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 0.83 · 515 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
thou'rt an excellent fellow. Diabolo. O this lousy close-stool empirics, that will undertake all Cures, yet know not the causes of any disease. dog-leeches. By the four Elements I honour thee, could find in my heart to turn knave, and be thy flatterer. Sirrah, 'tis pity thoust not been a Scholar; thouart honest, blunt, and rude enough. O Conscience! But for thy Lord now, I have put him to't. He chafes hugely, fumes like a stew-pot; Is he not monstrously overgone in frenzy? Rhetias, 'tis not a madness, but his sorrow's Close griping grief, and anguish of the soul That torture him: he carries Hell on earth Within his bosom, 'twas a PRINCE's tyranny Caused his distraction, and a PRINCE's sweetness Must qualify that tempest of his mind. Corax, to praise thy Art, were to assure The misbelieving world, that the Sun shines, When 'tis in th'full Meridian of his beauty. No cloud of black detraction can eclipse The light of thy rare knowledge; henceforth casting All poor disguises off, that play in rudeness, Call me your servant: only for the present, I wish a happy blessing to your Labours; Heaven crown your undertakings; and believe me, Ere many hours can pass, at our next meeting, The bonds my duty owes, shall be full cancelled. Farewell— a shrewd-brain Whoreson, there's pith In his untoward plainness.— Now, the news! Worshipful Master Doctor, I have a great deal of I cannot tell what, to say t'ee; My Lord thunders: every word that comes out of his mouth, roars like a Cannon: the house shook once, my young Lady dares not be seen. We will roar with him, Trollio, if he roar. He has got a great Pole-axe in his hand, and fences it up and down the house, as if he were to make room for the Pageants. I have provided me a murrain for fear of a clap on the Coxcomb. No matter for the murrain, here's my Cap: Thus I will pull it down; and thus outstare him. The Physician is got as mad as my Lord.— O brave, a man of Worship. Let him come, Trollio, I will firk his Trangdido, And bounce, and bounce in metal, honest Trollio. He vapours like a Tinker, and struts like a juggler. There, there, there; look to your Right Worshipful, look to yourself. Show me the Dog, whose triple throated noise, Hath roused a Lion from his uncouth den, To tear the Cur in pieces. Stay thy paws, Courageous beast, else lo, the gorgeous skull, That shall transform thee, to that restless stone, Which Sisyphus rolls up against the hill; Whence tumbling down again, it, with his weight Shall crush thy bones, and puff thee into Air. Hold, hold thy conquering breath, 'tis stronger far Than Gunpowder and Garlic. If the Fates Have spun my thread, and my spent-clue of life Be now untwisted, let us part like friends. Lay up my weapon, Trollio, and be gone. Yes Sir, with all my heart.— This friend and I will walk, and gabble wisely. I allow the motion: On.
nodes 1547–1599 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 25 of 36 in this edition
Length
515 words · 754 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T3 — Sickness, physic and doctorscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.835 (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)
Thar't an excellent fellow. Diabolo. O this lousie close-stoole Empricks, that will vndertake all Cures, yet know not the causes of any disease. Dog-leaches. By the foure Elements I honor thee, coo'd finde in my heart to turne knaue, and bee thy flatterer. Sirra, tis pitty th'ast not been a Scholer; Th'art honest, blunt, and rude enough. O Conscience! But for thy Lord now, I haue put him too't. He chafes hugely, fumes like a stew-pot; Is he not monstrously ouergone in frenzy? Rhetias, tis not a madnesse, but his sorrow's Close griping griefe, and anguish of the soule That torture him: he carries Hell on earth Within his bosome, 'twas a Princes tyranny Caus'd his distraction, and a Princes sweetnes Must qualifie that tempest of his minde. Corax, to prayse thy Art, were to assure The misbeleeuing world, that the Sunne shines, When tis in th'full Meridian of his beauty. No cloud of blacke detraction can eclipse The light of thy rare knowledge; henceforth casting All poore disguises off, that play in rudenesse, Call me your seruant: onely for the present, I wish a happy blessing to your Labours; Heauen crowne your vndertakings; and beleeue me, Ere many houres can passe, at our next meeting, The bonds my duty owes, shall be full cancelled. Farwell—a shrewd-braine Whorson, there's pith In his vntoward plainenesse.— Now, the newes! Worshipfull Master Doctor, I haue a great deale of I cannot tell what, to say t'ee; My Lord thunders: euery word that comes out of his mouth, roares like a Cannon: the house shooke once, my young Lady dares not be seene. We will roare with him, Trollio, if he roare. He has got a great Poll-axe in his hand, and fences it vp and downe the house, as if he were to make roome for the Pageants. I haue prouided me a Murrion forfeare of a clap on the Coxcombe. No matter for the Murrion, here's my Cap: Thus I will pull it downe; and thus out-stare him. The Physicion is got as mad as my Lord.— O braue, a man of Worship. Let him come, Trollio, I will firke his Trangdido, And bounce, and bounce in metall, honest Trollio. Hee vapours like a Tinker, and struts like a Iuggler. There, there, there; looke to your Right Worshipfull, looke to your selfe. Show me the Dog, whose triple throated noyse, Hath rowzd a Lyon from his vncoth den, To teare the Curre in pieces. Stay thy pawes, Couragious beast, else lo, the gorgeous skull, That shall transforme thee, to that restlesse stone, Which Sysiphus roules vp against the hill; Whence tumbling downe againe, it, with his waight Shall crush thy bones, and puffe thee into Ayre. Hold, hold thy conqu'ring breath, tis stronger far Then Gun-powder and Garlike. If the Fates Haue spun my thred, and my spent-clue of life Be now vntwisted, let vs part like friends. Lay vp my weapon, Trollio, and be gone. Yes Sir, with all my heart.— This friend and I will walke, and gabble wisely. I allow the motion: On.