Technogamia, or The Marriages of the Arts · chunk 32 of 64
Holyday, Barten · published 1618 · first performed or written 1618 [Feb 13] (Annals) comedy · at University unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Poeta, where's your man Melancholico? Faith, when I was coming hither, he was in a dump, and therefore I thinking him not fit to come to a banquet, left him behind me; and indeed that's his fault, he will not commonly be merry in company. Logicus, where's your man Phlegmatico? Faith, as I was coming, my Slaverer was at his Tobacco, but, I think, I made him smoke for his labour, and so would not let him come, for he would nothing but have spawled in your room, and have turned your stomachs. Well, remember this Phantastes. What? That you carry in the marchpane and not I, but I'll— What? ain't I the better man? Would supper were done: I'd bum you. What's the matter? Why, Sir, he's angry that I brought in the marchpane. Come, be mannerly. Why, sirrah, Choler, will you still be quarreling? You should let him be my man a little; faith I should be as froward as he; we two should have a bickering once a day. I would supper were done once for your sake. Why, sirrah, are you still grumbling? Come, friends, you are all welcome, we have made you stay here too-long for a little sorry cheer; come husband will you place the guests? Sit down, you know your places; sit down wife, bid them welcome. You are all heartily welcome, heartily welcome. Why, Musica, where are the Musicians? Here, Sir, here. Come on, play, feed you our ears, whilst we seed our bellies. O Happy state 'bove power of fate Which you, blessed Arts, enjoy! You were little Gods, If you fell not at odds, And did not yourselves annoy. But when pride does once tickle, It makes us too fickle And vain: Till some good Old-men Do temper us then, And bring us in tune again. Then learn of me Thus wise to be To have a yielding mind; With weather-cocke art To play well your part And turn with each strong wind. So you shall by prevention Escape all contention And jars: So you shall be secure, And never endure Th' affliction of Learned wars. O harmless feast With Mirth increased, Where Music and Love do meet! Where the Piper does find A more delicate wind To make his pipe sound more sweet: Whiles his stick does belabour The head of his Tabour amain. Where the Wine in the bouls, And every tongue rolls, Yet never disturbs the brain. Ioues Trojan boy Was no such joy, Nor all his Heavenly whores: There's no such delight By day or by night e'er felt by feigning wooers; As is the soft pleasure At such honest leisure To sport: When all are so merry, They sing till they're weary, And trip it in comely sort. Here, Logicus, you shall drink to Poeta, I accept your Proposition, Sir; Poeta, to set a Conclusion to our former dissensions, and to make a plain Demonstration of reconcilement, I drink to you.
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)
Poeta, where's your man Melancholico? Faith, when I was comming hither, hee was in a dump, and therefore I thinking him not fit to come to a banquet, left him behind me; and indeed that's his fault, hee will not commonly be merry in company. Logicus, where's your man Phlegmatico? Faith, as I was comming, my Slauerer was at his Tobacco, but, I thinke, I made him ſmoke for his labour, and ſo would not let him come, for hee would nothing but haue ſpawl'd in your roome, and haue turn'd your ſtomakes. Well, remember this Phantaſtes. What? That you carry in the march-pane and not I, but Ile— What? amn't I the better man? Would ſupper were done: I'd bumme you. What's the matter? Why, Sir, he's angrie that I brought in the marchpane. Come, be mannerly. Why, ſirrah, Choler, will you ſtill be quarrelling? You ſhould let him be my man a little; faith I ſhould be as froward as he; we two ſhould haue a bickering once a day. I would ſupper were done once for your ſake. Why, ſirrah, are you ſtill grumbling? Come, friends, you are all welcome, we haue made you ſtay here too-long for a little ſorry cheere; come husband will you place the gueſts? Sit downe, you know your places; ſit downe wife, bid them welcome. You are all heartily welcome, heartily welcome. Why, Muſica, where are the Muſicians? Here, Sir, here. Come on, play, feed you our eares, whilſt we ſeed our bellyes. O Happie state 'Boue pow'r of fate Which you, bleſt Artes, enioy! You were little Gods, If you fell not at ods, And did not your ſelues annoy. But when pride does once tickle, It makes vs too fickle And vaine: Till ſome good Old-men Do temper vs then, And bring vs in tune againe. Then learne of mee Thus wiſe to bee To haue a yeelding mind; With weather-cocke art To play well your part And turne with each ſtrong wind. So you ſhall by preuention Eſcape all contention And iars: So you ſhall be ſecure, And neuer endure Th' affliction of Learned wars. O harmleſſe feaſt With Mirth increaſt, Where Muſicke and Loue do meet! Where the Piper does find A more delicate wind To make his pipe ſound more ſweet: Whiles his ſticke does belabour The head of his Tabour Amaine. Where the Wine in the boules, And eu'ry tongue roules, Yet neuer diſturbs the braine. Ioues Troian boy Was no ſuch ioy, Nor all his Heau'nly whores: There's no ſuch delight By day or by night E're felt by feigning wooers; As is the ſoft pleaſure At ſuch honeſt leaſure To ſport: When all are ſo merry, They ſing till they're weary, And trippe it in comely ſort. Here, Logicus, you ſhall drinke to Poeta, I accept your Propoſition, Sir; Poeta, to ſet a Concluſion to our former diſſentions, and to make a plaine Demonſtration of reconcilement, I drinke to you.