Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1626 [Feb] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T52 Prodigals, portions and poor kin · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T52: brother, father, uncle, cousin, son, poor, bread, old, given, master.
For a decayed wit— Broken— Non-solvent— And, for ever, forfeit— To scorn, of Mirth? Censure! Expectation! Subsigned. Tatle, Stay, they come again. NAy, they are fit, as they had been made for me, And I am now a thing, worth looking at! The same, I said I would be in the morning. No Rogue, at a Comitia of the Canters, Did ever there become his Parents Robes Better, than I do these: great fool! and beggar! Why do not all that are of those societies, Come forth, and gratulate me one of theirs? Me thinks, I should be, on every side, saluted, Dauphin of beggars! Prince of Prodigals! That have so fallen under the ears, and eyes, And tongues of all, the fable o'the time, Matter of scorn, and mark of reprehension! I now begin to see my vanity, Shine in this Glass, reflected by the foil! Where is my Fashioner? my Featherman? My Linener? Perfumer? Barber? all? That tail of Riot, followed me this morning? Not one! but a dark solitude about me, Worthy my cloak, and patches; as I had The epidemical disease upon me: And I'll sit down with it. My Master! Maker! How do you? Why do you sit thus o'the ground, Sir? Hear you the news? Not, nor I care to hear none. Would I could here sit still, and slip away The other one and twenty, to have this Forgotten, and the day razed out, expunged, In every Ephemerideses, or Almanac. Or if it must be in, that Time and Nature Have decreed; still, let it be a day Of tickling Prodigals, about the gillss; Deluding gaping heirs, losing their loves, And their discretions; falling from the favours Of their best friends, and parents; their own hopes; And entering the society of Canters. A doleful day it is, and dismal times Are come upon us: I am clear undone. How, Thom? Why? broke! broke! wretchedly broke! Ha! Our Staple is all to pieces, quite dissolved! Ha! Shivered, as in an earthquake! heard you not The crack and ruins? we are all blown up! Soon as they heard th' Infanta was got from them, Whom they had so devoured i'their hopes, To be their Patroness, and sojourn with 'em; Our Emissaries, Register, Examiner, Flew into vapour: our grave Governor Into a subt'let air; and is returned (As we do hear) grand- Captain of the jeerers. I, and my fellow melted into butter, And spoiled our Ink, and so the Office vanished. The last hum that it made, was, that your Father, And Picklock are fallen out, the man o' Law. How? this awakes me from my lethargy. And a great suit, is like to be between 'em, Picklock denies the Feoffment, and the Trust, (Your Father says) he made of the whole estate, Unto him, as respecting his mortality, When he first laid this late device, to try you. Has Picklock than a trust? I cannot tell, Here comes the worshipful— What? my velvet- heir, Turned beggar in mind, as robes?
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)
For a decay'd wit— Broken— Non-ſoluent— And, for euer, forfet— To ſcorne, of Mirth? Cenſure! Expectation! Subſign'd. Tatle, Stay, they come againe. NAy, they are fit, as they had been made for me, And I am now a thing, worth looking at! The ſame, I ſaid I would be in the morning. No Rogue, at a Comitia of the Canters, Did euer there become his Parents Robes Better, then I do theſe: great foole! and begger! Why doe not all that are of thoſe ſocieties, Come forth, and gratulate mee one of theirs? Me thinkes, I ſhould be, on euery ſide, ſaluted, Dauphin of beggers! Prince of Prodigalls! That haue ſo fall'n vnder the eares, and eyes, And tongues of all, the fable o'the time, Matter of ſcorne, and marke of reprehenſion! I now begin to ſee my vanity, Shine in this Glaſſe, reflected by the foile! Where is my Faſhioner? my Feather-man? My Linnener? Perfumer? Barber? all? That tayle of Riot, follow'd me this morning? Not one! but a darke ſolitude about mee, Worthy my cloake, and patches; as I had The epidemicall diſeaſe vpon mee: And I'll ſit downe with it. My Maſter! Maker! How doe you? Why doe you ſit thus o'the ground, Sir? Heare you the newes? No, nor I care to heare none. Would I could here ſit ſtill, and ſlip away The other one and twenty, to haue this Forgotten, and the day rac'd out, expung'd, In euery Ephemerides, or Almanack. Or if it muſt be in, that Time and Nature Haue decree'd; ſtill, let it be a day Of tickling Prodigalls, about the gills; Deluding gaping heires, looſing their loues, And their diſcretions; falling from the fauours Of their beſt friends, and parents; their owne hopes; And entring the ſociety of Canters. A dolefull day it is, and diſmall times Are come vpon vs: I am cleare vndone. How, Thom? Why? broke! broke! wretchedly broke! Ha! Our Staple is all to pieces, quite diſſolu'd! Ha! Shiuer'd, as in an earth-quake! heard you not The cracke and ruines? we are all blowne vp! Soone as they heard th' Infanta was got from them, Whom they had ſo deuoured i'their hopes, To be their Patroneſſe, and ſoiourne with 'hem; Our Emiſſaries, Regiſter, Examiner, Flew into vapor: our graue Gouernour Into a ſubt'let ayre; and is return'd (As we doe heare) grand-Captaine of the Ieerers. I, and my fellow melted into butter, And ſpoyl'd our Inke, and ſo the Office vaniſh'd. The laſt hum that it made, was, that your Father, And Picklocke are fall'n out, the man o' Law. How? this awakes me from my lethargy. And a great ſuite, is like to be betweene 'hem, Picklocke denies the Feofement, and the Truſt, (Your Father ſaies) he made of the whole eſtate, Vnto him, as reſpecting his mortalitie, When he firſt laid this late deuice, to try you. Has Picklock then a truſt? I cannot tell, Here comes the worſhipfull— What? my veluet-heyre, Turn'd begger in minde, as robes?