Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1606 [1605-1606] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
ay, and gloves! Is this Your fearful tortoise? Now, sir POLL. we are even; For your next project, I shall be prepared: I am sorry, for the funeral of your notes, sir. 'Twere a rare motion, to be seen in Fleetstreet! ay, i'the term. Or Smithfield, in the fair. methinks, 'tis but a melancholic sight! Farewell, most politic tortoise. Where's my lady? Knows she of this? I know not, sir. inquire. O, I shall be the fable of all feasts; The freight of the gazetti; shipboy's tale; And, which is worst, even talk for ordinaries. My lady's come most melancholic, home, And says, sir, she will straight to sea, for physic. And I, to shun, this place, and climb for ever; Creeping, with house, on back: and think it well, To shrink my poor head, in my politic shell. AM I then like him? O, sir, you are he: No man can sever you. Good. But, what am I? 'Fore heaven, a brave Clarissimo, thou becomest it! Pity, thou wert not borne one. If I hold My made one, 'twill be well. I'll go, and see What news, first, at the court. Do so. My fox Is out on his hole, and, ere he shall re-enter, I'll make him languish, in his borrowed case, Except he come to composition, with me: ANDROGINO, CASTRONE, NANO. Here. Go, recreate yourselves, abroad; go, sport: So, now I have the keys, and am possessed. Since he will, needs, be dead, afore his time, I'll bury him, or gain by him. I'm his heir: And so will keep me, till he share at least. To cozen him of all, were but a cheat Well placed; no man would construe it a sin: Let his sport pay for't, this is called the foxtrap. THey say, the court is set. We must maintain Our first tale good, for both our reputations. Why? mine's no tale: my son would, there, have killed me. That's true, I had forgot: mine is, I am sure. But, for your will, sir. ay, I'll come upon him, For that, hereafter, now his Patron's dead. signor CORVINO! and CORBACCIO! sir, Much joy unto you. Of what? The sudden good, Dropped down upon you— Where? (And, none knows (how) From old VOLPONE, sir. Out, errant knave. Let not your too much wealth, sir, make your furious. Away, thou varlet. Why sir? Dost thou mock me? You mock the world, sir, did you not change wills? Out, harlot. O! belike you are the man, signor CORVINO? i'faith, you carry it well; You grow not mad withal: I love your spirit. You are not overleavened, with your fortune. You should ha' some would swell, now like a wine-fat, With such an Autumn— Did he gi'you all, sir? Avoid, you rascal. Troth, your wife has shown herself a very woman: but, you are well, You need not care, you have a good estate, To bear it out, sir, better by this chance. Except CORBACCIO have a share? Hence, varlet.
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, and gloues! Is this Your fearefull tortoyse? Now, sir POLL. we are euen; For your next proiect, I shall be prepar'd: I am sorry, for the funerall of your notes, sir. 'Twere a rare motion, to be seene in Fleet-street! I, i'the terme. Or Smithfield, in the faire. Me thinkes, tis but a melancholique sight! Farewell, most politique tortoyse. Where's my lady? Knowes shee of this? I know not, sir. Enquire. O, I shall be the fable of all feasts; The freight of the gazetti; ship-boyes tale; And, which is worst, euen talke for ordinaries. My lady's come most melancholique, home, And say's, sir, she will straight to sea, for physick. And I, to shunne, this place, and clime for euer; Creeping, with house, on backe: and thinke it well, To shrinke my poore head, in my politique shell. AM I then like him? O, sir, you are he: No man can seuer you. Good. But, what am I? 'Fore heau'n, a braue Clarissimo, thou becom'st it! Pitty, thou wert not borne one. If I hold My made one, 'twill be well. I'le goe, and see What newes, first, at the court. Doe so. My FOXE Is out on his hole, and, ere he shall re-enter, I'le make him languish, in his borrow'd case, Except he come to composition, with me: ANDROGINO, CASTRONE, NANO. Here. Goe, recreate your selues, abroad; goe, sport: So, now I haue the keies, and am possest. Since he will, needes, be dead, afore his time, I'le burie him, or gaine by him. I'am his heire: And so will keepe me, till he share at least. To cosen him of all, were but a cheat Well plac'd; no man would construe it a sinne: Let his sport pay for't, this is call'd the FOXE-trap. THey say, the court is set. We must maintaine Our first tale good, for both our reputations. Why? mine's no tale: my sonne would, there, haue kild me. That's true, I had forgot: mine is, I am sure. But, for your will, sir. I, I'le come vpon him, For that, hereafter, now his Patron's dead. Signior CORVINO! and CORBACCIO! sir, Much ioy vnto you. Of what? The sodaine good, Dropt downe vpon you— Where? (And, none knowes (how) From old VOLPONE, sir. Out, errant knaue. Let not your too much wealth, sir, make your furious. Away, thou varlet. Why sir? Do'st thou mocke me? You mocke the world, sir, did you not change wills? Out, harlot. O! belike you are the man, Signior CORVINO? 'faith, you carry it well; You grow not mad withall: I loue your spirit. You are not ouer-leauen'd, with your fortune. You should ha' some would swell, now like a wine-fat, With such an Autumne— Did he gi'you all, sir? Auoid, you rascall. Troth, your wife has shew'ne Her selfe a very woman: but, you are well, You neede not care, you haue a good estate, To beare it out, sir, better by this chance. Except CORBACCIO haue a share? Hence, varlet.