Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1626 [Feb] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Who? The glory o'the Kitchen? that holds Cookery, A trade from Adam? quotes his broths, and salads? And swears he's not dead yet, but translated In some immortal crust, the past of Almonds? The same. He holds no man can be a Poet, That is not a good Cook, to know the palates, And several tastes o'the time. He draws all Arts Out of the Kitchen, but the Art of Poetry, which he concludes the same with Cookery. Tut, he maintains more heresies than that. He'll draw the Magisterium from a minced-pie, And prefer jellies, to your julips, Doctor. I was at an Olla Podrida of his making, Was a brave piece of cookery! at a funeral! But opening the potlid, he made us laugh, who'had wept all day! and sent us such a tickling Into our nostrils, as the funeral feast Had been a wedding-dinner. Gi'him allowance, And that but moderate, he will make a Siren Sing i'the Kettle, sand in an Arion, In a brave broth, and of a watery green, Just the Sea-colour, mounted on the back Of a grown Cunger, but, in such a posture, As all the world would take him for a Dolphin. he's a rare fellow, without question! but He holds some Paradoxes. I, and Pseudodoxes. Marry, for most, he's Orthodox i'the Kitchin. And knows the Clergies taste! I, and the Laities! You think not o'your time, we'll come too late, If we go not presently. Away than. Sirs, You must get o''is news, to store your Office, Who dines and sups i' the town? where, and with whom? 'Twill be beneficial: when you are stored; And as we like our fare, we shall reward you. A hungry trade, 'twill be. Much like D. Humphries, But, now and than, as th'wholesome proverb says, 'Twill obsonare famem ambulando. Shut up the Office: gentle brother Thomas. Brother, Nathaniel, I ha'the wine for you. I hope to see us, one day, Emissaries. Why not? 'Slid, I despair not to be Master! HOw now? I think I was borne under Hercules star! Nothing but trouble and tumult to oppress me? Why come you back? where is your charge? I ha' brought A Gentleman to speak with you? To speak with me? You know 'tis death for me to speak with any man. What is he? set me a chair. He's the Master Of the great Office. What? The Staple of News, A mighty thing, they talk Six thousand a year. Well bring your six in. Where ha' you left Pecunia? Sir, in Apollo, they are scarce set. Bring six. Here is the Gentleman. He must pardon me, I cannot rise, a diseased man. By no means, Sir, Respect your health, and ease. It is no pride in me! But pain, pain; what's your errand, Sir, to me? Broker, return to your charge, be Argus-eyed, Awake, to the affair you have in hand, Serve in Apollo, but take heed of Bacchus. Go on, Sir.
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)
Who? The glory o'the Kitchin? that holds Cookery, A trade from Adam? quotes his broths, and ſallads? And ſweares he's not dead yet, but tranſlated In ſome immortall cruſt, the paſt of Almonds? The ſame. He holds no man can be a Poet, That is not a good Cooke, to know the palats, And ſeuerall taſtes o'the time. He drawes all Arts Out of the Kitchin, but the Art of Poetry, which he concludes the ſame with Cookery. Tut, he maintaines more hereſies then that. He'll draw the Magiſterium from a minc'd-pye, And preferre Iellies, to your Iulips, Doctor. I was at an Olla Podrida of his making, Was a braue piece of cookery! at a funerall! But opening the pot-lid, he made vs laugh, who'had wept all day! and ſent vs ſuch a tickling Into our noſtrills, as the funerall feaſt Had bin a wedding-dinner. Gi'him allowance, And that but moderate, he will make a Syren Sing i'the Kettle, ſend in an Arion, In a braue broth, and of a watry greene, Iuſt the Sea-colour, mounted on the backe Of a growne Cunger, but, in ſuch a poſture, As all the world would take him for a Dolphin. Hee's a rare fellow, without queſtion! but He holds ſome Paradoxes. I, and Pſeudodoxes. Mary, for moſt, he's Orthodox i'the Kitchin. And knowes the Clergies taſt! I, and the Layties! You thinke not o'your time, we'll come too late, If we go not preſently. Away then. Sirs, You muſt get o'this newes, to ſtore your Office, VVho dines and ſups i' the towne? where, and with whom? 'Twill be beneficiall: when you are ſtor'd; And as we like our fare, we ſhall reward you. A hungry trade, 'twill be. Much like D. Humphries, But, now and then, as th'holeſome prouerb ſaies, 'Twill obſonare famem ambulando. Shut vp the Office: gentle brother Thomas. Brother, Nathaniel, I ha'the wine for you. I hope to ſee vs, one day, Emiſſaries. Why not? S'lid, I deſpaire not to be Maſter! HOw now? I thinke I was borne vnder Hercules ſtarre! Nothing but trouble and tumult to oppreſſe me? Why come you backe? where is your charge? I ha' brought A Gentleman to ſpeake with you? To ſpeake with me? You know 'tis death for me to ſpeake with any man. What is he? ſet me a chaire. He's the Maſter Of the great Office. What? The Staple of Newes, A mighty thing, they talke Six thouſand a yeere. Well bring your ſixe in. Where ha' you left Pecunia? Sir, in Apollo, they are ſcarce ſet. Bring ſixe. Here is the Gentleman. He muſt pardon me, I cannot riſe, a diſeas'd man. By no meanes, Sir, Reſpect your health, and eaſe. It is no pride in me! But paine, paine; what's your errand, Sir, to me? Broker, returne to your charge, be Argus-eyed, Awake, to the affaire you haue in hand, Serue in Apollo, but take heed of Bacchus. Goe on, Sir.