Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1610 (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T3 Sickness, physic and doctors · 490 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
What a brave language here is? next to canting? I'have another work; you never saw, son, That, three days since, past the Philosopher's wheel, In the lent heat of Athanor; and's become Sulphur o'nature. But 'tis for me? What need you? You have enough, in that is, perfect. O, but— Why, this is covetise! No, I assure you, I shall employ it all, in pious uses, Founding of colleges, and grammar schools, Marrying young virgins, building hospitals, And now, and then, a church. How now? Sir, please you, Shall I not change the filter? Marry, yes. And bring me the complexion of Glass B. Ha' you another? Yes, son, were I assured Your piety were firm, we would not want The means to glorify it. But I hope the best: I mean to tinct C. in sand-heat, tomorrow, And give him imhibition. Of white oil? No, sir, of red. F. is come over the helm too, I thank my Maker, in S. MARY'S bath, And shows lac Virgins. Blessed be heaven. I sent you of his faeces there, calcined. Out of that calx, I' ha' won the salt of MERCURY. By pouring on your rectified water? Yes, and reverberating in Athanor. How now? What colour says it? The ground black, sir. That's you crowes-head? Your cocks-comb's, is't not? No, 'tis not perfect, would it were the crow. That work wants something. (O, I looked for this. The hay is a pitching.) Are you sure, you loosed 'em I' their own menstrue? Yes, sir, and then married 'em, And put 'em in a Bolts-head, nipped to digestion, According as you bade me; when I set The liquour of MARS to circulation, In the same heat. The process, then, was right. Yes, by the token, sir, the Retort broke, And what was saved, was put into the Pelican, And signed with HERMES seal. I think 'twas so. We should have a new amalgama. (O, this ferret Is rank as any polecat.) But I care not. Let him e'en die; we have enough beside, In embryon. H has his white shirt on? Yes, sir, he's ripe for inceration: He stands warm, In his ash-fire. I would not, you should let Any die now, if I might counsel, sir, For luck's sake to the rest. It is not good. He says right. I, are you bolted? Nay, I know't, sir, I've seen th'ill fortune. What is some three ounces Of fresh materials? Is't no more? No more, sir, Of gold, t'amalgameamalgame, with some six of Mercury. Away, here's money. What will serve? Ask him, sir. How much? Give him nine pound: you may gi'him ten. Yes, twenty, and be cozened, do. There 'tis. This needs not. But that you will have it, so, To see conclusions of all. For two Of our inferior works, are at fixation. A third is in ascension. Go your ways. Ha' you set the oil of Luna in kemia?
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)
What a braue language here is? next to canting? I'haue another worke; you neuer ſaw, ſonne, That, three dayes ſince, paſt the Philoſophers wheele, In the lent heat of Athanor; and's become Sulphur o'nature. But 'tis for me? What need you? You haue inough, in that is, perfect. O, but — Why, this is couetiſe! No, I aſſure you, I ſhall employ it all, in pious vſes, Founding of colledges, and grammar ſchooles, Marrying yong virgins, building hoſpitalls, And now, and then, a church. How now? Sir, pleaſe you, Shall I not change the feltre? Mary, yes. And bring me the complexion of Glaſſe B. Ha' you another? Yes, ſonne, were I aſſur'd Your pietie were firme, we would not want The meanes to glorifie it. But I hope the beſt: I meane to tinct C. in ſand-heat, to morrow, And giue him imhibition. Of white oile? No, ſir, of red. F. is come ouer the helme too, I thanke my Maker, in S. MARIES bath, And ſhewes lac Virginis. Bleſſed be heauen. I ſent you of his faeces there, calcin'd. Out of that calx, I' ha' wonne the ſalt of MERCVRY. By powring on your rectified water? Yes, and reuerberating in Athanor. How now? What colour ſaies it? The ground black, ſir. That's you crowes-head? Your cocks-comb's, is't not? No, 'tis not perfect, would it were the crow. That worke wants ſome-thing. (O, I look'd for this. The hay is a pitching.) Are you ſure, you loos'd 'hem I' their owne menſtrue? Yes, ſir, and then married 'hem, And put 'hem in a Bolts-head, nipp'd to digeſtion, According as you bad me; when I ſet The liquor of MARS to circulation, In the ſame heat. The proceſſe, then, was right. Yes, by the token, ſir, the Retort brake, And what was ſau'd, was put into the Pellicane, And ſign'd with HERMES ſeale. I thinke 'twas ſo. We ſhould haue a new amalgama. (O, this ferret Is ranke as any pole-cat.) But I care not. Let him e'ene die; we haue enough beſide, In embrion. H ha's his white ſhirt on? Yes, ſir, Hee's ripe for inceration: He ſtands warme, In his aſh-fire. I would not, you ſhould let Any die now, if I might counſell, ſir, For lucks ſake to the reſt. It is not good. He ſaies right. I, are you bolted? Nay, I know't, ſir, I'haue ſeene th'ill fortune. What is ſome three ounces Of freſh materialls? Is't no more? No more, ſir, Of gold, t'amalgame, with ſome ſixe of Mercurie. Away, here's money. What will ſerue? Aske him, ſir. How much? Giue him nine pound: you may gi'him ten. Yes, twentie, and be coſſend, doe. There 'tis. This needs not. But that you will haue it, ſo, To ſee concluſions of all. For two Of our inferiour workes, are at fixation. A third is in aſcenſion. Goe your waies. Ha' you ſet the oile of Luna in kemia?