the violence of singularity

LITTLEWIT: …Well, go thy ways, John Littlewit, Proctor John Littlewit—one o’ the pretty wits o’ Paul’s, the Little Wit of London, so thou art called, and something beside. When a quirk or a quiblin does scape thee, and thou dost not watch, and apprehend it, and bring it afore the constable of conceit—there now, I speak quib too—let ’em carry thee out ‘o the Archdeacon’s court into his kitchen, and make a Jack of thee, instead of a John. There I am again, la! LITTLEWIT: … But give me the man can start up a Justice of Wit out of…

calling it what it once had been

+++ XXIIThe same so sore annoyed has the knight,  That welnigh choked with the deadly stinke, His forces faile, ne can no lenger fight. Whose corage when the feend perceiv’d to shrinke, She poured forth out of her hellish sinke Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small,  Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke, With swarming all about his legs did crall,And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all. XXIII As gentle Shepheard in sweete even-tide, When ruddy Phoebus gins to welke in west,  High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, Markes which do byte their hasty supper best, A cloud of combrous gnattes do him molest, All striving…

Volpone

With fine delusive sleights when I am lost in blended dust, And hundred such as I am, in succession — like an old smoked wall, on which the rain ran down in streaks, Made all of terms and shreds Within a human compass. O, there spoke… To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears, … or am in love Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword And score your vengeance on my front and face; Mark me your villain that stop the organs, and, as Plato says, Assassinates our knowledge. …such a hail of words She has let…