Jonson, Ben · published 1609 · first performed or written 1597 [1597-1598; interpolations later] (Annals) comedy · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Marry? one is the rude barbarous crew, a people that have no brains, and yet grounded judgements, these will hiss any thing that mounts above their grounded capacities. But the other are worth the observation, i'faith. What be they? what be they? Faith a few Capricious gallants. Capricious? stay, that word's for me. And they have taken such a habit of dislike in all things, that they will approve nothing, be it never so conceited or elaborate, but sit dispersed, making faces, and spitting, wagging their upright ears and cry filthy, filthy. Simply uttering their own condition, and using their wried countenances in stead of a vice, to turn the good aspects of all that shall sit near them, from what they behold. O that's well said, lay them down, come sirs. Who plays, fellow juniper, Sebastian, Balthasar: somebody take them up, come. Ingle Valentine? Not I sir, I profess it not. Sebastian. Balthasar. Who? I? Come, but one bout, I'll give hem thee, i'faith. Why, here's Martino. Foe he, alas he cannot play a whit, man. That's all one: no more could you in stata quo prius, Martino, play with him, every man has his beginning and conduction. Will you not hurt me fellow Onion? Hurt thee, no? and I do, put me among potherbs, And chop me to pieces, come on? By your favour sweet bullies give them room, back, so, Martino, do not look so thin upon the matter. Ha, well played, fall over to my leg now? so, to your guard again, excellent, to my head now, make home your blow: spare not me, make it home, good, good a gain. Why how now Peter? God's so, Onion has caught a bruise. Couragio? be not capricious? what? Capricious? not I, I scorn to be capricious for a scratch, Martino must have another bout, come. No, no, play no more, play no more. Foe, 'tis nothing a philip, a device, fellow juniper prithee get me a plantain, I had rather play with one that had skill by half. By my troth, fellow Onion, 'twas against my will. Nay that's not so, 'twas against my head, But come, we'll ha' one bout more. Not a bout, not a stroke. No more, no more. Why I'll give you demonstration, how it came, Thou openest the dagger to falsify over with the back sword frick, and he interrupted, before he could fall to the close. No, no, I know best how it was better than any man here, I felt his play presently: for look you, I gathered upon him thus, thus do you see? for the double lock, and took it single on the head. He says very true, he took it single on the head. Come let's go. Here fellow Onion, here's a cobweb. How? a cobweb Martino, I will have another bout with you? S'wounds do you first break my head, and then give me a plaster in scorn? come to it, I will have a bout. God's my witness.
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)
Marry? one is the rude barbarous crue, a people that haue no braines, and yet grounded iudgements, theſe will hiſſe any thing that mounts aboue their grounded capacities. But the other are worth the obſeruation, I faith. What be they? what be they? Faith a few Caprichious gallants. Caprichious? ſtay, that word's for me. And they haue taken ſuch a habit of diſlike in all things, that they will approue nothing, be it neuer ſo conceited or elaborate, but ſit diſperſt, making faces, and ſpitting, wagging their vpright eares and cry filthy, filthy. Simply vttering their owne condition, and vſing their wryed countenances in ſtead of a vice, to turne the good aſpects of all that ſhall ſit neere them, from what they behold. O that's well ſayd, lay them downe, come ſirs. Who plaies, fellow Iuniper, Sebaſtian, Balthaſar: Some body take them vp, come. Ingle Valentine? Not I ſir, I profeſſe it not. Sebaſtian. Balthaſar. Who? I? Come, but one bout, Ile giue hem thee, I faith. Why, heres Martino. Foe he, alas he cannot play a whit, man. That's all one: no more could you in ſtata quo prius, Martino, play with him, euery man has his beginning and conduction. Will you not hurt me fellow Onion? Hurt thee, no? and I do, put me among pot-hearbs, And chop me to peeces, come on? By your fauor ſweet bullies giue them roome, back, ſo, Martino, do not looke ſo thin vpon the matter. Ha, well plaid, fall ouer to my legge now? ſo, to your guard againe, excellent, to my head now, make home your blow: ſpare not me, make it home, good, good a gaine. Why how now Peter? Gods ſo, Onion has caught a bruiſe. Couragio? be not caprichious? what? Caprichious? not I, I ſcorn to be caprichious for a ſcrach, Martino muſt haue another bout, come. No, no, play no more, play no more. Foe, tis nothing a philip, a deuiſe, fellow Iuniper prithee get me a Plantan, I had rather play with one that had skil by halfe. By my troth, fellow Onion, twas againſt my will. Nay that's not ſo, twas againſt my head, But come, weele ha one bout more. Not a bout, not a ſtroke. No more, no more. Why Ile giue you demonſtration, how it came, Thou openeſt the dagger to falſifie ouer with the back ſword frick, and he interrupted, before he could fall to the cloſe. No, no, I know beſt how it was better thē any man here, I felt his play preſently: for looke you, I gathered vpon him thus, thus do you ſee? for the double locke, and tooke it ſingle on the head. He ſayes very true, he tooke it ſingle on the head. Come lets go. Here fellow Onion, heres a cob-web. How? a cob-web Martino, I will haue another bout with you? S'wounds do you firſt breake my head, and then giue me a plaiſter in ſcorne? come to it, I will haue a bout. God's my witneſſe.