Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) comedy · King's Men T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.81 · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
I do feel the fever Entering, in at mine ears; O, for a charm, To fright it hence. Come nearer: is this curl In his right place? or this? why is this higher Than all the rest? you ha' not washed your eyes, yet? Or do they not stand even i'your head? Where's your fellow? call her. NOW, St. Mark Deliver us: anon, she'll beat her women, Because her nose is red. I pray you, view This tire, forsooth: are all things apt, or no? One hair a little, here, stick out, forsooth. does 't so forsooth? and where was your dear sight When it did so, forsooth? what now? bird-eyed? And you, too? 'pray you both approach, and mend it. Now (by that light) I muse, yo'are not ashamed! ay, that have preached these things, so oft, unto you, Read you the principles, argued all the grounds, Disputed every fitness, every grace, Called you to counsel of so frequent dressings— More carefully, then of your fame, or honour) Made you acquainted, what an ample dowry The knowledge of these things would be unto you, Able, alone, to get you noble husbands At your return: and you, thus, to neglect it? Besides, you seeing what a curious nation Th'Italians are, what will they say of me? The English lady cannot dress herself; Here's a fine imputation, to our country! Well, go your ways, and stay, i'the next room. This fucus was too course too, it's no matter. Good-sir, you'll give 'em entertainment? The storm comes toward me. How does my VOLP? Troubled with noise, I cannot sleep; I dreamed That a strange fury entered, now, my house, And, with the dreadful tempest of her breath, Did cleave my roof asunder. Believe me, and I Had the most fearful dream, could I remember't— Out on my fate; I ha' given her the occasion How to torment me: she will tell me hers. methought, the golden mediocrity Polite, and delicate— O, if you do love me, No more; I sweat, and suffer, at the mention Of any dream: feel, how I tremble yet. Alas, good soul! the passion of the heart. Seed-pearl were good now, boiled with syrup of apples, Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills, Your elecampane root, mirobalanes— Ay me, I have ta'en a grasshopper by the wing. Burnt silk, and amber, you have muscadel Good i'the house— You will not drink, and part? No, fear not that. I doubt, we shall not get Some english saffron (half a dram would serve) Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints. bugloss, and barley-meal— she's in again, Before I feigned diseases, now I have one. And these applied, with a right scarlet-cloth— Another flood of words! a very torrent! Shall I, sir, make you a poultice? No, no, no; I'm very well: you need prescribe no more.
nodes 1483–1550 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 25 of 53 in this edition
Length
476 words · 705 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.808 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T3 · seed 44: T4 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I do feele the feuer Entring, in at mine eares; Ô, for a charme, To fright it hence. Come neerer: is this curle In his right place? or this? why is this higher Then all the rest? you ha' not wash'd your eies, yet? Or do they not stand euen i'your head? Where's your fellow? call her. NOW, St. MARKE Deliuer vs: anon, shee'll beate her women, Because her nose is red. I pray you, view This tire, forsooth: are all things apt, or no? One haire a little, here, stick out, forsooth. Do's 't so forsooth? and where was your deare sight When it did so, forsooth? what now? bird-ey'd? And you, too? 'pray you both approch, and mend it. Now (by that light) I muse, yo'are not asham'd! I, that haue preach'd these things, so oft, vnto you, Read you the principles, argu'd all the grounds, Disputed euery fitnesse, euery grace, Call'd you to counsell of so frequent dressings— More carefully, then of your fame, or honour) Made you acquainted, what an ample dowrie The knowledge of these things would be vnto you, Able, alone, to get you noble husbands At your returne: and you, thus, to neglect it? Besides, you seeing what a curious nation Th'Italians are, what will they say of me? The English lady cannot dresse her selfe; Here's a fine imputation, to our countrie! Well, goe your wayes, and stay, i'the next roome. This fucus was too course too, it's no matter. Good-sir, you'll giue'hem entertaynement? The storme comes toward me. How do's my VOLP? Troubled with noise, I cannot sleepe; I dreamt That a strange furie entred, now, my house, And, with the dreadfull tempest of her breath, Did cleaue my roofe asunder. Beleeue me, and I Had the most fearefull dreame, could I remember't— Out on my fate; I ha' giu'n her the occasion How to torment me: shee will tell me hers. Me thought, the golden mediocritie Polite, and delicate— O, if you doe loue me, No more; I sweat, and suffer, at the mention Of any dreame: feele, how I tremble yet. Alas, good soule! the passion of the heart. Seed-pearle were good now, boild with syrrope of apples, Tincture of gold, and corrall, citron-pills, Your elicampane roote, mirobalanes — Ay me, I haue tane a grasse-hopper by the wing. Burnt silke, and amber, you haue muscadell Good i'the house— You will not drinke, and part? No, feare not that. I doubt, we shall not get Some english saffron (halfe a dram would serue) Your sixteene cloues, a little muske, dri'd mints. Buglosse, and barley-meale— Shee's in againe, Before I fayn'd diseases, now I haue one. And these appli'd, with a right scarlet-cloth— Another floud of wordes! a very torrent! Shall I, sir, make you a poultise? No, no, no; I'am very well: you need prescribe no more.