Ford, John · published 1629 · first performed or written 1628 [licensed for stage, Nov 24] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Globe T3 Sickness, physic and doctors typicality 0.82 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Corax, the PRINCE's chief Physician; What business speeds his haste— Are all things well, Sir? Yes, yes, yes. Phew, you may wheel about, man, we know you're proud of your slovenry and practice, 'tis your virtue; the PRINCE's melancholy fit I presume holds still. So do thy knavery and desperate beggary. Aha: here's one will tickle the bandog. You must not go yet. I'll stay in spite of thy teeth. There lies my gravity: Do what thou darest, I stand thee. Mountebank, empirics, Quacksalvers, Mineralists, Wizards, alchemists, cast-Apothecaries, old Wives and Barbers, are all suppositors to the right Worshipful Doctor, as I take it. Some of ye are the head of your Art, & the horns too, but they come by nature; thou livest single for no other end, but that thou fearest to be a Cuckold. Have at thee; thou affectest railing only for thy health, thy miseries are so thick and so lasting; that thou hast not one poor denier to bestow on opening a vein. Wherefore to avoid a Pleurisy, thou'lt be sure to prate thyself once a month into a whipping, and bleed in the breech in stead of the arm. Have at thee again. Come. There, there, there; O brave Doctor. Let'em alone. Thou art in thy Religion an Atheist, in thy condition a Cur, in thy diet an Epicure, in thy lust a Goat, in thy sleep a Hog; thou tak'st upon thee the habit of a grave Physician, but art indeed an impostrous empiric. physicians are the bodies Cobblers, rather the Butchers of men's bodies; as the one patches our tattered clothes, so the other solders our diseased flesh. Come on. Tot, tot, hold him tot, hold him to't, tot, tot, tot. The best worth in thee, is the corruption of thy mind, for that only entitles thee to the dignity of a louse: a thing bred out of the filth and superfluity of ill humours: Thou bit'st anywhere; and any man who defends not himself with the clean linen of secure honesty; him thou darest not come near. Thou art Fortune's Idiot, Virtues Bankrupt, Times Dunghill, Manhood's Scandal, and thine own scourge. Thou wouldst hang thyself, so wretchedly miserable thou art; but that no man will trust thee with as much money as will buy a halter: and all thy stock to be sold, is not worth half as much as may procure it. Ha, ha, ha; this is flattery, gross flattery. I have employment for thee, and for ye all, Tut, these are but good morrows between us. Are thy bottles full? Of rich wine, let's all suck together. Like so many Swine in a trough. I'll shape ye all for a device before the Prince, we'll try how that can move him. He shall fret or laugh. Must I make one? Yes, and your feminine Page too. Thanks most egregiously. I will not slack my part. Wench, take my buckler.
nodes 346–377 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 36 in this edition
Length
490 words · 708 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.821 (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)
Corax, the Princes chiefe Physicion; What businesse speeds his haste— Are all things well, Sir? Yes, yes, yes. Phew, you may wheele about, man, wee know y'are proud of your slouenry and practice, tis your vertue; the Princes melancholy fit I presume holds still. So doe thy knauery and desperate beggery. Aha: here's one will tickle the ban-dog. You must not goe yet. Ile stay in spight of thy teeth. There lyes my grauity: Doe what thou darest, I stand thee▪ Mountebanck, Empricks, Quacksaluers, Mineralists, Wizards, Alchimists, cast-Apothecaries, old Wiues and Barbers, are all suppositors to the right Worshipfull Doctor, as I take it. Some of yee are the head of your Art, & the hornes too, but they come by nature; thou liuest single for no other end, but that thou fearest to be a Cuckold. Haue at thee; thou affect'st railing onely for thy health, thy miseries are so thicke and so lasting; that thou hast not one poore denier to bestow on opening a veine. Wherefore to auoide a Plurisie, thou't be sure to prate thy selfe once a month into a whipping, and bleed in the breech in stead of the arme. Haue at thee agen. Come. There, there, there; O braue Doctor. Let'em alone. Thou art in thy Religion an Atheist, in thy condition a Curre, in thy dyet an Epicure, in thy lust a Goate, in thy sleepe a Hogge; thou tak'st vpon thee the habit of a graue Phisition, but art indeed an impostrous Emperike. Physicions are the bodies Coblers, rather the Botchers of mens bodies; as the one patches our tatterd clothes, so the other solders our diseased flesh. Come on. Tot, tot, hold him tot, hold him toot, tot, tot, tot. The best worth in thee, is the corruption of thy minde, for that onely intitles thee to the dignity of a lowse: a thing bred out of the filth and superfluity of ill humours: Thou byt'st any where; and any man who defends not himselfe with the cleane linnen of secure honesty; him thou darest not come neere. Thou art Fortunes Ideot, Vertues Bankrupt, Times Dunghil, Manhoods Scandall, and thine owne scourge. Thou wouldst hang thy selfe, so wretchedly miserable thou art; but that no man will trust thee with as much money as will buy a halter: and all thy stocke to be sold, is not worth halfe as much as may procure it. Ha, ha, ha; this is flattery, grosse flattery. I haue imployment for thee, and for yee all, Tut, these are but good morrowes betweene vs. Are thy bottles full? Of rich wine, lets all sucke together. Like so many Swine in a trough. Ile shape yee all for a deuise before the Prince, Wee'le trie how that can moue him. He shall fret or laugh. Must I make one? Yes, and your feminine Page too. Thankes most egregiously. I will not slacke my part. Wench, take my buckler.