Neptune's Triumph for the Return of Albion · chunk 4 of 6
Jonson, Ben · published 1641 · first performed or written 1624 [Jan 6 (projected)] (Annals) masque · before the Court unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 469 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Here, Father. Bring forth the pot. It is an Olla Podrida, But I have persons, to present the meats. Persons! Such as do relish nothing, but di stato, (But in another fashion, than you dream of) Know all things the wrong way, talk of the affairs, The clouds, the cortines, and the mysteries That are a foot, and, from what hands they have'hem (The master of the Elephant, or the Camels) What correspondences are held; the Posts That go, and come, and know, almost, their minutes, All but their business: Therein, they are fishes. But ha' their garlic, as the Proverb says, They are our Quest of enquiry, after news. Together with their learned Authors? Yes Sir, And of the Epicoene gender, Hees, and she's: Amphibion Archy is the chief. Good boy! The Child is learned too. Note but the Kitchin. Have you put him, into the pot, for Garlic? One in his coat, shall stink as strong as he, Sir, And his friend Giblets with him. They are two, That give a part of the seasoning. I coneeive The way of your Gallimaufry. You will like it, When they come pouring out of the pot together. O, if the pot had been big enough! What than, Child? I had put in the Elephant, and one Camel, at lest, for Beef. But, whom ha'you for Partridge? A brace of Dwarves, and delicate plump birds! And whom for Mutton, and Kid? A fine laced Mutton, Or two; and either has her frisking Husband: That reads her the Coranto, every week. Grave Mr. Ambler, News-master of Paul's, Supplies your Capon; and grown Captain Buzz (His Emissary) under-writes for Turkey, A gentleman of the Forest presents Pheasant, And a plump Poulterer's wife, in Grace's street, Plays Hen with eggs i' the belly, or a Coney, Choose which you william. But, where's the Bacon, Thom? Hogrel the Butcher, and the Sow his wife, Are both there. It is well, go, dish'hem out. Are they well boiled? Podrida! What's that? rotten? O, that they must be. There's one main ingredient We have forgot, the Artichoke. Not Sir. I have a Fruiterer, with a cold read nose, Like a blue fig, performs it. The fruit looks so. Good child, go poure'hem out; show their concoction. They must be rotten boiled, the broth's the best on't, And that's the Dance. The stage here is the Charger. And Brother Poet, though the serious part Be yours, yet, envy not the Cook his art. Not I. Nam lusus ipse Triumphus amat. Well, now, expect the Scene itself; it opens! Look forth, the Shepherd of the Seas, And of the Ports, that keep'st the keys, And to your Neptune tell, His ALBION, Prince of all his Isles, For whom the sea, and land so smiles, Is home returned well.
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)
Here, Father. Bring forth the pot. It is an Olla Podrida, But I have perſons, to preſent the meates. Perſons! Such as doe reliſh nothing, but di ſtato, (But in another faſhion, then you dreame of) Know all things the wrong way, talke of the affaires, The clouds, the cortines, and the myſteries That are a foot, and, from what hands they have'hem (The maſter of the Elephant, or the Camels) What correſpondences are held; the Poſts That goe, and come, and know, almoſt, their minutes, All but their buſineſſe: Therein, they are fiſhes. But ha' their garlick, as the Proverb ſayes, They are our Queſt of enquiry, after newes. Together with their learned Authors? Yes Sir, And of the Epicoene gender, Hees, and Shees: Amphibion Archy is the chiefe. Good boy! The Child is learned too. Note but the Kitchin. Have you put him, into the pot, for Garlick? One in his coate, ſhall ſtinke as ſtrong as he, Sir, And his friend Giblets with him. They are two, That give a part of the ſeaſoning. I coneeive The way of your Gally-mawfrey. You will like it, When they come pouring out of the pot together. O, if the pot had beene big enough! What then, Child? I had put in the Elephant, and one Camel, at leaſt, for Biefe. But, whom ha'you for Partridge? A brace of Dwarfes, and delicate plump birds! And whom for Mutton, and Kid? A fine lac'd Mutton, Or two; and either has her frisking Husband: That reades her the Corranto, every weeke. Grave Mr. Ambler, Newes-maſter of Poules, Supplies your Capon; and growne Captaine BuZ (His Emiſſary) under-writes for Turky, A gentleman of the Forreſt preſents Pheſant, And a plump Poultrers wife, in Graces ſtreet, Playes Hen with egges i' the belly, or a Coney, Chooſe which you will. But, where's the Bacon, Thom? Hogrel the Butcher, and the Sow his wife, Are both there. It is well, goe, diſh'hem out. Are they well boyld? Podrida! What's that? rotten? O, that they muſt be. There's one maine ingredient We have forgot, the Artichoke. No Sir. I have a Fruicterer, with a cold red noſe, Like a blue fig, performes it. The fruit lookes ſo. Good child, goe poure'hem out; ſhew their concoction. They muſt be rotten boyld, the broth's the beſt on't, And that's the Dance. The ſtage here is the Charger. And Brother Poet, though the ſerious part Be yours, yet, envie not the Cooke his art. Not I. Nam luſus ipſe Triumphus amat. Well, now, expect the Scene it ſelfe; it opens! Looke forth, the Shepherd of the Seas, And of the Ports, that keep'ſt the keyes, And to your Neptune tell, His ALBION, Prince of all his Iſles, For whom the ſea, and land ſo ſmiles, Is home returned well.