Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1610 (Annals) comedy · King's Men T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.82 · 485 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.
Would she, sir? Fellow me. Stay, Lungs. I dare not, sir. How! Pray thee stay? She's mad, sir, and sent hither— Stay man, what is she? A lords sister, sir. (he'll be mad too. I warrant thee.) Why sent hither? Sir, to be cured. Why, rascal! Lo you. Here, sir. 'Fore-god, a BRADAMANTE, a brave piece. heart, this is a bawdy-house! I'll be burnt else. O, by this light, no. Do not wrong him. he's Too scrulous, that way. It is his vice. No, he's a rare physician, do him right. An excellent Paracelsian! and has done Strange cures with mineral physic. He deals all With spirits, he. He will not hear a word Of GALEN, or his tedious recipes. How now, Lungs! Softly, sir, speak softly. I meant To ha' told your worship all. This must not hear. No, he will not be gulled; let him alone. You're very right, sir, she is a most rare scholar; And is gone mad, with studying BRAUGHTONS' works. If you but name a word, touching the Hebrew, She falls into her fit, and will discourse So learnedly of genealogies, As you would run mad, too, to hear her, sir. How might one do t'have conference with her, Lungs? O, divers have run mad upon the conference. I do not know, sir: I am sent in haste, To fetch a viol. Be not gulled, sir MAMMON. Wherein? Pray ye, be patient. Yes, as you are. And trust confederate knaves, and bawds, and whores. You are too foul, believe it. Come, here, Ulen. One word. I dare not, in good faith. Stay, knave. he's extreme angry, that you saw her, sir. Drink that. What is she, when she's out of her fit? O, the most affablest creature, sir! so merry! So pleasant! she'll mount you up, like quicksilver, Over the helm; and circulate, like oil, A very vegetal: discourse of state, Of mathematics, bawdry, any thing— Is she no way accessible? no means, No trick, to give a man a taste of her— wit— Or so?— Ulen. I'll come to you again, sir. SURLY, I did not think, one o' your breeding Would traduce personages of worth. Sir EPICURE, Your friend to use: yet still, loath to be gulled. I do not like your philosophical bawds. Their stone is lechery enough, to pay for, Without this bait. 'Hart, you abuse yourself. I know the lady, and her friends, and means, The original of this disaster. Her brother H'as told me all. And yet, you ne'er saw her Till now? O, yes, but I forgot. I have (believe it) One o' the trecherou'st memories, I do think, Of all mankind. What call you her, brother? My lord— He wi' not have his name known, now I think on 't. A very treacherous memory! O' my faith— Tut, if you ha' it not about you, pass it, Till we meet next.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1238–1314 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 17 of 40 in this edition
Length
485 words · 751 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.821 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T3 · seed 44: T4 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Would ſhe, ſir? Follow me. Stay, Lungs. I dare not, ſir. How! 'Pray thee ſtay? She's mad, ſir, and ſent hether— Stay man, what is ſhee? A lords ſiſter, ſir. (Hee'll be mad too. I warrant thee.) Why ſent hether? Sir, to be cur'd. Why, raskall! Loe you. Here, ſir. 'Fore-god, a BRADAMANTE, a braue piece. Hart, this is a bawdy-houſe! I'll be burnt elſe. O, by this light, no. Doe not wrong him. H'is Too ſcrulous, that way. It is his vice. No, h'is a rare phyſitian, doe him right. An excellent Paracelſian! and has done Strange cures with minerall phyſicke. He deales all With ſpirits, he. He will not heare a word Of GALEN, or his tedious recipe's. How now, Lungs! Softly, ſir, ſpeake ſoftly. I meant To ha' told your worſhip all. This muſt not heare. No, he will not be gull'd; let him alone. Y'are very right, ſir, ſhee is a moſt rare ſchollar; And is gone mad, with ſtudying BRAVGHTONS workes. If you but name a word, touching the Hebrew, Shee falls into her fit, and will diſcourſe So learnedly of genealogies, As you would runne mad, too, to heare her, ſir. How might one doe t'haue conference with her, Lungs? O, diuers haue runne mad vpon the conference. I doe not know, ſir: I am ſent in haſt, To fetch a violl. Be not gull'd, ſir MAMMON. Wherein? 'Pray yee, be patient. Yes, as you are. And truſt confederate knaues, and bawdes, and whores. You are too foule, beleeue it. Come, here, Ulen. One word. I dare not, in good faith. Stay, knaue. H'is extreme angrie, that you ſaw her, ſir. Drinke that. What is ſhee, when ſhee's out of her fit? O, the moſt affableſt creature, ſir! ſo merry! So pleaſant! ſhee'll mount you vp, like quick-siluer, Ouer the helme; and circulate, like oyle, A very vegetall: diſcourſe of ſtate, Of mathematiques, bawdry, any thing— Is ſhee no way acceſſible? no meanes, No trick, to giue a man a taſt of her — wit — Or ſo? — Ulen. I'll come to you againe, ſir. SVRLY, I did not thinke, one o' your breeding Would traduce perſonages of worth. Sir EPICVRE, Your friend to vſe: yet ſtill, loth to be gull'd. I doe not like your philoſophicall bawdes. Their ſtone is lecherie inough, to pay for, Without this bait. 'Hart, you abuſe your ſelfe. I know the lady, and her friends, and meanes, The originall of this diſaſter. Her brother H'as told me all. And yet, you n'ere ſaw her Till now? O, yes, but I forgot. I haue (beleeue it) One o' the trecherou'ſt memories, I doe thinke, Of all mankind. What call you her, brother? My lord— He wi' not haue his name knowne, now I thinke on 't. A very trecherous memorie! O' my faith— Tut, if you ha' it not about you, paſſe it, Till we meet next.