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 0.79 · 525 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
'tis fit we should— Sir, we approve you learned, And since your skill can best discern the humours That are predominant, in bodies subject To alteration: tell us (pray) what devil This Melancholy is, which can transform Men into Monsters. You're yourself a Scholar, And quick of apprehension: Melancholy Is not as you conceive. Indisposition Of body, but the mind's disease. So Ecstasy, Fantastic Dotage, Madness, frenzy, Rupture, Of mere imagination differ partly From Melancholy, which is briefly this, A mere commotion of the mind, o'ercharged With fear and sorrow; first begot i'th' brain, The Seat of Reason, and from thence derived As suddenly into the Heart, the Seat Of our Affection. There are sundry kinds Of this disturbance. Infinite, it were More easy to conjecture every hour We have to live, then reckon up the kinds, Or causes of this anguish of the mind. Thus you conclude, that as the cause is doubtful, The cure must be impossible; and then Our Prince (poor Gentleman) is lost for ever, As well unto himself, as to his subjects. My Lord, you are too quick; thus much I dare Promise, and do, ere many minutes pass, I will discover whence his sadness is, Or undergo the censure of my ignorance. You are a Noble Scholar. For reward, You shall make your own demand. May I be sure? We both will pledge our truth. 'tis soon performed, That I may be discharged from my attendance At Court, and never more be sent for after: Or if I be, may Rats gnaw all my books, If I get home once, and come here again, Though my neck stretch a halter for't, I care not. Come, come, you shall not fear it. I'll acquaint ye With what is to be done, and you shall fashion it. My Lady does expect'ee, thinks all time Too slow till you come to her: wherefore young man, If you intend to love me, and me only, Before we part, without more circumstance Let us betrothe ourselves. I dare not wrong 'ee; You are too violent. Wrong me no more Than I wrong you: be mine, and I am yours: I cannot stand on points. Then to resolve All further hopes, you never can be mine, Must not, (and pardon though I say) you shall not. The thing is sure a Gelding— Shall not? well, You're best to prate unto my Lady now, What proffer I have made. Never, I vow. Do, do, 'tis but a kind heart of mine own, And ill luck can undo me.— Be refused? O scurvy.— Pray walk on, I'll overtake 'ee. What a greene-sickness-livered Boy is this! My Maidenhead will shortly grow so stale, That 'twill be mouldy: but I'll mar her market. Parthenophill past the way; prithee Kala Direct me to him. Yes, I can direct'ee: But you (Sir) must forbear. Forbear! I said so. Your bounty h'as engaged my truth; receive A secret, that will, as you are a man, Startle your Reason: 'tis but mere respect Of what I owe to thankfulness. (Dear Sir) The Stranger whom your courtesy received For Friend, is made your Rival.
nodes 1037–1117 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 36 in this edition
Length
525 words · 732 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.791 (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)
Tis fit we should—Sir, we approue you learn'd, And since your skill can best discerne the humours That are predominant, in bodies subiect To alteration: tell vs (pray) what diuell This Melancholy is, which can transforme Men into Monsters. Y'ar your selfe a Scholer, And quicke of apprehension: Melancholy Is not as you conceiue. Indisposition Of body, but the mindes disease. So Extasie, Fantastick Dotage, Madnesse, Phrenzey, Rupture, Of meere imagination differ partly From Melancholy, which is briefly this, A meere commotion of the minde, o're-charg'd With feare and sorrow; first begot i'th' braine, The Seate of Reason, and from thence deriu'd As suddenly into the Heart, the Seate Of our Affection. There are sundry kinds Of this disturbance. Infinite, it were More easie to coniecture euery houre We haue to liue, then reckon vp the kinds, Or causes of this anguish of the minde. Thus you conclude, that as the cause is doubtfull, The cure must be impossible; and then Our Prince (poore Gentleman) is lost for euer, As well vnto himselfe, as to his subiects. My Lord, you are too quick; thus much I dare Promise, and doe, ere many minutes passe, I will discouer whence his sadnesse is, Or vndergoe the censure of my ignorance. You are a Noble Scholer. For reward, You shall make your owne demand. May I be sure? We both will pledge our truth. Tis soone perform'd, That I may be discharg'd from my attendance At Court, and neuer more be sent for after: Or if I be, may Rats gnaw all my bookes, If I get home once, and come here againe, Though my necke stretch a halter for't, I care not. Come, come, you shall not feare it. Ile acquaint yee With what is to be done, and you shall fashion it. My Lady do's expect'ee, thinks all time Too slow till you come to her: wherefore young man, If you intend to loue me, and me onely, Before we part, without more circumstance Let vs betroth our selues. I dare not wrong 'ee; You are too violent. Wrong me no more Then I wrong you: be mine, and I am yours: I cannot stand on points. Then to resolue All further hopes, you neuer can be mine, Must not, (and pardon though I say) you shall not. The thing is sure a Gelding—Shall not? well, Y'are best to prate vnto my Lady now, What proffer I haue made. Neuer, I vow. Doe, doe, tis but a kind heart of mine owne, And ill lucke can vndoe me.—Be refus'd? O sciruy.—Pray walke on, Ile ouertake 'ee. What a greene-sickness-liuer'd Boy is this! My Maiden-head will shortly grow so stale, That'twill be mouldy: but Ile marre her market. Parthenophill past the way; prethee Kala Direct me to him. Yes, I can direct'ee: But you (Sir) must forbeare. Forbeare! I said so. Your bounty h'as ingag'd my truth; receiue A secret, that will, as you are a man, Startle your Reason: tis but meere respect Of what I owe to thankfulnesse. (Deare Sir) The Stranger whom your courtesie receiued For Friend, is made your Riuall.