Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T6 Money, debt and credit · 473 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T6: money, master, pound, law, lawyer, chain, gentleman, gold, pay, pray.
Your worship is a precious ass— What sayst thou? I do desire your worship, to make haste, sir. 'Tis done, 'tis done, I go. O, I shall burst; Let out my sides, let out my sides— Contain Your flux of laughter, sir: you know, this hope Is such a bait, it covers any hook. O, but thy working, and thy placing it! I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee: I never knew thee, in so rare a humour. Alas, sir, I but do, as I am taught; Follow your grave instructions; give 'em words; power oil into their ears: and send them hence. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment Is avarice, to itself? ay, with our help, sir. So many cares, so many maladies, So many fears attending on old age, Yea, death so often called on, as no wish Can be more frequent with 'em, their limbs faint, Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, All dead before them; yea, their very teeth, Their instruments of eating, failing them: Yet this is reckoned life! Nay, here was one, Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer! Feels not his gout, nor palsy, feigns himself Younger, by scores of years, flatters his age, With confident belying it, hopes he may With charms, like AESON, have his youth restored: And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate Would be as easily cheated on, as he, And all turns air! Who's that, there, now? a third? Close, to your couch again: I hear his voice. It is CORVINO, our spruce Merchant. Dead. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. Who's there? signor CORVINO! come most wished for! O, How happy were you, if you knew it, now! Why? what? wherein? The tardy hour is come, sir. He is not dead? Not dead, sir, but as good; He knows no man. How shall I do, then? Why, sir? I have brought him, here, a pearl. Perhaps, he has So much remembrance left, as to know you, sir; He still calls on you, nothing but your name Is in his mouth: Is your pearl orient, sir? Venice was never owner of the like. signor CORVINO. Hark. signor CORVINO. He calls you, step and give it him. he's here, sir, And he has brought you a rich pearl. How do you, sir? Tell him, it doubles the twelve carat. Sir, He cannot understand, his hearing's gone; And yet it comforts him, to see you— Say, I have a diamant for him, too. Best show't, sir, Put it into his hand; 'tis only there He apprehends: he has his feeling, yet. See, how he grasps it! 'las, good gentleman! How pitiful the sight is! Tut, forget, sir. The weeping of an heir should still be laughter, Under a visor. Why? am I his heir?
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)
Your worship is a precious asse— What say'st thou? I doe desire your worship, to make haste, sir. 'Tis done, 'tis done, I goe. O, I shall burst; Let out my sides, let out my sides— Contayne Your fluxe of laughter, sir: you know, this hope Is such a bait, it couers any hooke. O, but thy working, and thy placing it! I cannot hold; good rascall, let me kisse thee: I neuer knew thee, in so rare a humour. Alas, sir, I but doe, as I am taught; Follow your graue instructions; giue 'hem wordes; Powre oyle into their eares: and send them hence. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment Is auarice, to it selfe? I, with our helpe, sir. So many cares, so many maladies, So many feares attending on old age, Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish Can be more frequent with 'hem, their limbs faint, Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, All dead before them; yea, their very teeth, Their instruments of eating, fayling them: Yet this is reckon'd life! Nay, here was one, Is now gone home, that wishes to liue longer! Feeles not his gout, nor palsie, faines himselfe Yonger, by scores of yeeres, flatters his age, With confident belying it, hopes he may With charmes, like AESON, haue his youth restor'd: And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate Would be as easily cheated on, as he, And all turnes aire! Who's that, there, now? a third? Close, to your couch againe: I heare his voyce. It is CORVINO, our spruce Merchant. Dead. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. Who's there? SIgnior CORVINO! come most wisht for! O, How happy were you, if you knew it, now! Why? what? wherein? The tardie houre is come, sir. He is not dead? Not dead, sir, but as good; He knowes no man. How shall I doe, then? Why, sir? I haue brought him, here, a pearle. Perhaps, he has So much remembrance left, as to know you, sir; He still calls on you, nothing but your name Is in his mouth: Is your pearle orient, sir? Venice was neuer owner of the like. Signior CORVINO. Harke. Signior CORVINO. 'He calls you, step and giue it him. H'is here, sir, And he has brought you a rich pearle. How doe you, sir? Tell him, it doubles the twelfe caract. Sir, He cannot vnderstand, his hearing's gone; And yet it comforts him, to see you— Say, I haue a diamant for him, too. Best shew't, sir, Put it into his hand; 'tis onely there He apprehends: he has his feeling, yet. See, how he grasps it! 'Lasse, good gentleman! How pittifull the sight is! Tut, forget, sir. The weeping of an heire should still be laughter, Vnder a visor. Why? am I his heire?