Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1626 [Feb] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T52 Prodigals, portions and poor kin · 559 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T52: brother, father, uncle, cousin, son, poor, bread, old, given, master.
Yes, and sent hither to restore your wits: If your short madness, be not more than anger, Conceived for your loss! which I return you. See here, your Mortgage, Statute, Band, and Wax, Without your Broker, come to abide with you: And vindicate the Prodigal, from stealing Away the Lady. Nay, Pecunia herself, Is come to free him fairly, and discharge All ties, but those of Love, unto her person, To use her like a friend, not like a slave, Or like an Idol. Superstition Doth violate the Deity it worships: Not less than scorn doth. And believe it, brother The use of things is all, and not the Store; Surfeit, and fullness, have killed more than famine. The Sparrow, with his little plumage, flies, While the proud Peacock, overcharged with pens, Is feign to sweep the ground, with his grown train, And load of feathers. Wise, and honoured brother! None but a Brother, and sent from the dead, As you are to me, could have altered me: I thank my Destiny, that is so gracious. Are there no pains, no Penalties decreed From whence you come, to us that smother money, In chests, and strangle her in bags. O, mighty, Intolerable fines, and mulcts imposed! (Of which I come to warn you) forfeitures Of whole estates, if they be known, and taken! I thank you Brother for the light you have given me, I will prevent 'em all. First free my dogs, Jest what I ha' done to them (and against Law) Be a Premuniri, for by Magna Charta They could not be committed, as close prisoners, My learned Counsel tells me here, my Cook. And yet he showed me, the way, first. Who did? I? I trench the liberty o' the subjects? Peace, Picklock, your Guest, that Stentor, hath infected you, Whom I have safe enough in a wooden collar. Next, I restore these servants to their Lady, With freedom, heart of cheer, and countenance; It is their year, and day of jubilee. We thank you, Sir. And lastly, to my Nephew, I give my house, goods, lands, all but my vices, And those I go to cleanse; kissing this Lady Whom I do give him too, and join their hands. If the Spectators will join theirs, we thank 'hem. And wish they may, as I, enjoy Pecunia. And so Pecunia herself doth wish, That she may still be aid unto their uses, Not slave unto their pleasures, or a Tyrant Over their fair desires; but teach them all The golden mean: the Prodigal how to live, The sordid, and the covetous, how to dye, That with sound mind; this safe frugality. THus have you seen the Maker's double scope, To profit, and delight; wherein our hope Is, though the clout we do not always hit, It will not be imputed to his wit: A Tree so tried, and bend, as 'twill not start. Nor doth he often crack a string of Art, Though there may other accidents as strange Hap, the weather of your looks may change, Or some high wind of misconceit arise, To 'cause an alteration in our Skies; If so, we're sorry that have so misspent Our Time and Tackle, yet he's confident, And vow's the next fair day, he'll have us shoot The same match o'er for him, if you'll come to't.
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)
Yes, and ſent hither to reſtore your wits: If your ſhort madneſſe, be not more then anger, Conceiued for your loſſe! which I returne you. See here, your Mortgage, Statute, Band, and Waxe, Without your Broker, come to abide with you: And vindicate the Prodigall, from ſtealing Away the Lady. Nay, Pecunia herſelfe, Is come to free him fairely, and diſcharge All ties, but thoſe of Loue, vnto her perſon, To vſe her like a friend, not like a ſlaue, Or like an Idoll. Superſtition Doth violate the Deity it worſhips: No leſſe then ſcorne doth. And beleeue it, brother The vſe of things is all, and not the Store; Surfet, and fulneſſe, haue kill'd more then famine. The Sparrow, with his little plumage, flyes, While the proud Peacocke, ouer-charg'd with pennes, Is faine to ſweepe the ground, with his growne traine, And load of feathers. Wiſe, and honour'd brother! None but a Brother, and ſent from the dead, As you are to me, could haue altered me: I thanke my Deſtiny, that is ſo gracious. Are there no paines, no Penalties decreed From whence you come, to vs that ſmother money, In cheſts, and ſtrangle her in bagges. O, mighty, Intolerable fines, and mulcts impo'sd! (Of which I come to warne you) forfeitures Of whole eſtates, if they be knowne, and taken! I thanke you Brother for the light you haue giuen mee, I will preuent 'hem all. Firſt free my dogges, Leſt what I ha' done to them (and againſt Law) Be a Premuniri, for by Magna Charta They could not be committed, as cloſe priſoners, My learned Counſell tells me here, my Cooke. And yet he ſhew'd me, the way, firſt. Who did? I? I trench the liberty o' the ſubiects? Peace, Picklocke, your Gheſt, that Stentor, hath infected you, Whom I haue ſafe enough in a wooden collar. Next, I reſtore theſe ſeruants to their Ladie, With freedome, heart of cheare, and countenance; It is their yeere, and day of Iubilee. We thanke you, Sir. And laſtly, to my Nephew, I giue my houſe, goods, lands, all but my vices, And thoſe I goe to cleanſe; kiſſing this Lady Whom I doe giue him too, and ioyne their hands. If the Spectators will ioyne theirs, wee thanke 'hem. And wiſh they may, as I, enioy Pecunia. And ſo Pecunia her ſelfe doth wiſh, That ſhee may ſtill be ayde vnto their vſes, Not ſlaue vnto their pleaſures, or a Tyrant Ouer their faire deſires; but teach them all The golden meane: the Prodigall how to liue, The ſordid, and the couetous, how to dye, That with ſound mind; this ſafe frugality. THus haue you ſeene the Makers double ſcope, To profit, and delight; wherein our hope Is, though the clout we doe not alwaies hit, It will not be imputed to his wit: A Tree ſo tri'd, and bent, as 'twill not ſtart. Nor doth he often cracke a ſtring of Art, Though there may other accidents as ſtrange Happen, the weather of your lookes may change, Or ſome high wind of miſ-conceit ariſe, To cauſe an alteration in our Skyes; If ſo, we'are ſorry that haue ſo miſ-ſpent Our Time and Tackle, yet he'is confident, And vow's the next faire day, hee'll haue vs ſhoot The ſame match o're for him, if you'll come to't.