Webster, John · published 1623 · first performed or written 1614 [1612-1614; revised 1617-23(?)] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.84 · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Let it be a new laid one, you were best: Hide me from him: Physicians are like Kings, They brook no contradiction. Now he begins to fear me, Now let me alone with him. How now, put off your gown? Let me have some forty urinals filled with Rose-water: He, and I'll go pelt one another with them, Now he begins to fear me: Can you fetch a frisk, sir? Let him go, let him go upon my peril: I find by his eye, he stands in awe of me, I'll make him, as tame as a Dormouse. Can you fetch your frisks, sir: I will stamp him into a cullis: Flay off his skin, to cover one of the Anatomies, This rogue hath set i'th' cold yonder, in barber-chirurgeon's hall: Hence, hence, you are all of you, like beasts for sacrifice, There's nothing left of you, but tongue, and belly, Flattery, and lechery. Doctor, he did not fear you throughly. True, I was somewhat too forward. Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgement Hath fall'n upon this Ferdinand? Knows your grace What accident hath brought unto the Prince, This strange distraction? I must feign somewhat: Thus they say it grew. You have heard it rumoured for these many years, None of our family dies, but there is seen The shape of an old woman, which is given By tradition, to us, to have been murdered By her Nephews, for her riches: Such a figure One night (as the Prince sat up late at's book) Appeared to him, when crying out for help, The gentlemen of's chamber, found his grace All on a cold sweat, altered much in face And language: Since which apparition, He hath grown worse, and worse, and I much fear He cannot live. Sir, I would speak with you. We'll leave your grace, Wishing to the sick Prince, our noble Lord, All health of mind, and body. You are most welcome: Are you come? so: this fellow must not know By any means I had intelligence In our Duchess death: For (though I counseled it,) The full of all th'engagement seemed to grow From Ferdinand: Now sir, how fares our sister? I do not think but sorrow makes her look Like to an oft-dyed garment: She shall now Taste comfort from me: why do you look so wildly? Oh, the fortune of your master here, the Prince Dejects you, but be you of happy comfort: If you'll do on thing for me, I'll entreat Though he had a cold tombstone o'er his bones, I'd make you what you would be. Any thing, Give it me in a breath, and let me sly to't: They that think long, small expedition win, For musing much o'th' end, cannot begin. Sir, will you come in to Supper? I am busy, leave me. What an excellent shape hath that fellow?
Blackfriars;Globe;Indoor Professional;Outdoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
tragedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 858 · TCP A14872 · DEEP 714
Edition role
Representative edition — used in the analysis
Position
nodes 2708–2770 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 39 of 47 in this edition
Length
480 words · 646 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.840 (cosine to the topic centroid)
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)
Let it be a new layd one, you were best: Hide me from him: Phisitians are like Kings, They brooke no contradiction. Now he begins to feare me, Now let me alone with him. How now, put off your gowne? Let me haue some forty vrinalls fill'd with Rose-water: He, and I'll go pelt one an other with them, Now he begins to feare me: Can you fetch a friske, sir? Let him go, let him go vpon my perrill: I finde by his eye, he stands in awe of me, I'll make him, as tame as a Dormouse. Can you fetch your friskes, sir: I will stamp him into a Cullice: Flea off his skin, to couer one of the Anotomies, This rogue hath set i'th'cold yonder, in Barber-Chyrurgeons hall: Hence, hence, you are all of you, like beasts for sacrifice, There's nothing left of you, but tongue, and belly, Flattery, and leachery. Doctor, he did not feare you throughly. True, I was somewhat to forward. Mercy vpon me, what a fatall iudgement Hath falne vpon this Ferdinand? Knowes your grace What accident hath brought vnto the Prince, This strange distraction? I must faigne somewhat: Thus they say it grew. You haue heard it rumor'd for these many yeares, None of our family dies, but there is seene The shape of an old woman, which is giuen By tradition, to vs, to haue bin murther'd By her Nephewes, for her riches: Such a figure One night (as the Prince sat vp late at's booke) Appear'd to him, when crying out for helpe, The gentlemen of's chamber, found his grace All on a cold sweate, alter'd much in face And language: Since which apparition, He hath growne worse, and worse, and I much feare He cannot liue. Sir, I would speake with you. We'll leaue your grace, Wishing to the sicke Prince, our noble Lord, All health of minde, and body. You are most welcome: Are you come? so: this fellow must not know By any meanes I had intelligence In our Duchesse death: For (though I counsell'd it,) The full of all th'ingagement seem'd to grow From Ferdinand: Now sir, how fares our sister? I do not thinke but sorrow makes her looke Like to an ot-'d garment: She shall now Tast comfort from me: why do you looke so wildely? Oh, the fortune of your master here, the Prince Deiects you, but be you of happy comfort: If you'll do on thing for me, I'll entreate Though he had a cold tombe-stone ore his bones, I'll'd make you what you would be. Any thing, Giue it me in a breath, and let me slie to't: They that thinke long, small expedition win, For mung much o'th'end, cannot begin. Sir, will you come in to Supper? I am busie, leaue me. What an excellent shape hath that fellow?