Ford, John · published 1639 · first performed or written 1638 [licensed for stage, May 3] (Annals) not in BritDrama · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
With contempt I do. I can forgo things nearer than my gold, allied to my affections, and my blood; Yea honour, as it were, with the same kind. Of careless confidence, and come off fairly Too as it were. But not your love, Fulgoso. No, she's inherent, and mine own past losing. It tickles me to think with how much state, You, as it were, did run at tilt in love Before your Amoretta. Broke my lance. Of wit, of wit. I mean so as it were And laid flat on her back, both horse and woman. Right as it were. What else man, as it were. Did you do this to her, dare you to vaunt Your triumph we being present? umh, ha, umh. What think you Don, of this brave man? A ma? It is some truss of reeds, or empty cask, In which the wind with whistling spores itself Beat up Sir, he's your rival, budge not from him An inch, your grounds are honour. Stoutly ventured, Don, hold him to't. protest a fine conceit, A very fine conceit, and thus I told her, That for mine own part, if she liked me, so, If not, not; for my duck or do said I, It is no fault of mine, that I am noble, Grant it; another may be noble too, And then we're both one noble better still Habs-nabs good wink and choose, if one must have her, The other goes without her, best of all, My spirit is too high, to fight for woman, I am too full of mercy to be angry, A foolish generous quality, from which No might of man can beat I'm, i'm resolved. Hast thou a spirit then ha? speaks thy weapon Toledo language, Bilbo, or dull Pisa? If an Italian blade, or spanish metal, Be brief, we challenge answer. Famous Don. What does he talk? my weapon speaks no language, 'tis a dutch iron truncheon. Dutch? And it need be, 'twill maul one's hide, in spite of who says nay Dutch to a Spaniard, hold me. Hold me too Sirrah if thouart my friend, for I love no fighting, Yet hold me least in pity I fly off, It I must fight, I must; in a scurvy quarrel I de fie he's and she's, twit me with dutch? Hang dutch and french, hang spanish and Italians, Christians and Turks pew-waw; all's one to me, I know what's what, I know on which side My bread is buttered. Buttered? dutch again? You come not with intention to affront us. Front me no fronts, if thou be'st angry squabble here's my defence, and thy destruction— whistles a charge If friends shake hands, and go with me to dinner. We will embrace the motion, it doth relish, The cavaliero treats on terms of honour, Peace is not to be balked on fair conditions.
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)
With contempt I doe. I can forgoe things neerer then my gold, Allyd to my affections, and my bloud; Yea honour, as it were, with the ſame kinde. Of careleſſe confidence, and come off fairely Too as it were. But not your love, Fulgoſo. No, ſhees inherent, and mine owne paſt looſing. It tickles me to thinke with how much ſtate▪ You, as it were, did runne at tilt in love Before your Amoretta. Broke my lance. Of wit, of wit. I meane ſo as it were And laid flat on her backe, both horſe and woman. Right as it were. What elſe man, as it were. Did you doe this to her, dare you to vant Your triumph we being preſent? um, ha, um. What thinke you Don, of this brave man? A ma? It is ſome truſſe of reeds, or empty caske, In which the winde with whiſtling ſpores it ſelfe Beate up Sir, hees your rivall, budge not from him An inch, your grounds are honor. Stoutly ventured, Don, hold him too't. protelt a fine conceit, A very fine conceite, and thus I tould her, That for mine owne part, if ſhee lik'd me, ſo, If not, not; for my ducke or do ſaid I, It is no fault of mine, that I am noble, Grant it; another may be noble too, And then wee'r both one noble better ſtil Habs-nabs good wincke and chooſe, if one muſt have her, The other goes without her, beſt of all, My ſpirit is too high, to fight for woman, I am too full of mercy to be angrie, A fooliſh generous quality, from which No might of man can beat I'me, ime reſolvd. Haſt thou a ſpirit then ha? ſpeakes thy weapon Toledo language, Bilbo, or dull Piſa? If an Italian blade, or ſpaniſh mettall, Be briefe, we challenge anſwer. Famous Don. What does he talke? my weapon ſpeakes no language, Tis a dutch iron trunchion. Dutch? And it need be, Twill maule one's hide, in ſpight of who ſaies nay Dutch to a Spaniard, hold me. Hold mee too Sirrah if th'art my frind, for I love no fighting, Yet hold me leaſt in pitty I flie off, It I muſt fight, I muſt; in a ſcutvie quarrell I de fie hees and ſhees, twit me with dutch? Hang dutch and french, hang ſpaniſh and Italians, Chriſtians and Turkes pew-waw; all's one to me, I know whats what, I know on which ſide My bread is butterd. Butterd? dutch againe? You come not with intention to affront us. Front mee no fronts, if thou beeſtangrie ſquable Heeres my defence, and thy deſtruction—whiſtles a charge If friends ſhake hands, and goe with me to dinner. We will embrace the motion, it doth reliſh, The Cavaleiro treates on termes of honor, Peace is not to be baulkd on faire conditions.