Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1616 [Oct-Nov (?)] (Annals) comedy · King's Men T26 Devils, hell and fiends typicality 0.77 · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
'Tis a fair guest, Friend, beauty: and once lodged Deep in the eyes, she hardly leaves the Inn. How does he keep her? Very brave. However, Himself be sordid, he is sensual that way. In every dressing, he does study her. And furnish forth himself so from the Brokers? Yes, that's a hired suit, he now has one, To see the Devil is an Ass, to day, in▪ (This Engine gets three or four pound a week by him) He dares not miss a new Play, or a Feast, What rate soever clothes be at; and thinks Himself still new, in other men's old. But stay, Does he love meat so? Faith he does not hate it. But that's not it. His belly and his palate Would be compounded with for reason Mary, A wit he has, of that strange credit with him, 'Gainst all mankind; as it doth make him do Just what it list: it ravishes him forth, Wither it please, to any assembly or place, And would conclude him ruined, should he scape One public meeting, out of the belief He has of his own great, and Catholic strengths, In arguing, and discourse. It takes, I see: HE has got the cloak upon him. A fair garment, By my faith, Ingine! It was never made, Sir, For three score pound, I assure you: IT will yield thirty. The plush, Sir, cost three pound, ten shillings a yard! And than the lace, and velvet. I shall, Ingine, Be looked at, pretitly, in it! Art thou sure The Play is played to day? o here's the bill, Sr. I', had forgot to gi't you. Ha'? the Devil! I will not loose you, Sirrah! But, Ingine, think you, The Gallant is so furious in his folly? So mad upon the matter, that he'll part With's cloak vpo' these terms? Trust not your Engine, Break me to pieces else, as you would do A rotten Crane, or an old rusty Iacke, That has not one true wheel in him. Do but talk with him. I shall do that, to satisfy you, Ingine, And myself too. With your leave, Gentlemen. Which of you is it, is so mere Idolater To my wife's beauty, and so very prodigal Unto my patience, that, for the short parley? Of one swift hours quarter, with my wife, He will departed with (let me see) this cloak here The price of folly? Sir, are you the man? I am that venturer, Sir. Good time! your name Is Wittipol? The same, Sr. And 'tis told me, Ye have travelled lately? That I have, Sr. Truly, Your travels may have altered your complexion; But sure, your wit stood still. It may well be, Sir. All heads ha' not like growth. The good man's gravity, That left you land, your father, never taught you These pleasant matches? Not, nor can his mirth, With whom I make 'em, put me of.
nodes 316–387 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 54 in this edition
Length
490 words · 669 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T26 — Devils, hell and fiendscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.766 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T23 · seed 44: T23 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
'Tis a faire gueſt, Friend, beauty: and once lodg'd Deepe in the eyes, ſhee hardly leaues the Inne. How do's he keepe her? Very braue. Howeuer, Himſelfe be ſordide, hee is ſenſuall that way. In euery dreſſing, hee do's ſtudy her. And furniſh forth himſelfe ſo from the Brokers? Yes, that's a hyr'd ſuite, hee now has one, To ſee the Diuell is an Aſſe, to day, in▪ (This Ingine gets three or foure pound a weeke by him) He dares not miſſe a new Play, or a Feaſt, What rate ſoeuer clothes be at; and thinkes Himſelfe ſtill new, in other mens old. But ſtay, Do's he loue meat ſo? Faith he do's not hate it. But that's not it. His belly and his palate Would be compounded with for reaſon Mary, A wit he has, of that ſtrange credit with him, 'Gainſt all mankinde; as it doth make him doe Iuſt what it liſt: it rauiſhes him forth, Whither it pleaſe, to any aſſembly or place, And would conclude him ruin'd, ſhould hee ſcape One publike meeting, out of the beliefe He has of his owne great, and Catholike ſtrengths, In arguing, and diſcourſe. It takes, I ſee: H' has got the cloak vpon him. A faire garment, By my faith, Ingine! It was neuer made, Sir, For three ſcore pound, I aſſure you: 'T will yeeld thirty. The pluſh, Sir, coſt three pound, ten ſhillings a yard! And then the lace, and veluet. I ſhall, Ingine, Be look'd at, pretitly, in it! Art thou ſure The Play is play'd to day? ô here's the bill, Sr. I', had forgot to gi't you. Ha? the Diuell! I will not loſe you, Sirah! But, Ingine, thinke you, The Gallant is ſo furious in his folly? So mad vpon the matter, that hee'll part With's cloake vpo' theſe termes? Truſt not your Ingine, Breake me to pieces elſe, as you would doe A rotten Crane, or an old ruſty Iacke, That has not one true wheele in him. Doe but talke with him. I ſhall doe that, to ſatisfie you, Ingine, And my ſelfe too. With your leaue, Gentlemen. Which of you is it, is ſo meere Idolater To my wiues beauty, and ſo very prodigall Vnto my patience, that, for the ſhort parlee? Of one ſwift houres quarter, with my wife, He will depart with (let mee ſee) this cloake here The price of folly? Sir, are you the man? I am that vent'rer, Sir. Good time! your name Is Witty-pol? The ſame, Sr. And 'tis told me, Yo' haue trauell'd lately? That I haue, Sr. Truly, Your trauells may haue alter'd your complexion; But ſure, your wit ſtood ſtill. It may well be, Sir. All heads ha' not like growth. The good mans grauity, That left you land, your father, neuer taught you Theſe pleaſant matches? No, nor can his mirth, With whom I make 'hem, put me off.