Ford, John · published 1629 · first performed or written 1628 [licensed for stage, Nov 24] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Globe unassigned nearest T3 Sickness, physic and doctors · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
So Politicians thrive, That with their crabbed faces, and sly tricks Legerdemain, ducks, cringes, formal beards, Crisped hairs, and punctual cheats, do wriggle in Their heads first, like a Fox, to rooms of State, Than the whole body follows. Then they fill Lordships, steal women's hearts: with them and their's the world runs round, yet these are square men still. There are none poor, but such as engross offices. None wise; but unthrifts, bankrupts, beggars, Rascals. The hangman is a rare Physician. That's not so good, it shallbe granted. All the buzz of Drugs, and minerals and Simples, Blood-lettings, Vomits, Purges, or what else Is conjured up by men of Art, to gull Liege-people, and rear golden piles, are trash To a well-strong-wrought halter; there the Gout, The stone, yes and the Melancholy devil, Are cured in less time than a pair of minutes. Build me a Gallows in this very plot, And I'll dispatch your business. Fix the knot right under the left ear. Sirrah, make ready. Yet do not be too sudden, grant me leave, To give a farewell to a creature long Absented from me, 'tis a daughter (Sir) Snatched from me in her youth, a handsome girl, She comes to ask a blessing. Pray where is she? I cannot see her yet. she makes more haste In her quick prayers than her trembling steps, Which many griefs have weakened. Cruel man! How canst thou rip a heart, that's cleft already With injuries of time? whilst I am frantic, Whilst throngs of rude divisions huddle on, And do disrank my brains from peace, and sleep; So long I am insensible of cares. As balls of wildfire may be safely touched, Not violently sundered, and thrown up; So my distempered thoughts rest in their rage, Not hurried in the Air of repetition, Or memory of my misfortunes past. Then are my griefs struck home, When they are reclaimed, To their own pity of themselves— Proceed; What of your daughter now? I cannot tell ye, 'tis now out of my head again; my brains Are crazy; I have scarce slept one sound sleep These twelve months. 'las poor man; canst thou imagine To prosper in the task thou tak'st in hand, By practising a cure upon my weakness, And yet be no Physician for thyself? Go, go, turn over all thy books once more, And learn to thrive in modesty; for impudence Does least become a Scholar. Thou art a fool, A kind of learned fool. I do confess it. If thou canst wake with me, forget to eat, Renounce the thought of Greatness; tread on Fate; Sigh out a lamentable tale of things Done long ago, and ill done; and when sighs Are wearied, piece up what remains behind, With weeping eyes, and hearts that bleed to death: Thou shalt be a companion fit for me, And we will sit together like true friends, And never be divided. With what greediness Do I hug my afflictions? there's no mirth Which is not truly seasoned with some madness. As for example.—
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)
So Polititians thriue, That with their crabbed faces, and sly tricks Legerdemayne, ducks, cringes, formall beards, Crisp'd haires, and punctuall cheats, do wriggle in Their heads first, like a Foxe, to roomes of State, Then the whole body followes. Then they fill Lordships, steale womens hearts: with them and their's the world runnes round, yet these are square men still. There are none poore, but such as ingrosse offices. None wise; but vnthrifts, bankrupts, beggers, Rascals. The hangman is a rare Phisician. Thats not so good, it shalbe granted. All the buz of Drugs, and Myneralls and Simples, Bloud-lettings, Vomits, Purges, or what else Is coniur'd vp by men of Art, to gull Liege-people, and reare golden piles, are trash To a well-strong-wrought halter; there the Coute, The stone, yes and the Melancholy deuill, Are cur'd in lesse time then a paire of minutes. Build me a Gallows in this very plot, And Ile dispatch your businesse. Fix the knot right vnder the left eare. Sirra, make ready. Yet doe not be too sudden, grant me leaue, To giue a farewell to a creature long Absented from me, tis a daughter (Sir) Snatcht from me in her youth, a handsome girle, Shee comes to aske a blessing. Pray where is shee? I cannot see her yet. Shee makes more haste In her quicke prayers then her trembling steppes, Which many griefes haue weakened. Cruell man! How canst thou rip a heart, that's cleft already With iniuries of time? whilst I am franticke, Whilst throngs of rude diuisions huddle on, And doe difranke my braines from peace, and sleepe; So long I am insensible of cares. As balls of wild-fire may be safely toucht, Not violently sundred, and throwne vp; So my distemper'd thoughts rest in their rage, Not hurryed in the Ayre of repetition, Or memory of my misfortunes past. Then are my griefes strooke home, When they are reclaym'd, To their owne pitty of themselues—Proceed; What of your daughter now? I cannot tell yee, Tis now out of my head againe; my braines Are crazie; I haue scarce slept one sound sleepe These twelue moneths. 'las poore man; canst thou imagine To prosper in the taske thou tak'st in hand, By practising a cure vpon my weakenesse, And yet be no Physician for thy selfe? Goe, goe, turne ouer all thy bookes once more, And learne to thriue in modesty; for impudence Does least become a Scholer. Thou art a foole, A kind of learned foole. I doe confesse it. If thou canst wake with me, forget to eate, Renounce the thought of Greatnesse; tread on Fate; Sigh out a lamentable tale of things Done long agoe, and ill done; and when sighes Are wearied, piece vp what remaines behind, With weeping eyes, and hearts that bleed to death: Thou shalt be a companion fit for me, And we will sit together like true friends, And neuer be deuided. With what greedinesse Doe I hug my afflictions? there's no mirth Which is not truly season'd with some madnesse. As for example.—