Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 486 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
I have, a little, studied physic; but, now, I'm all for music: save, i'the forenoons, An hour, or two, for painting. I would have A lady, indeed, t'have all, letters, and arts, Be able to discourse, to write, to paint, But principal (as PLATO holds) your music (And, so does wise PYTHAGORAS, I take it) Is your true rapture; when there is consent In face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed, Our sex's chiefest ornament. The Poet, As old in time, as PLATO, and as knowing, says that your highest female grace is silence. Which o'your Poets? PETRARCH? or TASSO? or DANTE? Guarini? ARIOSTO? ARETINE? CIECO di Hadria? I have read them all. Is every thing a cause, to my destruction? I think, I ha' two or three of'em, about me. The sun, the sea will sooner, both, stand still, Than her eternal tongue! nothing can scape it. Here's PASTOR FIDO— Profess obstinate silence, That's, now, my safest. All our English writers, I mean such, as are happy in th'Italian, Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly; Almost as much, as from Montaigne: He has so modern, and facile a vein, Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear. Your PETRARCH is more passionate, yet he, In days of sonneting, trusted 'em, with much: DANTE is hard, and few can understand him. But, for a desperate wit, there's ARETINE! Only, his pictures are a little obscene— You mark me not? Alas, my mind's perturbed. Why, in such cases, we must cure ourselves, Make use of our philosophy— O'y me. And, as we find our passions do rebel, Encounter 'em with reason; or divert 'em, By giving scope unto some other humour Of lesser danger: as, in politic bodies, There's nothing, more, doth overwhelm the judgement, And clouds the understanding, then too much Settling, and fixing, and (as't were) subsiding Upon one object. For the incorporating Of these same outward things, into that part, Which we call mental, leaves some certain faeces, That stop the organs, and, as PLATO says, Assassinates our knowledge. Now, the spirit Of patience help me. Come, in faith, I must Visit you more, a days; and make you well: Laugh, and be lusty. My good angel save me. There was but one sole man, in all the world, With whom I ere could sympathize; and he Would lie you often, three, four hours together, To hear me speak: and be (sometime) so rapt, As he would answer me, quite from the purpose, Like you, and you are like him, just. I'll discourse (And 't be but only, sir, to bring you asleep How we did spend our time, and loves, together, For some six years. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. For we were coaetanci, and brought up— Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me. GOd save you, Madam. Good sir. MOSCA? welcome, Welcome to my redemption. Why, sir?
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)
I haue, a little, studied physick; but, now, I'am all for musique: saue, i'the fore-noones, An houre, or two, for painting. I would haue A lady, indeed, t'haue all, letters, and artes, Be able to discourse, to write, to paint, But principall (as PLATO holds) your musique (And, so do's wise PYTHAGORAS, I take it) Is your true rapture; when there is concent In face, in voyce, and clothes: and is, indeed, Our sexes chiefest ornament. The Poet, As old in time, as PLATO, and as knowing, Say's that your highest female grace is silence. Which o'your Poets? PETRARCH? or TASSO? or DANTE? GVERRINI? ARIOSTO? ARETINE? CIECO di Hadria? I haue read them all. Is euery thing a cause, to my destruction? I thinke, I ha'two or three of'hem, about me. The sunne, the sea will sooner, both, stand still, Then her eternall tongue! nothing can scape it. Here's PASTOR FIDO— Professe obstinate silence, That's, now, my safest. All our English writers, I meane such, as are happy in th'Italian, Will deigne to steale out of this author, mainely; Almost as much, as from MONTAGNIE: He has so moderne, and facile a veine, Fitting the time, and catching the court-eare. Your PETRARCH is more passionate, yet he, In dayes of sonetting, trusted 'hem, with much: DANTE is hard, and few can vnderstand him. But, for a desperate wit, there's ARETINE! Onely, his pictures are a little obscene— You marke me not? Alas, my mind's perturb'd. Why, in such cases, we must cure our selues, Make vse of our philosophie— O'y me. And, as we find our passions doe rebell, Encounter 'hem with reason; or diuert 'hem, By giuing scope vnto some other humour Of lesser danger: as, in politique bodies, There's nothing, more, doth ouer-whelme the iudgement, And clouds the vnderstanding, then too much Settling, and fixing, and (as't were) subsiding Vpon one obiect. For the incorporating Of these same outward things, into that part, Which we call mentall, leaues some certaine faeces, That stop the organs, and, as PLATO sayes, Assassinates our knowledge. Now, the spirit Of patience helpe me. Come, in faith, I must Visit you more, a dayes; and make you well: Laugh, and be lusty. My good angell saue me. There was but one sole man, in all the world, With whom I ere could sympathize; and he Would lie you often, three, foure houres together, To heare me speake: and be (sometime) so rap't, As he would answere me, quite from the purpose, Like you, and you are like him, iust. I'le discourse (And 't be but only, sir, to bring you a-sleepe How we did spend our time, and loues, together, For some sixe yeeres. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. For we were coaetanci, and brought vp— Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me. GOd saue you, Madam. Good sir. MOSCA? welcom, Welcome to my redemption. Why, sir?