er taste In vive and fresh humidity those p●…antss That grow on tother side (our opposites). Those that to us here, are th'Antipodes, Clean against us in grounds-you feel me-say ne'er drunk you of that 〈◊〉. Never. Never! I wish you had, I gather from your eyes, What your disease is▪ I ●…a been yourself, This was Campeius once (though not so learned) For I was bred (as you) in Fairy Land, A Country! well, but 'tis our country: and so, Good to breed beggars▪ She starves Arts: ●…artss fools, She sets up drinking rooms, & pulls down schools. So Sir. No more but lo Si●… this discover Palates not you. Yes. Nothing hath passed me I hope, against my country, or the State, That any you can take hold of. If they could, 'tis but mine ay, to your no. You're to sour: Unmellowed: you stand here in the shade, Out of the warmth of those blessed ripening beams,— Go to— I grieve that such a blossom— (razed, Sir, I know you not this thing which you have Affrights me: scholars of weak temper need To fear (as they on Sunbankes lie to read) Adders i'th' highest grass: these leaves but turned, Like willow sticks hard rubbed may kindle fire, Cities with sparks as small have oft been burned. Do you take me for a hangman? I would be loath, For any harsh tune that my tongue may warble, To have the instrument unstrung. You shall not: Welfare unto you. And to you. A word Sir: Bred in this country? Yes. I am no bird To break mine own nest down: what flight soever Your words make through this air (though it be troubled) Mine ear Sir, is no reaching Fowling piece What passes through it, kills: you may proceed, Perhaps you would wound that, I wish should bleed. You have th'advantage now, I put the longest weapon into your hands,
nodes 998–1072 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 17 of 43 in this edition
Length
491 words · 695 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T35 — Fools, wit and railingcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.750 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T9 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Put your selfe, and your griefe into my hands. Say yee? Put your selfe & your grief into my hands. Are you a Doctor? your hands Sir, pray why? You know me not. Do you know your selfe? your busines▪ Are you a scholler? Iudge of that by these. (ool▪ Oh Sir, I haue seene many heads vnder such That scarce had braines to line it: if y'are a scholler, Mee thinks you should know manners, by your leaue Pray leae your name behind you. Sir. Name, Campeius. Campeius▪ vmh: Campeius? a lucky plannet strikes out this houre: Campeius Babyl, His name hath in her tables: on his forehead, Our Queene hath set her marke: it is a mould Fit to cast mischeife in▪ none sooner rent A Church in two, then Schollers discontent. I must not loose this Martines nest,—once more Y'are happely met. This bur stil hang on m ▪ And you Sir. Tell me pray, did you neuer tast-I'me bold-did you Those cleere & redolent fountains that do norish, nee'r tast In viue and fresh humiditie those pants That grow on thother side (our opposites). Those that to vs here, are th'Antipodes, Cleane against vs in grounds-you feele me-say Ne're drunke you of tat . Neuer. Neuer! I wish you had, I gather from your eyes, VVhat your disease is▪ I a bin your selfe, This was Campeius once (tho not so learn'd) For I was bred (as you) in Fairy Land, A Country! well, but tis our country: and so, Good to breed beggers▪ Shee starues Arts: arts fools, Shee sets vp drinking roomes, & pulls downe schools. So Sir. No more but lo Si this discoure Pallats not you. Yes. Nothing hath passed me Ihope, against my countrey, or the State, That any you can take hold of. If they could, Tis but mine I, to your no. Y'are to sowre: Vnmellowed: you stand here in the shade, Out of the warmth of those blest ripening beames,— Goe to—I grieue that such a blossome—(raiz'd, Sir, I know you not this thing which you haue Affrights me: schollers of weake temper need To feare (as they on Sunbankes lie to read) Adders i'th highest grasse: these leaues but turn'd, Like willow stickes hard rub'd may kindle fire, Cities with sparkes as small haue oft beene burn'd. Doe you take me for a hangman? I would be loath, For any harsh tune that my tongue may warble, To haue the instrument vnstrung. You shall not: Welfare vnto you. And to you. A word Sir: Bred in this countrey? Yes. I am no bird To breake mine own neast downe: what ight soeuer Your words make through this ayre (tho it be trobled) Myne eare Sir, is no reaching Fowling piece What passes through it, kills: you may proceed, Perhaps you would wound that, I wish should bleed. You haue th'aduantage now, I put the longest weapon into your hands▪