Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1610 (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil · 486 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
Shall not advance thee, better: no, nor faster. HAs he bit? Has he bit? And swallowed too, my Subtle. I ha' given him line, and now he plays, i'faith. And shall we twitch him? through both the gills. A wench is a rare bait, with which a man No soon's taken, but he straight firks mad. DOL, my lord Wha'ts'hum's sister, you must now Bear yourself statelike. O, let me alone. I'll not forget my race, I warrant you. I'll keep my distance, laugh, and talk aloud; Have all the tricks of a proud scurvy lady, And be as rude 'as her woman. Well said, Sanguine. But will he send his andirons? His jack too; And's iron shooing-horn: I ha' spoke to him. Well, I must not lose my wary gamester, yonder. O Monsieur Caution, that will not be gulled? ay, if I can strike a fine hook into him, now, The Temple-church, there I have cast mine angle. Well, pray for me. I'll about it. What, more gudgeons! DOL, scout, scout; stay FACE, you must go to the door: Pray god, it be my Anabaptist. Who is't, DOL? I know him not. He looks like a gold-end-man. God's so! 'tis he, he said he would send. What call you him? The sanctified Elder, that should deal For Mammon's jack, and andirons! Let him in. Stay, help me of, first, with my gown. Away madam, to your withdrawing chamber. Now, In a new tune, new gesture, but old language. This fellow is sent, from one negotiates with me About the stone, too; for the holy Brethren Of Amsterdam, the exiled Saints: that hope To raise their discipline, by it. I must use him In some strange fashion, now, to make him admire me. WHere is my drudge? Sir. Take away the recipient, And rectify your menstrue, from the phlegma. Then power it, o'the Sol, in the cucurbite, And let 'em macerate, together. Yes, sir. And save the ground? No. Terra damnata Must not have entrance, in the work. Who are you? A faithful Brother, if it please you. What's that? A Lullianist? a Ripley? Filius artis? Can you sublime, and dulcify? calcine? Know you the sapour pontic? sapour slipstick? Or, what is homogene, or heterogene? I understand no heathen language, truly. Heathen, you KNIPPER-DOLING? Is Ars sacra, Or Chrysopoeia, or Spagirica, Or the pamphysic, or panarchic knowledge, A heathen language? Heathen Greek, I take it. How? heathen Greek? All's heathen, but the Hebrew. Sirrah, my varlet, stand you forth, and speak to him Like a Philosopher: Answer, i'the language. Name the vexations, and the martyrizations Of metals, in the work. Sir, Putrefaction, Solution, Ablution, Sublimation, Cohobations, Calcination, Ceration, and Fixation. This is heathen Greek, to you, now? And when comes Vivification? After Mortification. What's Cohobation? 'T is the pouring on Your Aqua Regis, and then drawing him off, To the trine circle of the seven spheres.
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)
Shall not aduance thee, better: no, nor faster. HAs he bit? Has he bit? And swallow'd too, my SVBTLE. I ha' giu'n him line, and now he playes, I faith. And shall we twitch him? Thorough both the gills. A wench is a rare bait, with which a man No sooner's taken, but he straight firkes mad. DOL, my lord WHA'TS'HVMS sister, you must now Beare your selfe statelich. O, let me alone. I'll not forget my race, I warrant you. I'll keepe my distance, laugh, and talke aloud; Haue all the tricks of a proud sciruy ladie, And be as rude'as her woman. Well said, Sanguine. But will he send his andirons? His iack too; And's iron shooing-horne: I ha' spoke to him. Well, I must not loose my wary gamster, yonder. O Monsieur Caution, that will not be gull'd? I, if I can strike a fine hooke into him, now, The Temple-church, there I haue cast mine angle. Well, pray for me. I'll about it. What, more gudgeons! DOL, scout, scout; stay FACE, you must goe to the dore: 'Pray god, it be my Anabaptist. Who is't, DOL? I know him not. He lookes like a gold-end-man. Gods so! 'tis he, he said he would send. What call you him? The sanctified Elder, that should deale For MAMMONS iack, and andirons! Let him in. Stay, helpe me of, first, with my gowne. Away Ma-dame, to your with-drawing chamber. Now, In a new tune, new gesture, but old language. This fellow is sent, from one negotiates with me About the stone, too; for the holy Brethren Of Amsterdam, the exil'd Saints: that hope To raise their discipline, by it. I must vse him In some strange fashion, now, to make him admire me. WHere is my drudge? Sir. Take away the recipient, And rectifie your menstrue, from the phlegma. Then powre it, o'the Sol, in the cucurbite, And let'hem macerate, together. Yes, sir. And saue the ground? No. Terra damnata Must not haue entrance, in the worke. Who are you? A faithfull Brother, if it please you. What's that? A Lullianist? a Ripley? Filius artis? Can you sublime, and dulcefie? calcine? Know you the sapor pontick? sapor slipstick? Or, what is homogene, or heterogene? I vnderstand no heathen language, truely. Heathen, you KNIPPER-DOLING? Is Ars sacra, Or Chrysopoeia, or Spagirica, Or the pamphysick, or panarchick knowledge, A heathen language? Heathen Greeke, I take it. How? heathen Greeke? All's heathen, but the Hebrew. Sirah, my varlet, stand you forth, and speake to him Like a Philosopher: Answere, i'the language. Name the vexations, and the martyrizations Of mettalls, in the worke. Sir, Putrefaction, Solution, Ablution, Sublimation, Cohobations, Calcination, Ceration, and Fixation. This is heathen Greeke, to you, now? And when comes Viuification? After Mortification. What's Cohobation? 'T is the powring on Your Aqua Regis, and then drawing him off, To the trine circle of the ſeuen ſpheares.