Fletcher, John / Massinger, Philip · published 1637 · first performed or written 1625(?) (Annals) comedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
Nor will I rail nor curse, You slave, you whore, I will not meddle with you, But all the torment that ere fell on men, That fed on mischief, fall heavily on you all. You have given him a heat, Sir. He will ride you The better, we'll teach him to meddle with Scholars. He shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, Andrew, Or I'll jeer him to death, fear nothing Lily, I am thy Champion. This jest goes to Charles, And then I'll hunt him out, and Monsieur Eustace The gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily To see'em mourn together. 'twill be rare Sir. Turned out of doors and baffled! We share with you In the affront. Yet bear it not like you With such dejection. My Coach and horses made The ransom of our cowardice. Pish, that's nothing, 'tis Damnum reparabile, and soon recovered. It is but feeding a suitor with false hopes, And after squeeze him with a dozen of oaths. You are new rigged, and this no more remembered. And does the Court that should be the example And Oracle of the Kingdom, read to us No other doctrine. None that thrives so well As that, within my knowledge. Flattery rubs out, But since great men learn to admire themselves, 'tis something crest-fallen. To be of no Religion, Argues a subtle moral understanding, And it is often cherished. Piety then, And valour, nor to do nor suffer wrong, Are there no virtues. Rather vices, Eustace; Fighting! What's fighting? It may be in fashion, Among Provant swords, and buff-jerkin men: But w'us that swim in choice of silks and Tissues; Though in defence of that word reputation, Which is indeed a kind of glorious nothing, To lose a dram of blood must needs appear As coarse as to be honest. And all this You seriously believe. It is a faith, That we will die in, since from the black guard To the grim Sir in office, there are few Hold other Tenets. Now my eyes are open, And I behold a strong necessity That keeps me knave and coward. Y'are the wiser. Nor can I change my Copy, if I purpose To be of your society. By no means. Eust. Honour is nothing with you? A mere bubble, For what's grown common is no more regarded. My sword forced from me too, and still detained, You thinks no blemish. Get me a battoon, 'tis twenty times more courtlike, and less trouble. And yet you wear a sword. Yes, and a good one, A Milan hilt, and a Damasco blade, For ornament, no use the Court allows it. will't not fight of itself? I ne'er tried this, Yet I have worn as fair as any man, I'm sure I've made my Cutler rich, and paid For several weapons, Turkish and Toledo's, Two thousand Crowns, and yet could never light Upon a fighting one. I'll borrow this, I like it well. 'tis at your service Sir, A lath in a velvet scabbard will serve my turn.
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)
Nor will I raile nor curse, You slave, you whore, I will not meddle with you, But all the torment that ere fell on men, That fed on mischiefe, fall heavily on you all. You have giv'n him a heat, Sir. He will ride you The better, Wee'll teach him to meddle with Scholars. He shall make good his promise t'encrease thy Farme, Andrew, Or Ile jeere him to death, feare nothing Lilly, I am thy Champion. This jeast goes to Charles, And then Ile hunt him out, and Monsieur Eustace The gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily To see'em mourne together. Twill be rare Sir. Turn'd out of doores and baffled! We share with you In the affront. Yet beare it not like you With such dejection. My Coach and horses made The ransome of our cowardize. Pish, that's nothing, Tis Damnum reparabile, and soone recover'd. It is but feeding a suitor with false hopes, And after squeeze him with a dozen of oathes. You are new rigg'd, and this no more remembred. And does the Court that should be the example And Oracle of the Kingdome, reade to us No other doctrine. None that thrives so well As that, within my knowledge. Flatt'ry rubbes out, But since great men learne to admire themselves, Tis something crest-falne. To be of no Religion, Argues a subtle morall understanding, And it is often cherisht. Piety then, And valour, nor to doe nor suffer wrong, Are there no vertues. Rather vices, Eustace; Fighting! What's fighting? It may be in fashion, Among Provant swords, and buffe-jerkin men: But w'us that swimme in choise of silkes and Tissues; Though in defence of that word reputation, Which is indeed a kinde of glorious nothing, To lose a dramme of bloud must needs appeare As coarse as to be honest. And all this You seriously beleeve. It is a faith, That we will die in, since from the blacke guard To the grimme Sir in office, there are few Hold other Tenets. Now my eyes are open, And I behold a strong necessity That keepes me knave and coward. Y'are the wiser. Nor can I change my Copy, if I purpose To be of your society. By no meanes. Eust. Honour is nothing with you? A meere bubble, For what's growne common is no more regarded. My sword forc'd from me too, and still detein'd, You thinke's no blemish. Get me a battoone, Tis twenty times more courtlike, and lesse trouble. And yet you weare a sword. Yes, and a good one, A Millan hilt, and a Damasco blade, For ornament, no use the Court allowes it. Wil't not fight of it selfe? I nere tri'd this, Yet I have worne as faire as any man, I'me sure I've made my Cutler rich, and paid For severall weapons, Turkish and Toledo's, Two thousand Crownes, and yet could never light Upon a fighting one. Ile borrow this, I like it well. Tis at your service Sir, A lath in a velvet scabberd will serve my turne.