The Bird in a Cage (The Beauties) · chunk 25 of 37
Shirley, James · published 1633 · first performed or written 1633 [licensed for stage, Jun 21] [incorrect] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.75 · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
And he continue thus but a Moon, he'll make the Court mad. Oh 'twill be excellent, since it is not safe for a wise man to speak truth, 'twere pity fools should lose their privilege.— The Duke. My Lord. What is't? Here's an important Suitor calls himself An Artist, humbly craves admittance with A present which he'd tender to your Acceptance, And if my judgement err not, a most pleasing one. Let us see him, and his present It will reward my daughter's patience Love and Obedience:— All the Rarities Ten Kingdoms yield, shall not be thought too weighty, That she may shift each solitary hour With a fresh Object. Bonamico? 'tis he. By my Love to goodness It is a Masterpiece, 'twill feed the Eye With plenty of delight. I am as jocund since I am admitted, I talk as glib methinks, as he that farms the Monuments. Is't not Sirs? My Lord, I ha' not seen so much delight In any piece these 7. years. Where's the Master of this Work? My Lord, I am the Constable, that put all these in the Cage, and you may call it a point of Injustice, for they never kept late hours, though they all wear feathers, there's not a roarer amongst 'em, and yet were they suffered, they'd fly high, for some of 'em are very lofty minded. A pleasant fellow too. Oh my Lord, w'are all borne in our degrees to make one another merry, the Birds make me merry, I make my wife merry, the Fool makes your Courtiers merry, and the Courtiers make your Grace merry. And whom do I make merry? The whole Commonwealth if you govern handsomely. There's salt in's mirth:— I'll ha' this fellow wait i'th' Court. I shall be kicked out by the Pages. Why so? Because I cannot flatter. A conceited Thing, We lack the Humourist Rollyardo here. We see him i'th' Court ere while my Lord. This humour would ha'bin a gadfly to him And stung him to the quick. Not altogether so Duke? Fellow, what Bird is that? Fellow?— Cry mercy, I'd forgot you, fellow I'll tell thee, d''ee not know him, 'tis an Arabian Woodcock, the same that carried a Bunch of Grapes in January last to Bethiem Gabor. And what call you this? This was the Duke of Venice his own Bulfinch, And taken by the Turks. By the Turks sayst thou? He droops indeed. Since his Captivity the Wretch endured Much misery by the infidel, it had nothing But bread and water for three Months. A shrewd Calamity. I do affect this Fellows prate. What's this? This is the Blackbird, which was hatched that day Gondamoure died, and which was ominous About that time Spinola's Thrush forsook him. Was this he— Yes. And what was this? This was the Pigeon was so shrewdly handled For carrying Letters at the siege of Bergen. Alas pretty Bird—
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And he continue thus but a Moone, he'll make the Court mad. Oh 'twill be excellent, since it is not safe for a wise man to speake truth, 'twere pitty fooles should loose their priviledge.—The Duke. My Lord. What is't? Here's an important Suiter calls himselfe An Artist, humbly craves admittance with A present which he'd tender to your Acceptance, And if my iudgment erre not, a most pleasing one. Let us see him, and his present It will reward my Daughters patience Love and Obedience:—All the Rarities Ten Kingdomes yeeld, shall not be thought too weightie, That she may shift each solitary houre With a fresh Obiect. Bonamico? Tis he. By my Love to goodnesse It is a Master-piece, 'twill feed the Eye With plenty of delight. I am as iocund since I am admitted, I talke as glib Me thinkes, as he that farmes the Monuments. Is't not Sirs? My Lord, I ha not seene so much delight In any piece these 7. yeares. Where's the Master of this Worke? My Lord, I am the Constable, that put all these in the Cage, and you may call it a point of Iniustice, for they never kept late houres, though they all weare feathers, there's not a Rorer amongst em, and yet were they suffer'd, they'd flye high, for some of 'em are very lofty minded. A pleasant fellow too. Oh my Lord, w'are all borne in our degrees to make one another merry, the Birds make me merry, I make my wife merry, the Foole makes your Courtiers merry, and the Courtiers make your Grace merry. And whom doe I make merry? The whole Common-wealth if you governe handsomely. There's salt in's mirth:— Ile ha this fellow wayt ith' Court. I shall be kickt out by the Pages. Why so? Because I cannot flatter. A conoeyted Thing, We lacke the Humourist Rollyardo heere. We see him ith' Court ere while my Lord. This humor would habin a gadflie to him And stung him to the quicke. Not altogether so Duke? Fellow, what Bird is that? Fellow?—Cry mercy, I'de forgot you, fellow Ile tell thee, d'ee not know him, tis an Arabian Woodcocke, the same that carried a Bunch of Grapes in January last to Bethiem Gabor. And what call you this? This was the Duke of Venice his owne Bulfinch, And taken by the urkes. By the urkes sayst thou? He droopes indeed. Since his Captivity the Wretch indur'd Much misery by the infidell, it had nothing But bread and water for three Months. A shrewd Calamity. I doe affect this Fellowes prate. VVhat's this? This is the Blackbird, which was hatcht that day Gondamoure dyed▪ and which was ominous About that time Spinola's Thrush forsooke him. Was this he— Yes. And what was this? This was the Pidgeon was so shrewdly handled For carrying Letters at the siege of Bergen. Alas pretty Bird—