Marston, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) (?) T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.75 · 456 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
O Fie some lights, sirs fie, let there be no deeds of darkness done among us.— I so, so, pree Tyer-man set signior Snuff a fire, he's a choleric Gentleman, he will take Pepper in the nose instantly, fear not, fore Heaven I wonder they tolerate him so near the Stage. Faith Doricus, thy brain boil, keel it, keel it, or all the fat's in the fire: in the name of Phoebus, what merry Genius haunts thee today, thy lips play with Feathers. Troth they should pick straws before they should be idle, But why, but why dost thou wonder they dare suffer Snuff so near the Stage? O well recalled, marry Sir signior Snuff, monsieur Mew, and Cavaliero Blirt, are three of the most to be feared Auditors that ever— Pish for shame, stint thy idle chat. Nay dream whatsoever your fantasy swims on Phylomuse, I protest in the love you have procured me to bear your friend the Author, I am vehemently fearful, this threefold halter of contempt that chokes the breath of wit, these aforesaid tria sunt omnia, Knights of the Meaw will sit heavy on the skirts of his Scenes, if— If what? believe it Doricus his spirit, Is higher blooded than to quake and pant At the report of Skoffe's Artillery; Shall he be crestfallen, if some looser brain, In flux of wit uncivilly befilth His slight composures? shall his bosom faint If drunken Censure belch out sour breath, From Hatreds surfeit on his labour's front? Nay say some half a dozen rancorous breasts Should plant themselves on purpose to discharge Impostumed malice on his latest Scene Shall his resolve be struck through with the blirt, Of a goose breath? What imperfect borne? What short lived Meteor? what cold hearted Snow Would melt in dolour? cloud his mudded eyes Sink down his jaws, if that some juiceless husk Some boundless ignorance should on sudden shoot His gross knobbed burbolt, with that's not so good, Mew, blirt, ha, ha, light Chaffy stuff? Why gentle spirits what loose waving fane? What any thing would thus be screwed about With each slight touch of odd Phantasmatas? No let the feeble palsied lamer joints, Lean on opinions crutches, let the— Nay, nay, nay, heaven's my hope, I cannot smooth this strain, wits death I cannot, what a leprous humour Breaks from rank swelling of these bubbling wits? Now out upon'nt: I wonder what tight brain: Wrung in this custom to maintain Contempt 'gainst common Censure: to give stiff counterbuffs To crack rude scorn even on the very face Of better audience. 'slight is't not odious, Why hark you honest, honest Phylomuse (You that endeavour to endear our thoughts, To the composers spirit) hold this firm:
seed 43: T16 · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O Fie some lights, sirs fie, let there be no deeds of darknesse done among vs.—I so, so, pree thee Tyer-man set Sineor Snuffe a fier, he's a chollerick Gentleman, he will take Pepper in the nose instantly, feare not, fore Heauen I wonder they tollerate him so nere the Stage. Faith Doricus, thy braine boiles, keele it, keele it, or all the fatt's in the fire: in the name of Phoebus, what merry Genius haunts thee to day, thy lips play with Feathers. Troth they should pick straws before they should be idle, But why, but why doost thou wonder they dare suffer Snuffe so neere the Stage? O well recald, marry Sir sineor Snuffe, Mounsieur Mew, and Caualiero Blirt, are three of the most to bee fear'd Auditors that euer— Pish for shame, stint thy idle chatte. Nay dreame what-so-ere your fantasie swimmes on Phylomuse, I protest in the loue you haue procured mee to beare your friend the Author, I am vehemently fearefull, this threefold halter of contempt that choakes the breath of witte, these aforesaid tria sunt omnia, Knights of the Meaw will sitt heauie on the skirtes of his Sceanes, if— If what? beleeue it Doricus his spirit, Is higher blouded then to quake and pant At the report of Skoffes Artillery; Shall he be creast-falne, if some looser braine, In flux of witte vnciuely befilth His slight composures? shall his bosome faint If drunken Censure belch out sower breath, From Hatreds surfet on his labours front? Nay say some halfe a dozen rancorous breasts Should plant them-selues on purpose to discharge Impostum'd malice on his latest Sceane Shall his resolue be struck through with the blirt, Of a goose breath? What imperfect borne? What short liu'd Meteor? what cold harted Snow Would melt in dolor? cloud his mudded eyes Sinck downe his iawes, if that some iuicles husk Some boundlesse ignorance should on sudden shoote His grosse knob'd burbolt, with thats not so good, Mew, blirt, ha, ha, light Chaffy stuff? Why gentle spirits what loose wauing fane? What any thing would thus be skru'd about With each slight touch of od Phantasmatas? No let the feeble palseid lamer ioynts, Leane on opinions crutches, let the— Nay, nay, nay, Heauens my hope, I cannot smoth this straine, Witts death I cannot, what a leaprous humor Breaks from ranke swelling of these bubbling wits? Now out vp-pont: I wonder what tite braine: Wrung in this custome to mainetaine Contempt Gainst common Censure: to giue stiffe counter buffes To crack rude skorne euen on the very face Of better audience. Slight ist not odious, Why harke you honest, honest Phylomuse (You that indeauor to indeere our thoughts, To the composers spirit) hold this firme: