Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1626 [Feb] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
Believe it Sir, That clothes do much upon the wit, as weather Does on the brain; and thence comes your proverb; The Tailor makes the man: I speak by experience Of my own Customers. I have had Gallants, Both Court and Country, would ha' fooled you up In a new suit, with the best wits, in being, And kept their speed, as long as their clothes lasted Handsome, and neat; but than as they grew out At the elbows again, or had a stain, or spot, They have sunk most wretchedly. What thou reportest, Is but the common calamity, and seen daily; And therefore you ' have another answering proverb: A broken sleeve keeps the arm back, 'Tis true, Sir. And thence we say, that such a one plays at peep-arm. Do you so? it is wittily said. I wonder, Gentlemen, And men of means will not maintain themselves Fresher in wit, I mean in clothes, to the highest. For he that's out o' clothes, is out o'fashion, And out of fashion, is out of countenance, And out o' countenance, is out o' Wit. Is not Rogue Haberdasher come? Yes, here, Sir. I ha' been without this half hour. Give me my hat. Put on my Girdle. Rascal, sits my Ruff well? In print. Slave. See yourself. Is this same hat O'the block passant? Do not answer me, I cannot stay for an answer. I do feel The powers of one and twenty, like a Tide Flow in upon me, and perceive an Heir, Can Conjure up all spirits in all circles, Rogue, Rascal, Slave, give tradesmen their true names, And they appear to 'em presently. For profit. Come, cast my cloak about me, I'll go see, This Office Thom, and be trimmed afterwards. I'll put thee in possession, my prime work! God's so: my Spurrier! put 'em on boy, quickly, I'had like to ha' lost my Spurs with too much speed. Good morning to my joy, My jolly Peniboy! The Lord, and the Prince of plenty! I come to see what richeses, Thou bearest in thy breeches, The first of thy one and twenty: What, do thy pockets jingle? Or shall we need to mingle Our strength both of foot, and horses! These fellows look so eager, As if they would beleaguer An Heir in the midst of his forces! I hope they be no Sergeants! That hung upon thy margins. This Rogue has the jowl of a jailor! O Founder, no such matter, My Spurrier, and my Hatter, My Linen man, and my Tailor. Thou shouldst have been brought in too, Shoemaker, If the time had been longer, and Thom Barber. How dost thou like my company, old Canter? Do I not muster a brave troop? all Billmen? Present your Arms, before my Founder here, This is my Founder, this same learned Canter! He brought me the first news of my father's death, I thank him, and ever since, I call him Founder, Worship him, boys, I'll read only the sums. And pass 'em straight.
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)
Belieue it Sir, That clothes doe much vpon the wit, as weather Do's on the braine; and thence comes your prouerbe; The Taylor makes the man: I ſpeake by experience Of my owne Cuſtomers. I haue had Gallants, Both Court and Countrey, would ha' fool'd you vp In a new ſuite, with the beſt wits, in being, And kept their ſpeed, as long as their clothes laſted Han'ſome, and neate; but then as they grew out At the elbowes againe, or had a ſtaine, or ſpot, They haue ſunke moſt wretchedly. What thou reportſt, Is but the common calamity, and ſeene daily; And therefore you 'haue another anſwering prouerbe: A broken ſleeue keepes the arme backe, 'Tis true, Sir. And thence wee ſay, that ſuch a one playes at peepe-arme. Doe you ſo? it is wittily ſayd. I wonder, Gentlemen, And men of meanes will not maintaine themſelues Freſher in wit, I meane in clothes, to the higheſt. For hee that's out o' clothes, is out o'faſhion, And out of faſhion, is out of countenance, And out o' countenance, is out o' Wit. Is not Rogue Haberdaſher come? Yes, here, Sir. I ha' beene without this halfe houre. Giue me my hat. Put on my Girdle. Raſcall, ſits my Ruffe well? In print. Slaue. See your ſelfe. Is this ſame hat O'the blocke paſſant? Doe not anſwer mee, I cannot ſtay for an anſwer. I doe feele The powers of one and twenty, like a Tide Flow in vpon mee, and perceiue an Heyre, Can Coniure vp all ſpirits in all circles, Rogue, Raſcall, Slaue, giue tradeſmen their true names, And they appeare to 'hem preſently. For profit. Come, caſt my cloake about me, I'll goe ſee, This Office Thom, and be trimm'd afterwards. I'll put thee in poſſeſſion, my prime worke! Gods ſo: my Spurrier! put 'hem on boy, quickly, I'had like to ha loſt my Spurres with too much ſpeed. Good morning to my Ioy, My iolly Peni-boy! The Lord, and the Prince of plenty! I come to ſee what riches, Thou beareſt in thy breeches, The firſt of thy one and twenty: What, doe thy pockets gingle? Or ſhall wee neede to mingle Our ſtrength both of foote, and horſes! Theſe fellows looke ſo eager, As if they would beleaguer An Heyre in the midſt of his forces! I hope they be no Serieants! That hang vpon thy margents. This Rogue has the Ioule of a Iaylor! O Founder, no ſuch matter, My Spurrier, and my Hatter, My Linnen man, and my Taylor. Thou ſhould'ſt haue beene brought in too, Shoomaker, If the time had beene longer, and Thom Barber. How do'ſt thou like my company, old Canter? Doe I not muſter a braue troupe? all Bill-men? Preſent your Armes, before my Founder here, This is my Founder, this ſame learned Canter! He brought me the firſt newes of my fathers death, I thanke him, and euer ſince, I call him Founder, Worſhip him, boyes, I'll read onely the ſummes. And paſſe 'hem ſtreight.