Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T6 Money, debt and credit · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T6: money, master, pound, law, lawyer, chain, gentleman, gold, pay, pray.
Yes. And thou use them skiruily. Dispatch, Get on thy gown. But, what, sir, if they ask After the body? Say, it was corrupted. I'll say, it stunk, sir; and was feign t' have it Coffined up instantly, and sent away. Any thing, what thou wilt. Hold, here's my will. Get thee a cap, a count-book, pen and ink, Papers afore thee; sit, as thou wert taking An inventory of parcels: I'll get up, Behind the curtain, on a stool, and hearken; Sometime, peep over; see, how they do look; With what degrees, their blood doth leave their faces! O, 'twill afford me a rare meal of laughter. Your Advocate will turn stark dull, upon it. It will take off his oratory's edge. But your Clarissimo, old round-back, he Will crump you, like a hog-louse, with the touch. And what CORVINO? O, sir, look for him, Tomorrow morning, with a rope, and a dagger, To visit all the streets; he must run mad. My Lady too, that came into the court, To bear false witness, for your worship— Yes, And kissed me 'fore the fathers; when my face Flowed all with oils. And sweat, sir. Why, your gold Is such another medicine, it dries up All those offensive savours! It transforms The most deformed, and restores 'em lovely, As 'twere the strange poetical girdle. JOVE Could not invent, t' himself, a shroud more subtle, To pass ACRISIUS guards. It is the thing Makes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty. I think, she loves me. Who? the lady, sir? she's jealous of you. Dost thou say so? Hark, There's some already. Look. It is the vulture: He has the quickest sent. I'll to my place, Thou, to thy posture. I am set. But, MOSCA, Play the artificer now, torture 'em, rarely. HOw now, my MOSCA? Turkey carpets, nine— Taking an inventory? that is well. Two suits of bedding, tissue— Where's the will? Let me read that, the while. So, set me down: And get you home. Is he come, now, to trouble us? Of cloth of gold, two more— Is it done, MOSCA? Of several velvets, eight— I like his care. Dost thou not hear? Ha? is the hour come, MOSCA? ay, now, they muster. What does the advocate here? Or this CORBACCIO? What do these here? MOSCA? Is his thread spun? Eight chests of linen— O, My fine dame WOULD-BEE, too! MOSCA, the will, That I may show it these, and rid 'em hence. Six chests of diaper, four of damask— There. Is that the will? Down-beds, and bolsters— Rare! Be busy still. Now, they begin to flutter: They never think of me. Look, see, see, see! How their swift eyes run over the long deed, Unto the name, and to the legacies, What is bequeathed them, there— Ten suits of hangings— ay, i'their garters, MOSCA. Now, their hopes Are at the gasp. MOSCA the heir! What's that?
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)
Yes. And thou vse them skiruily. Dispatch, Get on thy gowne. But, what, sir, if they aske After the body? Say, it was corrupted. I'le say, it stunke, sir; and was faine t' haue it Coffin'd vp instantly, and sent away. Any thing, what thou wilt. Hold, here's my will. Get thee a cap, a count-booke, pen and inke, Papers afore thee; sit, as thou wert taking An inuentory of parcels: I'le get vp, Behind the cortine, on a stoole, and harken; Sometime, peepe ouer; see, how they doe looke; With what degrees, their bloud doth leaue their faces! O, 'twill afford me a rare meale of laughter. Your Aduocate will turne stark dull, vpon it. It will take off his oratories edge. But your Clarissimo, old round-backe, he Will crumpe you, like a hog-louse, with the touch. And what CORVINO? O, sir, looke for him, To morrow morning, with a rope, and a dagger, To visite all the streetes; he must runne mad. My Lady too, that came into the court, To beare false witnesse, for your worship— Yes, And kist mee 'fore the fathers; when my face Flow'd all with oyles. And sweate, sir. Why, your gold Is such another med'cine, it dries vp All those offensiue sauors! It transformes The most deformed, and restores 'hem louely, As 'twere the strange poeticall girdle. IOVE Could not inuent, t' himselfe, a shroud more subtile, To passe ACRISIVS guardes. It is the thing Makes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty. I thinke, she loues me. Who? the lady, sir? Shee's iealous of you. Do'st thou say so? Harke, There's some already. Looke. It is the vulture: He has the quickest sent. I'le to my place, Thou, to thy posture. I am set. But, MOSCA, Play the artificer now, torture 'hem, rarely. HOw now, my MOSCA? Turkie carpets, nine— Taking an inuentory? that is well. Two sutes of bedding, tissew— Where's the will? Let me read that, the while. So, set me downe: And get you home. Is he come, now, to trouble vs? Of cloth of gold, two more— Is it done, MOSCA? Of seuerall vellets, eight— I like his care. Dost thou not heare? Ha? is the houre come, MOSCA? I, now, they muster. What do's the aduocate here? Or this CORBACCIO? What do these here? MOSCA? Is his thred spunne? Eight chests of linnen— O, My sine dame WOVLD-BEE, too! MOSCA, the will, That I may shew it these, and rid 'hem hence. Six chests of diaper, foure of damaske—There. Is that the will? Down-beds, and boulsters— Rare! Be busie still. Now, they begin to flutter: They neuer thinke of me. Looke, see, see, see! How their swift eies runne ouer the long deed, Vnto the name, and to the legacies, What is bequeath'd them, there— Ten sutes of hangings— I, i'their garters, MOSCA. Now, their hopes Are at the gaspe. MOSCA the heire! What's that?