Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1610 (Annals) comedy · King's Men T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.71 · 505 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Troth, sir, I was speaking, Just, as your worship came here, of your worship. I pray you, speak for me to master Doctor. He shall do any thing. Doctor, do you hear? This is my friend, ABEL, an honest fellow, He lets me have good tobacco, and he does not Sophisticate it, with sack-lees, or oil, Nor washes it in muscadel, and grains, Nor buries it, in gravel, under ground, Wrapped up in greasy leather, or pissed clouts: But keeps it in fine lily-pots, that opened, Smell like conserve of roses, or french beans. He has his maple block, his silver tongues, Winchester pipes, and fire of juniper. A neat, spruce-honest-fellow, and no goldsmith. he's a fortunate fellow, that I am sure on— Already, sir, ha' you found it? Lo'thee ABEL! And, in right way toward riches— Sir. This summer, He will be of the clothing of his company: And, next spring, called to the scarlet. Spend what he can. What, and so little beard? Sir, you must think, He may have a receipt, to make hair come. But he'll be wise, preserve his youth, and fine for't: His fortune looks for him, another way. 'Slid, Doctor, how canst thou know this so soon? I'm amused, at that! By a rule, Captain, In metaposcopy, which I do work by, A certain star i'the forehead, which you see not. Your chest-nut, or your oliue-coloured face Does never fail: and your long ear doth promise. I knew't, by certain spots too, in his teeth, And on the nail of his mercurial finger. Which finger's that? His little finger. Look. Yo'were borne upon a wensday? Yes, indeed, sir. The thumb, in chiromantie, we give VENUS; The forefinger to JOVE; the midst, to SATURN; The ring to SOL; the least, to MERCURY: Who was the lord, sir, of his horoscope, His house of life being Libra, which foreshowed, He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance. Why, this is strange! Is't not, honest NAB? There is a ship now, coming from Ormus, That shall yield him, such a commodity Of drugs— This is the west, and this the south? Yes, sir; And those are your two sides? I, sir. Make me your door, than south; your broad side, west: And, on the eastside of your shop, aloft, Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat; Upon the north-part, Rael, Velel, Thiel. They are the names of those Mercurial spirits, That do fright flies from boxes. Yes, sir. And Beneath your threshold, bury me a loadstone To draw in gallants, that wear spurs: The rest, They'll seem to follow. That's a secret NAB! And, on your stall, a puppet, with a vice, And a court-fucus, to call city-dames. You shall deal much, with minerals. Sir, I have, At home, already— I, I know, you've arsnike, Vitriol, sal-tartre, argaile, alkaly, Cinoper: I know all. This fellow, Captain, Will come, in time, to be a great distiller, And give a say (I will not say directly, But very fair) at the philosophers' stone.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 555–630 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 8 of 40 in this edition
Length
505 words · 788 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.712 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
Troth, sir, I was speaking, Iust, as your worship came here, of your worship. I pray you, speake for me to master Doctor. He shall doe any thing. Doctor, doe you heare? This is my friend, ABEL, an honest fellow, He lets me haue good tabacco, and he do's not Sophisticate it, with sack-lees, or oyle, Nor washes it in muscadell, and graines, Nor buries it, in grauell, vnder ground, Wrap'd vp in greasie leather, or piss'd clouts: But keeps it in fine lilly-pots, that open'd, Smell like conserue of roses, or french beanes. He has his maple block, his siluer tongs, Winchester pipes, and fire of iuniper. A neate, spruce-honest-fellow, and no gold-smith. H'is a fortunate fellow, that I am sure on— Alreadie, sir, ha' you found it? Lo'thee ABEL! And, in right way to'ward riches— Sir. This summer, He will be of the clothing of his companie: And, next spring, call'd to the scarlet. Spend what he can. What, and so little beard? Sir, you must thinke, He may haue a receipt, to make haire come. But hee'll be wise, preserue his youth, and fine for't: His fortune lookes for him, another way. 'Slid, Doctor, how canſt thou know this ſo ſoone? I'am amus'd, at that! By a rule, Captaine, In metapoſcopie, which I doe worke by, A certaine ſtarre i'the fore-head, which you ſee not. Your cheſt-nut, or your oliue-colour'd face Do's neuer faile: and your long eare doth promiſe. I knew't, by certaine ſpots too, in his teeth, And on the naile of his mercurial finger. Which finger's that? His little finger. Looke. Yo'were borne vpon a wenſday? Yes, indeed, ſir. The thumbe, in chiromantie, we giue VENVS; The fore-finger to IOVE; the midſt, to SATVRNE; The ring to SOL; the leaſt, to MERCVRIE: Who was the lord, ſir, of his horoſcope, His houſe of life being Libra, which fore-ſhew'd, He ſhould be a merchant, and ſhould trade with ballance. Why, this is ſtrange! Is't not, honeſt NAB? There is a ſhip now, comming from Ormus, That ſhall yeeld him, ſuch a commoditie Of drugs— This is the weſt, and this the ſouth? Yes, ſir; And thoſe are your two ſides? I, ſir. Make me your dore, then ſouth; your broad ſide, weſt: And, on the eaſt-ſide of your ſhop, aloft, Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat; Vpon the north-part, Rael, Velel, Thiel. They are the names of thoſe Mercurial ſpirits, That doe fright flyes from boxes. Yes, ſir. And Beneath your threſhold, bury me a load-ſtone To draw in gallants, that weare ſpurres: The reſt, They'll ſeeme to follow. That's a ſecret NAB! And, on your ſtall, a puppet, with a vice, And a court-fucus, to call city-dames. You ſhall deale much, with mineralls. Sir, I haue, At home, alreadie— I, I know, you'haue arſnike, Vitriol, ſal-tartre, argaile, alkaly, Cinoper: I know all. This fellow, Captaine, Will come, in time, to be a great diſtiller, And giue a ſay (I will not ſay directly, But very faire) at the phioſophers ſtone.