Fletcher, John / Massinger, Philip · published 1637 · first performed or written 1625(?) (Annals) comedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T62 The courtier as a type: fashion, affecta · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T62: courtier, shrug, face, court, italian, monsieur, scholar, fashion, french, courtiers.
Do they chase roundly? As they were rubbed with soap, Sir, And now they swear aloud, now calm again, Like a ring of bells, whose sound the wind still altars, And then they sit in council what to do, And then they jar again what shall be done; They talk of Warrants from the Parliament, Complaints to the King, and forces from the Province, They have a thousand heads in a thousand minutes, Yet ne'er a one head worth a head of garlic. Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at 'em, A couple of pure puppies yoked together. But what says the young Courtier Master Eustace, And his two warlike friends? They say but little, How much they think I know not, they look ruefully, As if they had newly come from a vaulting house, And had been quite shot through 'tween wind and water By a she Dunkirk, and had sprung a leak, Sir. Certain my master was too blame. Why Andrew? To take away the Wench o'th' sudden from him, And give him no lawful warning, he is tender, And of a young girl's constitution, Sir, Ready to get the green sickness with conceit; Had he but ta'en his leave in travailing language, Or bought an Elegy of his condolement, That th' world might have ta'en notice, he had been An Ass, 't had been some savour. Thou sayst true, Wise Andrew, but those Scholars are such things When they can prattle. Very perilous things Sir. And when they gain the liberty to distinguish The difference twixt a father and a fool, To look below and spy a younger brother Pruning and dressing up his expectations In a rare glass of beauty, too good for him: Those dreaming Scholars then turn Tyrants, Andrew, And show no mercy. The more's the pity, Sir. Thou told'st me of a trick to catch my brother, And anger him a little farther, Andrew. It shall be only anger I assure thee, And a little shame. And I can fit you, Sir; Hark in your ear. Thy wife? So I assure ye: This night at twelve o'clock. 'tis neat and handsome; There are twenty Crowns due to thy project Andrew. I've time to visit Charles, and see what Lecture He reads to his Mistress. That done, I'll not fail To be with you. Nor I to watch my Master. I'm worse than ere I was, for now I fear, That that I love, that that I only dote on; He follows me through every room I pass, And with a strong set eye he gazes on me, As if his spark of innocence were blown Into a flame of lust; Virtue defend me. His Uncle too is absent, and 'tis night; And what these opportunities may teach him— What fear and endless care 'tis to be honest! To be a maid, what misery, what mischief! Would I were rid of it, so it were fairly.
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)
Doe they chase roundly? As they were rubb'd with soape, Sir, And now they sweare alowd, now calme again, Like a ring of bells, whose sound the winde still alters, And then they sit in councell what to doe, And then they jarre againe what shall be done; They talke of Warrants from the Parliament, Complaints to the King, and forces from the Province, They have a thousand heads in a thousand minutes, Yet nere a one head worth a head of garlicke. Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at 'em, A couple of pure puppies yoak'd together. But what sayes the young Courtier Master Eustace, And his two warlike friends? They say but little, How much they thinke I know not, they looke rufully, As if they had newly come from a vaulting house, And had beene quite shot through 'tweene winde and water By a she Dunkirke, and had sprung a leake, Sir. Certaine my master was too blame. Why Andrew? To take away the Wench oth'sudden from him, And give him no lawfull warning, he is tender, And of a young girles constitution, Sir, Ready to get the greene sicknesse with conceit; Had he but tane his leave in travailing language, Or bought an Elegie of his condolement, That th' world might have tane notice, he had been An Asse, 't had been some savour. Thou saift true, Wise Andrew, but those Scholars are such things When they can prattle. Very parlous things Sir. And when they gaine the liberty to distinguish The difference 'twixt a father and a foole, To looke below and spie a younger brother Pruning and dressing up his expectations In a rare glasse of beauty, too good for him: Those dreaming Scholars then turne Tyrants, Andrew, And shew no mercy. The more's the pitie, Sir. Thou told'st me of a tricke to catch my brother, And anger him a little farther, Andrew. It shall be onely anger I assure thee, And a little shame. And I can fit you, Sir; Harke in your eare. Thy wife? So I assure ye: This night at twelve a clocke. Tis neat and handsome; There are twenty Crownes due to thy project Andrew. I've time to visit Charles, and see what Lecture He reades to his Mistresse. That done, Ile not faile To be with you. Nor I to watch my Master. I'me worse than ere I was, for now I feare, That that I love, that that I onely dote on; He followes me through every roome I passe, And with a strong set eye he gazes on me, As if his sparke of innocence were blowne Into a flame of lust; Vertue defend me. His Uncle too is absent, and 'tis night; And what these oportunities may teach him— What feare and endlesse care tis to be honest! To be a maide, what misery, what mischiefe! Would I were rid of it, so it were fairely.