Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1610 (Annals) comedy · King's Men T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.72 · 501 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.
I will not refuse, brother. Que es esto, Sennores, que non se venga? Esta tardanza me mata! It is the Count come! The Doctor knew he would be here, by his art. En gallanta Madama, Don! gallantissima! Por tódos los dioses, la mas acabada Hermosura, que he visto en mi vida! Is't not a gallant language, that they speak? An admirable language! Is't not French? No, Spanish, sir. It goes like law-French, And that, they say, is the court-liest language. List, sir. El Sol ha perdido su lumbre, con el Resplandor, que tràe esta dama. Valga me dios! He'admires your sister. Must not she make curtsy? 'Ods will, she must go to him, man; and kiss him! It is the Spanish fashion, for the women To make first court. 'Tis true he tells you, sir: His art knows all. Por que no se acùde? He speaks to her, I think? That he does sir. Por el amor de dios, que es esto, que se tàrda? Nay, see: she will not understand him! Gull. Noddy. What say you brother? Ass, my sister, Go kiss him, as the cunning man would ha' you, I'll thrust a pin i' your buttocks else. O, no sir. Sennora mia, mi persona muy indigna esta Alle gar à tànta Hermosura. A peck of coals, or so, which is cold comfort, sir. O my voluptuous mind! I am justly punished. And so am I, sir. Cast from all my hopes— Nay, certainties, sir. By mine own base affections. O, the cursed fruits of vice, and lust! Good father, It was my sin. Forgive it. Hangs my roof Over us still, and will not fall, O justice, Upon us, for this wicked man! Nay, look, sir, You grieve him, now, with staying in his sight: Good sir, the noble man will come too, and take you, And that may breed a tragedy. I'll go. ay, and repent at home, sir. It may be, For some good penance, you may ha'it, yet, A hundred pound to the box at bedlam— Yes. For the restoring such as ha' their wits. I'll do't. I'll send one to you to receive it. Do. Is no projection left? All flown, or stinks, sir. Will nought be saved, that's good for medicine, thinkst thou? I cannot tell, sir. There will be, perhaps, Something, about the scraping of the shards, Will cure the itch: though not your itch of mind, sir. It shall be saved for you, and sent home. Good sir, This way: for fear the lord should meet you. FACE. I. Is he gone? Yes, and as heavily As all the gold he hoped for, were in his blood. Let us be light, though. ay, as balls, and bound And hit our heads against the roof for joy: There's so much of our care now cast away. Now to our Don. Yes, your young widow, by this time Is made a Countess, FACE: Sh' has been in travail Of a young heir for you.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2357–2438 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 32 of 40 in this edition
Length
501 words · 739 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.717 (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)
I will not refuse, brother. Que es esto, Sennores, que non se venga? Esta tardanza me mata! It is the Count come! The Doctor knew he would be here, by his art. En gallanta Madama, Don! gallantissima! Por tódos los dioses, la mas acabada Hermosura, que he visto en mi vida! Is't not a gallant language, that they speake? An admirable language! Is't not French? No, Spanish, sir. It goes like law-French, And that, they say, is the court-liest language. List, sir. El Sol ha perdido su lumbre, con el Resplandor, que tràe esta dama. Valga me dios! He' admires your sister. Must not shee make curtsie? 'Ods will, shee must goe to him, man; and kisse him! It is the Spanish fashion, for the women To make first court. 'Tis true he tells you, sir: His art knowes all. Por que no se acùde? He speakes to her, I thinke? That he do's sir. Por el amor de dios, que es esto, que se tàrda? Nay, see: shee will not vnderstand him! Gull. Noddy. What say you brother? Asse, my suster, Goe kusse him, as the cunning man would ha' you, I'll thrust a pinne i' your buttocks else. O, no sir. Sennora mia, mi persona muy indigna esta Alle gar à tànta Hermosura. A peck of coales, or so, which is cold comfort, sir. O my voluptuous mind! I am iustly punish'd. And so am I, sir. Cast from all my hopes— Nay, certainties, sir. By mine owne base affections. O, the curst fruits of vice, and lust! Good father, It was my sinne. Forgiue it. Hangs my roofe Ouer vs still, and will not fall, Ô iustice, Vpon vs, for this wicked man! Nay, looke, sir, You grieue him, now, with staying in his sight: Good sir, the noble man will come too, and take you, And that may breed a tragoedie. I'll goe. I, and repent at home, sir. It may be, For some good penance, you may ha'it, yet, A hundred pound to the boxe at Bet'lem— Yes. For the restoring such as ha' their wits. I'll do't. Ile send one to you to receiue it. Doe. Is no proiection left? All flowne, or stinks, sir. Will nought be sau'd, that's good for med'cine, thinkst thou? I cannot tell, sir. There will be, perhaps, Something, about the scraping of the shardes, Will cure the itch: though not your itch of mind, sir. It shall be sau'd for you, and sent home. Good sir, This way: for feare the lord should meet you. FACE. I. Is he gone? Yes, and as heauily As all the gold he hop'd for, were in his bloud. Let vs be light, though. I, as balls, and bound And hit our heads against the roofe for ioy: There's so much of our care now cast away. Now to our Don. Yes, your yong widdow, by this time Is made a Countesse, FACE: Sh' has beene in trauaile Of a yong heire for you.