Randolph, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1632 [Mar 20] (Annals) comedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T37 Riches, poverty and covetousness · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T37: wealth, riches, money, god, rich, poverty, men, learning, poor, ic.
HOw thrives my boy Asotus? is he capable Of your grave precepts? Sir, I never met A quicker brain, a wit so neat and spruce. Well,— get thee home old Simo: go and kneel: Fall on thy aged knees, and thank the gods thouhast got a boy of wax, fit to receive Any impressions. As I am a Gentleman, And first of all our family, you wrong me, Dad, To take me for a dunce. No, good Asotus; It is thy father's care, a provident care, That wakes him from his sleeps to think of thee: And when I brooding fit upon my bags, And every day turn o'er my heaps of gold, Each piece I finger makes me start, and cry, This, this, and this, and this is for Asotus. Take this, and this, and this, and this again: Can you not be content to give me money, But you must hit me in the teeth with't?— 'Slid. Nay, good Asotus, such a loving father That does not bless you with a sweaty palm clapped on your head, or some unfruitful prayer; But lays his blessings out in gold and silver, Fine white and yellow blessings. Prithee Ballio, I could endure his white and yellow blessings, If he would leave his prating. Do you hear him? How sharp and tart his answers are? Old Simo, thouhast got a witty witty wag, yet dear one, When I behold the vastness of my treasure, How large my coffers, yet how crammed with wealth, That every talon sweats as in a crowd, And grieves not at the prison, but the narrowness. If I make not room for 'em, ne'er trust me. When I see this, I cannot choose but fear Thou canst not find out ways enough to spend it: They will outvie thy pleasures. Few such fathers! I cannot choose but stroke your beard, and wonder, That having so much wealth, you have the wit To understand for whom you got it. True: And I have so much wit to understand It must be spent, and shall boys. Pray heaven it may! I'll live to spend it all; and then— perhaps I'll die, And will not leave the purchase of a sheet, Or buy a rotten coffin. Yes, dear Pupil, Buy me an urn, while yet we laugh and live; It shall contain our drink, and when we die It may preserve our dust: 'tis fit our ashes Should take a nap there, where they took their liquor. Sage counsel this— Observe it boy— observe it. I live in Thebes, yet I dare swear all Athens Affords not such a Tutor: thou mayst read To all the young heirs— in town or city. Ah Ballio! I have lived a dunghill wretch, Grown poor by getting riches, mine own torture, A rust unto myself, as to my gold: To pile up idle treasure starved my body Thus, to a wrinkled skin, and rotten bones, And spider-like have spun a web of gold Out of my bowels; only knew the care, But not the use of gold— Now, gentle Ballio,
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)
HOw thrives my boy Asotus? is he capable Of your grave precepts? Sir, I never met A quicker brain, a wit so neat and spruce. Well,—get thee home old Simo: go and kneel: Fall on thy aged knees, and thank the gods Th'hast got a boy of wax, fit to receive Any impressions. As I am a Gentleman, And first of all our family, you wrong me, Dad, To take me for a dunce. No, good Asotus; It is thy fathers care, a provident care, That wakes him from his sleeps to think of thee: And when I brooding fit upon my bags, And every day turn o're my heaps of gold, Each piece I finger makes me start, and cry, This, this, and this, and this is for Asotus. Take this, and this, and this, and this again: Can you not be content to give me money, But you must hit me in the teeth with't?—S'lid. Nay, good Asotus, such a loving father That does not blesse you with a sweaty palm Clap't on your head, or some unfruitfull prayer; But layes his blessings out in gold and silver, Fine white and yellow blessings. Prithee Ballio, I could endure his white and yellow blessings, If he would leave his prating. Do you heare him? How sharp and tart his answers are? Old Simo, Th'hast got a witty witty wagge, yet deare one, When I behold the vastnesse of my treasure, How large my coffers, yet how cramb'd with wealth, That every talent sweats as in a crowd, And grieves not at the prison, but the narrownesse. If I make not room for 'um, ne're trust me. When I see this, I cannot choose but fear Thou canst not finde out wayes enow to spend it: They will out-vie thy pleasures. Few such fathers! I cannot choose but stroke your beard, and wonder, That having so much wealth, you have the wit To understand for whom you got it. True: And I have so much wit to understand It must be spent, and shall boyes. Pray heaven it may! I'le live to spend it all; and then—perhaps I'le die, And will not leave the purchase of a sheet, Or buy a rotten coffin. Yes, deare Pupill, Buy me an urn, while yet we laugh and live; It shall contain our drink, and when we die It may preserve our dust: 'tis fit our ashes Should take a nap there, where they took their liquour. Sage counsell this—Observe it boy—observe it. I live in Thebes, yet I dare sweare all Athens Affords not such a Tutour: thou mayst read To all the young heires—in town or citie. Ah Ballio! I have lived a dunghill wretch, Grown poore by getting riches, mine own torture, A rust unto my self, as to my gold: To pile up idle treasure starv'd my body Thus, to a wrinckled skin, and rotten bones, And spider-like have spun a web of gold Out of my bowels; onely knew the care, But not the use of gold—Now, gentle Ballio,