Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T52 Prodigals, portions and poor kin · 477 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T52: brother, father, uncle, cousin, son, poor, bread, old, given, master.
But am I sole heir? Without a partner, sir, confirmed this morning; The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry Upon the parchment. Happy, happy, me! By what good chance, sweet MOSCA? Your desert, sir; I know no second cause. Thy modesty Is loath to know it; well, we shall requite it. He ever liked your course, sir, that first took him. ay, oft, have heard him say, how he admired Men of your large profession, that could speak To every cause, and things mere contraries, Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law; That, with most quick agility, could turn, And return; make knots, and undo them; Give forked counsel; take provoking gold On either hand, and put it up: these men, He knew, would thrive, with their humility. And (for his part) he thought, he should be blessed To have his heir of such a suffering spirit, So wise, so grave, of so perplexed a tongue, And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce Lie still, without a fee; when every word Your worship but lets fall, is a chequeen! Who's that? one knocks, I would not have you seen, sir. And yet— pretend you came, and went in haste; I'll fashion an excuse. And, gentle sir, When you do come to swim, in golden lard, up to the arms, in honey, that your chin Is borne up stiff, with fatness of the flood, Think on your vassal; but remember me: I ha' not been your worst of clients. MOSCA— When will you have your inventory brought, sir? Or see a copy of the will? (anon) I'll bring 'em to you, sir. Away, be gone, Put business i' your face. Excellent, MOSCA! Come hither, let me kiss thee. Keep you still, sir. Here is CORBACCIO. Set the plate away, The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come. BEtake you, to your silence, and your sleep: Stand there, and multiply. Now, shall we see A wretch, who is (indeed) more impotent, Than this can feign to be; yet hopes to hop Over his grave. signor CORBACCIO! Yo' are very welcome, sir. How does your patron? Troth, as he did, sir, no amends. What? mends he? No, sir: he is rather worse. That's well. Where is he? Upon his couch, sir, newly fallen asleep. does he sleep well? No wink, sir, all this night, Nor yesterday, but slumbers. Good! He should take Some counsel of physicians: I have brought him An opiate here, from mine own Doctor— He will not hear of drugs. Why? I myself Stood by, while 't was made; saw all th'ingredients: And know, it cannot but most gently work. My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep. ay, his last sleep, if he would take it. Sir, He has no faith in physic. say you? say you?
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)
But am I sole heire? Without a partner, sir, confirm'd this morning; The waxe is warme yet, and the inke scarse drie Vpon the parchment. Happy, happy, me! By what good chance, sweet MOSCA? Your desert, sir; I know no second cause. Thy modestie Is loth to know it; well, we shall requite it. He euer lik'd your course, sir, that first tooke him. I, oft, haue heard him say, how he admir'd Men of your large profession, that could speake To euery cause, and things mere contraries, Till they were hoarse againe, yet all be law; That, with most quick agilitie, could turne, And re-turne; make knots, and vndoe them; Giue forked counsell; take prouoking gold On either hand, and put it vp: these men, He knew, would thriue, with their humilitie. And (for his part) he thought, he should be blest To haue his heire of such a suffering spirit, So wise, so graue, of so perplex'd a tongue, And loud withall, that would not wag, nor scarce Lie still, without a fee; when euery word Your worship but lets fall, is a cecchine! Who's that? one knocks, I would not haue you seene, sir. And yet—pretend you came, and went in haste; I'le fashion an excuse. And, gentle sir, When you doe come to swim, in golden lard, Vp to the armes, in honny, that your chin Is borne vp stiffe, with fatnesse of the floud, Thinke on your vassall; but remember me: I ha' not beene your worst of clients. MOSCA— When will you haue your inuentorie brought, sir? Or see a coppy of the will? (anon) I'le bring 'hem to you, sir. Away, be gone, Put businesse i' your face. Excellent, MOSCA! Come hither, let me kisse thee. Keepe you still, sir. Here is CORBACCIO. Set the plate away, The vulture's gone, and the old rauen's come. BEtake you, to your silence, and your sleepe: Stand there, and multiply. Now, shall wee see A wretch, who is (indeed) more impotent, Then this can faine to be; yet hopes to hop Ouer his graue. Signior CORBACCIO! Yo' are very welcome, sir. How do's your patron? Troth, as he did, sir, no amends. What? mends he? No, sir: he is rather worse. That's well. Where is he? Vpon his couch, sir, newly fall'n asleepe. Do's he sleepe well? No winke, sir, all this night, Nor yesterday, but slumbers. Good! He should take Some counsell of physicians: I haue brought him An opiate here, from mine owne Doctor— He will not heare of drugs. Why? I my selfe Stood by, while 't was made; saw all th'ingredients: And know, it cannot but most gently worke. My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleepe. I, his last sleepe, if he would take it. Sir, He ha's no faith in physick. 'Say you? 'say you?