The Bloody Brother (Rollo, Duke of Normandy) · chunk 29 of 39
Fletcher, John / Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip · published 1640 · first performed or written 1617 [revised 1627-1630] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T62 The courtier as a type: fashion, affecta · 503 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T62: courtier, shrug, face, court, italian, monsieur, scholar, fashion, french, courtiers.
I was light then, New built and rigged, when I came to you Gentlemen, But now with often and far venturing for you, Here be leaks sprung, and whole planks wanting, see you, If you'll new sheathe me again, yet I am for you To any bog or sleights, where you'll send me, For as I am, where can this ragged bark Put in for any service, less it be I'th' isle of Rogues, and there turn pirate for you. Faith he says reason, friar you must leave Your neat crisped claret, and fall to your cider A while; and you La Fiske your larded Capons And Turkeys for a time, and take a good Clean tripe in your way; Debube too must content him With wholesome two soused pettitoes, no more crown Ordinaries, Till we have clothed our Infant. So you'll keep your own good motions Doctor, your dear self. Yes for we all do know the latitude O'your concupiscence. Here, about your belly. You'll pick a bottle open, or a whimsy As soon as the best on us. And dip your wristbands, (For cuffs you ha' none) as comely in the sauce, As any Courtier— hark, the Bell, who's there. Good luck I do conjure thee, boy look out. They are Gallants, Courtiers, one of 'em is Of the Duke's Bedchamber, Latorch down, On with your Gown, there's a new suit arrived Did I not tell you Sons of hunger? crowns Crowns are coming towards you: wine and wenches You shall have once again: and Fiddlers Into your studies close, each lay his ear This door, and as you hear me to prepare you, So come, and put me on that visor only. You'll not be far hence Captain, when the business Is done, you shall receive present dispatch. I'll walk sir i'th' cloister. monsieur Latorch, my son, The stars are happy still that guide you hither. I am glad to hear their Secretary say so, My learned Father Russee, where's La Fiske, monsieur La Bube, how do they. At their studies, They are the Secretaries of the Stars sir, Still at their books, they will not be pulled off, They stick like cupping glasses; if ever men Spoke with the tongue of destiny, 'tis they. For love's sake let's salute 'em. Boy go see, Tell'em who's here, say that their friends do challenge Some portion of their time, this is our minute, Pray them they will spare it, they are the Sun & Moon Of knowledge, pity two such noble lights Should live obscured, here, here in a University, Whose beams were fit t'illuminate any Court Of Christendom— Well look upon the astrolabe, you'll find it For Almucanturies at least. It is so. Still of their learned stuff, they care for nothing. But how to know, as negligent of their bodies In Diet or else, especially in their clothes As if they had no change. They have so little, As may well free'em from the name of shifters. monsieur Latorch.
seed 43: T60 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I was light then, New built and rigg'd, when I came to you Gentlemen, But now with often and farre ventring for you, Here be leakes sprung, and whole plancks wanting, see you, If you'l new sheath me againe, yet I am for you To any bog or sleights, where you'l send mee, For as I am, where can this ragged barke Put in for any service, lesse it be I'th ile of Rogues, and there turne Pyrate for you. Faith he saies reason, Fryer you must leave Your neat crispt Clarret, and fall to your Sider A while; and you La Fiske your larded Capons And Turkies for a time, and take a good Cleane tripe in your way; Debube too must content him With wholsome two sous'd pettitoes, no more crowne Ordinaries, Till we have clothd our Infant. So you'l keepe your owne good motions Doctor, your deere selfe. Yes for we all doe know the latitude O'your concupiscence. Heere, about your belly. You'l pick a bottle open, or a whimsey As soone as the best on us. And dip your wrist-bands, (For cuffes you ha'none) as comely in the sawce, As any Courtier — heark, the Bell, who's there. Good luck I doe conjure thee, boy look out. They are Gallants, Courtiers, one of 'em is Of the Dukes Bedchamber, Latorch downe, On with your Gowne, there's a new sute arriv'd Did I not tell you Sonnes of honger? Crownes Crownes are comming towards you: wine and wenches You shall have once againe: and Fidlers Into your studies close, each lay his eare This doore, and as you heare mee to prepare you, So come, and put me on that visour only. Youl not be farre hence Captain, when the businesse Is done, you shall receive present dispatch. Ile walke sir i'th cloister. Mounsieur Latorch, my sonne, The starres are happy still that guide you hither. I am glad to heare their Secretary say so, My learned Father Russee, where's La Fiske, Mounsieur La Bube, how doe they. At their studies, They are the Secretaries of the Starres sir, Still at their books, they will not be pull'd off, They stick like cupping glasses; if ever men Spoke with the tongue of destiny, 'tis they. For loves sake lets salute 'em. Boy goe see, Tell'em who's heere, say that their friends doe challenge Some portion of their time, this is our minute, Pray them they will spare it, they are the Sunne & Moone Of knowledge, pitty two such noble lights Should live obscur'd, heere, heere in a Vniversity, Whose beams were fitt' illuminate any Court Of Christendome— Well look upon the Astrolobe, you'l finde it For Almucanturies at least. It is so. Still of their learned stuffe, they care for nothing. But how to know, as negligent of their bodies In Dyet or else, especially in their clothes As if they had no change. They have so little, As may well free'em from the name of shifters. Mounsieur Latorch.