Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1609 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels T46 Swords, quarrels and valour typicality 0.82 · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
I, sir. That may give you some light, to conceive of him: but 'tis nothing to the principal. Some false brother i' the house has furnished him strangely. Or, if it were out o' the house, it was TOM OTTER. Indeed, he's a Captain, and his wife is his kinswoman. He has got somebody's old two-hand-sword, to mow you off at the knees. And that sword hath spawned such a dagger!— but then he is so hung with pikes, halberds, petronels, calivers, and muskets, that he looks like a justice of peace's hall: a man of two thousand a year, is not 'sessed at so many weapons, as he has on. There was never fencer challenged at so many several foils. You would think he meant to murder all Saint PULCHRES parish. If he could but victual himself for half a year, in his breeches, he is sufficiently armed to overrun a country. Good lord, what means he, sir! I pray you, master TRVE-WIT, be you a mediator. Well, I'll try if he will be appeased with a leg or an arm, if not, you must die once. I would be loath to lose my right arm, for writing madrigals. Why, if he will be satisfied with a thumb, or a little finger, all's one to me. You must think, I'll do my best. Good sir, do. What hast thou done? He will let me do nothing, man, he does all afore me, he offers his left arm. His left wing, for a JACK DAW. Take it, by all means. How! Maim a man for ever, for a jest? what a conscience hast thou? 'Tis no loss to him: he has no employment for his arms, but to eat spoonmeat. Beside, as good maim his body as his reputation. He is a scholar, and a Wit, and yet he does not think so. But he loses no reputation with us, for we all resolved him an ass before. To your places again. I pray thee, let me be in at the other a little. Look, you'll spoil all: these be ever your tricks. No, but I could hit of some things that thou willt miss, and thou willt say are good ones. I warrant you. I pray forbear, I'll leave it off, else. Come away, CLERIMONT. Sir AMOROUS! Master TRVE-WIT. Whether were you going? down into the court, to make water. By no means, sir, you shall rather tempt your breeches. Why, sir? Enter here, if you love your life. Why! why! Question till your throat be cut, do: dally till the enraged soul find you. Who's that? DAW it is: will you in? I, I, I'll in: what's the matter? Nay, if he had been cool enough to tell us that, there had been some hope to atone you, but he seems so implacably enraged. 'Slight, let him rage. I'll hide myself.
nodes 970–1004 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 42 of 58 in this edition
Length
483 words · 677 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T46 — Swords, quarrels and valourcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.816 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T42 · seed 44: T42 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I, sir. That may giue you some light, to conceiue of him: but 'tis nothing to the principall. Some false brother i' the house has furnish'd him strangely▪ Or, if it were out o' the house, it was TOM OTTER. Indeed, hee's a Captayne, and his wife is his kinswoman. Hee has got some-bodies old two-hand-sword, to mow you off at the knees. And that sword hath spawn'd such a dagger!—but then he is so hung with pikes, halberds, peitronells, calliuers, and muskets, that he lookes like a Iustice of peace's hall: a man of two thousand a yeere, is not sess'd at so many weapons, as he has on. There was neuer fencer challeng'd at so many seuerall foiles. You would thinke hee meant to murder all Saint PVLCHRES parish. If hee could but victuall himselfe for halfe a yeere, in his breeches, hee is sufficiently arm'd to ouer-runne a countrie. Good lord, what meanes he, sir! I pray you, master TRVEWIT, be you a mediator. Well, I'll trie if he will be appeas'd with a leg or an arme, if not, you must die once. I would be loth to loose my right arme, for writing madrigalls. Why, if he will be satisfied with a thumb, or a little finger, all's one to me. You must thinke, I'll doe my best. Good sir, doe. What hast thou done? He will let me doe nothing, man, he do's all afore me, he offers his left arme. His left wing, for a IACK DAW. Take it, by all meanes. How! Maime a man for euer, for a iest? what a conscience hast thou? 'Tis no losse to him: he has no employment for his armes, but to eate spoone-meate. Beside, as good maime his body as his reputation. He is a scholler, and a Wit, and yet he do's not thinke so. But he looses no reputation with vs, for we all resolu'd him an asse before. To your places againe. I pray thee, let me be in at the other a little. Looke, you'll spoile all: these be euer your tricks. No, but I could hit of some things that thou wilt misse, and thou wilt say are good ones. I warrant you. I pray forbeare, I'll leaue it off, else. Come away, CLERIMONT. Sir AMOROVS! Master TRVE-WIT. Whether were you going? Downe into the court, to make water. By no meanes, sir, you shall rather tempt your breeches. Why, sir? Enter here, if you loue your life. Why! why! Question till your throat bee cut, doe: dally till the enraged soule find you. Who's that? DAW it is: will you in? I, I, I'll in: what's the matter? Nay, if hee had beene coole inough to tell vs that, there had beene some hope to attone you, but he seemes so implacably enrag'd. 'Slight, let him rage. I'll hide my selfe.