Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1626 [Feb] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
With all your fly-blown projects, And looks out of the politics, your shut-faces, And reserved Questions, and Answers that you game with, As Is't a Clear business? will it manage well? My name must not be used else. Here, 'twill dash. Your business has received a taint, give of, I may not prostitute myself. Tut, tut, That little dust I can blow of, at pleasure. Here's no such mountain, yet, i'the whole work! But a light purse may level. I will tied This affair for you; give it freight, and passage. And such mint-phrase, as 'tis the worst of canting, By how much it affects the sense, it has not. This is some other than he seems! How like you him? This cannot be a Canter! But he is, Sir, And shall be still, and so shall you be too: We'll all be Canters. Now, I think of it, A noble whimsy's come into my brain! I'll build a College, I, and my Pecunia, And call it Canter's College, sounds it well? Excellent! And here stands my Father Rector, And you Professors, you shall all profess Something, and live there, with her Grace and me, Your Founders: I'll endowed with lands, and means, And Lickfinger shall be my Master-cook. What? is he gone? And a Professor. Yes. And read Apicius de reculinaria To your brave Doxy, and you! You, Cousin Fitton, Shall (as a Courtier) read the politics; Doctor Almanac, he shall read Astrology, Shunfield shall read the Military Arts. As carving, and assaulting the cold custard. And Horace here, the Art of Poetry. His Lyrics, and his Madrigals, fine Songs, Which we will have at dinner, steeped in claret, And against supper, soused in sack. In troth A divine Whimsy! And a worthy work, Fit for a Chronicle! Is't not? To all ages. And Pied-mantle, shall give us all our Arms, But Picklock, what wouldst thou be? Thou canst cant too. In all the languages in Westminster-Hall, Pleas, Bench, or Chancery. Fee-farm, Fee-tail, Tenant in dower, At will, For Term of life, By Copy of Court Roll, Knight's service, Homage, Fealty, Escuage, Soccage, or Frank almoigne, Grand Sergeanty, or Burgages. Thou appear'st, a Canter. Thou shalt read All Littleton's tenors to me, and indeed All my Conveyances. And make 'em too, Sir? Keep all your Courts, be Steward o'your lands, Let all your Leases, keep your Evidences, But first, I must procure, and pass your mortmain You must have licence from above, Sir. Fear not, Pecunia's friends shall do it. But I shall stop it. Your worship's loving, and obedient father, Your painful Steward, and lost Officer! Who have done this, to try how you would use Pecunia, when you had her: which since I see, I will take home the Lady, to my charge, And these her servants, and leave you my Cloak, To travel in to Beggar's Bush! A Seat, Is built already, furnished too, worth twenty Of your imagined structures, Canter's College. 'Tis his Father! he's alive, me thinks. I knew he was no Rogue!
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)
With all your fly-blowne proiects, And lookes out of the politicks, your ſhut-faces, And reſeru'd Queſtions, and Anſwers that you game with, As Is't a Cleare buſineſſe? will it mannage well? My name muſt not be vs'd elſe. Here, 'twill daſh. Your buſineſſe has receiu'd a taint, giue off, I may not proſtitute my ſelfe. Tut, tut, That little duſt I can blow off, at pleaſure. Here's no ſuch mountaine, yet, i'the whole worke! But a light purſe may leuell. I will tyde This affayre for you; giue it freight, and paſſage. And ſuch mynt-phraſe, as 'tis the worſt of canting, By how much it affects the ſenſe, it has not. This is ſome other then he ſeemes! How like you him? This cannot be a Canter! But he is, Sir, And ſhall be ſtill, and ſo ſhall you be too: We'll all be Canters. Now, I thinke of it, A noble Whimſie's come into my braine! I'll build a Colledge, I, and my Pecunia, And call it Canters Colledge, ſounds it well? Excellent! And here ſtands my Father Rector, And you Profeſſors, you ſhall all profeſſe Something, and liue there, with her Grace and me, Your Founders: I'll endow't with lands, and meanes, And Lickfinger ſhall be my Maſter-Cooke. What? is he gone? And a Profeſſor. Yes. And read Apicius de reculinaria To your braue Doxi, and you! You, Couſin Fitton, Shall (as a Courtier) read the politicks; Doctor Al-manack, hee ſhall read Aſtrology, Shunfield ſhall read the Military Arts. As caruing, and aſſaulting the cold cuſtard. And Horace here, the Art of Poetry. His Lyricks, and his Madrigalls, fine Songs, Which we will haue at dinner, ſteept in claret, And againſt ſupper, ſowc't in ſacke. In troth A diuine Whimſey! And a worthy worke, Fit for a Chronicle! Is't not? To all ages. And Pyed-mantle, ſhall giue vs all our Armes, But Picklocke, what wouldſt thou be? Thou canſt cant too. In all the languages in Weſtminſter-Hall, Pleas, Bench, or Chancery. Fee-Farme, Fee-Tayle, Tennant in dower, At will, For Terme of life, By Copy of Court Roll, Knights ſeruice, Homage, Fealty, Eſcuage, Soccage, or Frank almoigne, Grand Sergeanty, or Burgage. Thou appear'ſt, a Canter. Thou ſhalt read All Littletons tenures to me, and indeed All my Conueyances. And make 'hem too, Sir? Keepe all your Courts, be Steward o'your lands, Let all your Leaſes, keepe your Euidences, But firſt, I muſt procure, and paſſe your mort-maine You muſt haue licence from aboue, Sir. Feare not, Pecunia's friends ſhall doe it. But I ſhall ſtop it. Your worſhips louing, and obedient father, Your painefull Steward, and loſt Officer! Who haue done this, to try how you would vſe Pecunia, when you had her: which ſince I ſee, I will take home the Lady, to my charge, And theſe her ſeruants, and leaue you my Cloak, To trauell in to Beggers Buſh! A Seate, Is built already, furniſh'd too, worth twentie Of your imagin'd ſtructures, Canters Colledge. 'Tis his Father! Hee's aliue, me thinks. I knew he was no Rogue!