Randolph, Thomas · published 1632 · first performed or written 1632 [Mar 20] (Annals) comedy · before the Court T35 Fools, wit and railing typicality 0.79 · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
You have an admirable method, Tutor, If this fellow has not been i' my heart, I'll be hanged, He speaks my mind so pat. Ha, boon couragio— You see what more than miracles art can do. And when we have run o'er the catalogue Of former pleasures, thou, and I, and Ballio Will sit and study new ones. I will raise A sect of new and rare Philosophers, Shall from my name be called Tyndarides. And I will raise another sect like these, That shall from me be called— Asotides. Tutor, my fellow Pupil here and I Must quaff a bowl of rare philosophy, To pledge the health of his Tyndarides. Come, blessed restorer of my liberty. If any friend of yours want liberty In such a kind as this, you may command me. For if the brave Tyndarides be not free, Th' Asotides shall grant them liberty. We will be frolic, boy; and ere we part, Remember thee, Thou mighty man of art. THere is besides revenge a kind of sweetness In acting mischief. I could hug my head, And kiss the brain that hatches such dear rogueries, Such loving loving rogueries.— Silly Pamphilus, With thine own sword I'll kill thee, and then trample On the poor foolish carcase. Techmessa here? Then fortune wait on my designs, and crown 'em With a success as high as they deserve. methinks sometimes I view my Pamphilus Clothed Angel-like in white, and spotless robes, And straight upon a sudden my changed fancy Presents him black and horrid, all a stain, More loathsome than a leper. And that fancy Presents him in his likeness. All the sinks And common shores in Thebes are cleanly to him. Peace, thou foul tongue. Nay, if you be so squeamish, I ha' no womanish itch to prate.— Farewell. Nay, do not leave me unresolved, good Ballio. Why, I did set you out in more vile colours Then ever cunning pencil used to limb, Witch, hag, or fury with. Thou couldst not do't, And live. I am no ghost, flesh and blood still. I said you had a pretty head of hair, And such as might do service to the State, Made into halters: that you had a brow Hung o'er your eyes like flie-flaps: that your eyes Were like two powdering-tubs, either running o'er, Or full of standing brine: your cheeks were sunk So low and hollow, they might serve the boys For cherrypits.— Could Pamphilus hear all this, And not his blood turn choler? This? and more. I said your nose was like a hunter's horn, And stood so bending up a man might hang His hat upon't: that I mistook the year, And always thought it Winter, when I saw Two icicles at your nostrils. Have I lost All woman, that I can with patience hear myself thus injured?
nodes 723–788 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 12 of 47 in this edition
Length
474 words · 645 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T35 — Fools, wit and railingcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.788 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
You have an admirable methode, Tutour, If this fellow has not been i' my heart, I'le be hang'd, He speaks my minde so pat. Ha, boon couragio— You see what more then miracles art can do. And when we have runne o're the catalogue Of former pleasures, thou, and I, and Ballio Will sit and study new ones. I will raise A sect of new and rare Philosophers, Shall from my name be call'd Tyndarides. And I will raise another sect like these, That shall from me be call'd—Asotides. Tutour, my fellow Pupil here and I Must quaffe a bowl of rare philosophie, To pledge the health of his Tyndarides. Come, blest restorer of my libertie. If any friend of yours want libertie In such a kinde as this, you may command me. For if the brave Tyndarides be not free, Th' Asotides shall grant them libertie. We will be frolick, boy; and e're we part, Remember thee, Thou mighty man of art. THere is besides revenge a kinde of sweetnesse In acting mischief. I could hug my head, And kisse the brain that hatches such deare rogueries, Such loving loving rogueries. —Silly Pamphilus, With thine own sword I'le kill thee, and then trample On the poore foolish carcase. Techmessa here? Then fortune wait on my designes, and crown 'um With a successe as high as they deserve. Me thinks sometimes I view my Pamphilus Cloth'd Angel-like in white, and spotlesse robes, And straight upon a sudden my chang'd fancy Presents him black and horrid, all a stain, More loathsome then a leper. And that fancy Presents him in his likenesse. All the sinks And common shores in Thebes are cleanly to him. Peace, thou foul tongue. Nay, if you be so squeamish, I ha' no womanish itch to prate.—Farewell. Nay, do not leave me unresolv'd, good Ballio. Why, I did set you out in more vile colours Then ever cunning pencill us'd to limbe, Witch, hag, or fury with. Thou couldst not do't, And live. I am no ghost, flesh and bloud still. I said you had a prety head of hair, And such as might do service to the State, Made into halters: that you had a brow Hung o're your eyes like flie-flaps: that your eyes Were like two powdring-tubs, either running o're, Or full of standing brine: your cheeks were sunk So low and hollow, they might serve the boyes For cherripits.— Could Pamphilus heare all this, And not his bloud turn choler? This? and more. I said your nose was like a hunters horn, And stood so bending up a man might hang His hat upon't: that I mistook the yeare, And alwayes thought it Winter, when I saw Two icicles at your nostrils. Have I lost All woman, that I can with patience heare My self thus injur'd?