Jonson, Ben · published 1620 · first performed or written 1609 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels T46 Swords, quarrels and valour typicality 0.82 · 481 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
ay, 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-handsword 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 Pulehres 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 Tru-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 Iack 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 spoon-meat. Beside, as goods 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 somethings that thou wilt miss, and thou wilt say are good ones. I warrant you. I pray forbear, I'll leave it off, else. Come away, Clerimont. Sir Amorous! Master Tru-wit. Whither 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? ay, ay, 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.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 828–862 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 36 of 52 in this edition
Length
481 words · 671 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T46 — Swords, quarrels and valourcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.815 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
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 Captaine, 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, Peitroells, Calliuers, and Muskets, that hee 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 Foyles. You would think he meant to murder all Saint Pulehres Pariſh. If he could but victuall himſelfe for halfe a yeere, in his breeches, he is ſufficiently arm'd to ouer-runne a Countrie. Good Lord, what meanes he, Sir! I pray you Maſter Tru-wit, be you a Mediator? Well, I'll try if he will be appeas'd with a Legge or an Arme, if not you muſt die once. I would be loth to looſe my right Arme, for writing Madrigalls. Why, if hee will bee ſatisfied with a thumb, or a little finger, all's one to me. You muſt think, I'll do my beſt. Good Sir, doe. What haſt thou done? He will let me doe nothing, man, hee 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: hee has no employment for his Armes, but to eat ſpoone-meat. Beſide, as goods maime his bodie as his reputation. Hee is a Scholler, and a Wit, and yet hee 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 ſpoyle all: theſe be euer your tricks. No, but I could hit of ſomethings 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 Amorous! Maſter Tru-wit. Whither 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 be 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 hee ſeemes ſo implacably enrag'd. 'Slight, let him rage. I'll hide my ſelfe.