Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1629 [licensed for stage, Jan 19] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 459 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Bless you child, You'll make yourselves such. ' That your son mine host? He's all the sons I have Sir. Pretty boy! Goes he to school? O Lord, Sir, he prates Latin d 'twere a parrat, or a play. boy. Thou— commend'st him fitly. To the pitch, he flies, Sir, he'll tell you what is Latin for a looking-glass, beard-brush, rubber, or quick-warming pan. What's that? a wench, i'the Inn-phrase, is all these; A looking-glass in her eye, A beard-brush with her lips, A rubber with her hand, And a warming pan with her hips. This, in your scurrile dialect. But my Inn knows no such language. That's because, mine host, u doe professe the teaching him your selfe. Sir, I do teach him somewhat. By degrees, d with a funnell, I make shift to fill e narrow vessell, he is but yet, a bottell. O let him lose no time, though. Sir, he does not. And less his manners. I provide for those, too. me hither Franke, speake to the gentleman Latin: He is melancholy; say, I long to see him merry, and so would treat him. Subtristis visu' es esse aliquantulùm patri, Qui qui lautè excipere, etiam ac tractare gestit. Pulchro. Tell him, I fear it bodes us some ill luck, s too reseruednesse. Veretur pater, Ne quid nobis mali ominis apportet iste Nimis praeclusus vultus. Bellè. A fine child! u wou'not part with him, mine host? Who told you would not? I but ask you. And I answer. o whom? for what? To me, to be my Page. I know no mischief yet the child hath done, To deserve such a destiny. Why? Go down boy, And get your breakfast. Trust me, I had rather Take a fair halter, wash my hands, and hang him myself, make a clean riddance of him: then. What? Then dam him to that desperate course of life. Call you that desperate, which by a line Of institution, from our Ancestors, Hath been derived down to us, and received In a succession, for the noblest way Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms, Fair mien, discourses, civil exercise, And all the blazon of a Gentleman? Where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence, To move his body gracefuller? to speak His language purer? or to tune his mind, Or manners, more to the harmony of Nature Then, in these nurseries of nobility?— I that was, when the nursery's self, was noble And only virtue made it, not the market, That titles were not vented at the drum, Or common outcry; goodness gave the greatness, And greatness worship: Every house became An Academy of honour, and those parts— We see departed, in the practice, now, Quite from the institution.
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)
Blesse you child, You'l make your selues such. 'That your son mine host? He's all the sonnes I haue Sir. Pretty boy! Goes he to schoole? O Lord, Sir, he prates Latine d 'twere a parrat, or a play. boy. Thou— ommend'st him fitly. To the pitch, he flies, Sir, ee'l tell you what is Latine for a looking-glasse, beard-brush, rubber, or quick-warming pan. What's that? a wench, i'the Inn-phrase, is al these; A looking-glasse in her eye, A beard-brush with her lips, A rubber with her hand, And a warming pan with her hips. This, in your scurrile dialect. But my Inne owes no such language. That's because, mine host, u doe professe the teaching him your selfe. Sir, I doe teach him somewhat. By degrees, d with a funnell, I make shift to fill e narrow vessell, he is but yet, a bottell. O let him lose no time, though. Sir, he do's not. And lesse his manners. I prouide for those, too. me hither Franke, speake to the gentleman Latine: He is melancholy; say, ong to see him merry, and so would treat him. Subtristis vis' es esse aliquantulùm patri, ite lautè excipere, etiam a tractare getit. Pulchr. Tell him, I feare it bodes vs some ill luck, s too reseruednesse. Veretur paer, quid nobis mali ominis apportet iste mis praeclusus vultus. Bellè. A fine child! u wou'not part with him, mine host? Who told you ould not? I but aske you. And I answere. o whom? for what? To me, to be my Page. I know no mischiese yet the child hath done, To deserue such a destiny. Why? Go down boy, And get your break-fast. Trust me, I had rather Take a faire halter, wash my hands, and hang him My selfe, make a cleane riddance of him: then. What? Then dam him to that desperate course of life. Call you that desperate, which by a line Of institution, from our Ancestors, Hath beene deriu'd downe to vs, and receiu'd In a succession, for the noblest way Of breeding vp our youth, in letters, armes, Faire meine, discourses, ciuill exercise, And all the blazon of a Gentleman? Where can he learne to vault, to ride, to fence, To moue his body gracefuller? to speake His language purer? or to tune his minde, Or manners, more to the harmony of Nature Then, in these nourceries of nobility?— I that was, when the nourceries selfe, was nobl And only vertue made it, not the mercate, That titles were not vented at the drum, Or common out-cry; goodnesse gaue the greatnesse, And greatnesse worship: Euery house became An Academy of honour, and those parts— We see departed, in the practise, now, Quite from the institution.