Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1606-c.1608] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T35 Fools, wit and railing typicality 0.83 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
A Fool of thee: depart. I love thee better now, then ere I did. I hate thee worse. Why? Thou flatterest misery. I flatter not, but say thou art a Caitiff. Why dost thou seek me out? To vex thee. Always a Villain's Office, or a Fools. Dost please thyself in't? I. What, a Knave too? If thou didst put this sour cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou Dost it enforcedly: thou'dst Courtier be again Wert thou not Beggar: willing misery Outlives: incertain pomp, is crowned before: The one is filling still, never complete: The other, at high wish: best state Contentlesse, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, Content. Thou shouldst desire to dye, being miserable. Not by his breath, that is more miserable. Thou art a Slave, whom Fortunes tender arm With favour never clasped: but bred a Dog. Hadst thou like us from our first swath proceeded, The sweet degrees that this brief world affords, To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command'st: thou wouldst have plunged thyself In general Riot, melted down thy youth In different beds of Lust, and never learned The Icy precepts of respect, but followed The Sugared game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my Confectionarie, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men, At duty more than I could frame employment; That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves Do on the Oak, have with one Winter's brush Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare, For every storm that blows. I to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden: Thy Nature, did commence in sufferance, Time Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate Men? They never flattered thee. What hast thou given? If thou wilt curse; thy Father (that poor rag) Must be thy subject; who in spite put stuff To some shee-Begger, and compounded thee Poor Rogue, hereditary. Hence, be gone, If thou hadst not been borne the worst of men, Thou hadst been a Knave and Flatterer. Art thou proud yet? I, that I am not thee. I, that I was no Prodigal. I, that I am one now. Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I'd give thee leave to hang It. Get thee gone: That the whole life of Athens were in this, Thus would I eat it. here, I will mend thy Feast. First mend thy company, take away thyself. So I shall mend mine own, by ' th' lack of thine 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botched; If not, I would it were. What wouldst thou have to Athens? Thee thither in a whirlwind: if thou wilt, Tell them there I have Gold, look, so I have. here is no use for Gold. The best, and truest: For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.
nodes 1530–1598 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 26 of 35 in this edition
Length
490 words · 677 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T35 — Fools, wit and railingcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.829 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T58 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A Foole of thee: depart. I loue thee better now, then ere I did. I hate thee worſe. Why? Thou flatter'ſt miſery. I flatter not, but ſay thou art a Caytiffe. Why do'ſt thou ſeeke me out? To vex thee. Alwayes a Villaines Office, or a Fooles. Doſt pleaſe thy ſelfe in't? I. What, a Knaue too? If thou did'ſt put this ſowre cold habit on To caſtigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou Doſt it enforcedly: Thou'dſt Courtier be againe Wert thou not Beggar: willing miſery Out-liues: incertaine pompe, is crown'd before: The one is filling ſtill, neuer compleat: The other, at high wiſh: beſt ſtate Contentleſſe, Hath a diſtracted and moſt wretched being, Worſe then the worſt, Content. Thou ſhould'ſt deſire to dye, being miſerable. Not by his breath, that is more miſerable. Thou art a Slaue, whom Fortunes tender arme With fauour neuer claſpt: but bred a Dogge. Had'ſt thou like vs from our firſt ſwath proceeded, The ſweet degrees that this breefe world affords, To ſuch as may the paſſiue drugges of it Freely command'ſt: thou would'ſt haue plung'd thy ſelf In generall Riot, melted downe thy youth In different beds of Luſt, and neuer learn'd The Icie precepts of reſpect, but followed The Sugred game before thee. But my ſelfe, Who had the world as my Confectionarie, The mouthes, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men, At duty more then I could frame employment; That numberleſſe vpon me ſtucke, as leaues Do on the Oake, haue with one Winters bruſh Fell from their boughes, and left me open, bare, For euery ſtorme that blowes. I to beare this, That neuer knew but better, is ſome burthen: Thy Nature, did commence in ſufferance, Time Hath made thee hard in't. Why ſhould'ſt yu hate Men? They neuer flatter'd thee. What haſt thou giuen? If thou wilt curſe; thy Father (that poore ragge) Muſt be thy ſubiect; who in ſpight put ſtuffe To ſome ſhee-Begger, and compounded thee Poore Rogue, hereditary. Hence, be gone, If thou hadſt not bene borne the worſt of men, Thou hadſt bene a Knaue and Flatterer. Art thou proud yet? I, that I am not thee. I, that I was no Prodigall. I, that I am one now. Were all the wealth I haue ſhut vp in thee, I'ld giue thee leaue to hang It. Get thee gone: That the whole life of Athens were in this, Thus would I eate it. Heere, I will mend thy Feaſt. Firſt mend thy company, take away thy ſelfe. So I ſhall mend mine owne, by' th' lacke of thine 'Tis not well mended ſo, it is but botcht; If not, I would it were. What would'ſt thou haue to Athens? Thee thither in a whirlewind: if thou wilt, Tell them there I haue Gold, looke, ſo I haue. Heere is no vſe for Gold. The beſt, and trueſt: For heere it ſleepes, and do's no hyred harme.