Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1631 [licensed for stage, May 17] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T62 The courtier as a type: fashion, affecta typicality 0.91 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T62: courtier, shrug, face, court, italian, monsieur, scholar, fashion, french, courtiers.
I were no Lord else, I was a French man's Scholar, For twenty crowns a month, you may guess by that My abilities. 'tis the best fooling, and the safest for The body, your French glide away like Rivers, Without a noise, and turning with Meanders, Out move ye, your lofty tricks, are tude, And do to much examine. May we not rise, I ha' known good dancers rise at Court, what say you to A cross caper. Ride the Cannon, and you ha' No care to preserve your bonds, but I forget, Adios signior, I must attend the Duchess. Do not hyperbolise with her my Lord. Pardonate Signior mio. 'tis so, 'tis bawdy, that shrug tells me so, Giotto. Your honour's servant. Were you never a Courtier before. I only hitherto have spent my eyesight. In observation, now I grow proud to write myself dependent. signior Comachio my Uncle, lends you. But I'm not to learn To adore the rising Sun, I look on him As in his West, but I've ambition To merit your grace. I see than thou wot be a Courtier. Comachio, show me your Nephew! You're welcome to Court my Lord. It is your highness' pleasure I should presume so, And I am confident I may. He has not only profited in growth Of person, but in's judgement too: talks well, Our Court wants such Comachio, your nephews Contemplation ends here. Padua must Lose him, he shall be our servant. she jeers him, and I gain no credit by 't. Keep your tongue quiet, cease your abortive Language, or I'll cut your throat. This is the trick of all Courtiers, They would engross Princes e'en to Themselves, I must not speak to her. This is the Gentleman, your grace was pleased T'accept from my commends. You are a Florentine. I am proud to own my Country. We have heard so much of your demerits, That 'twere injustice not to cherish you, Be confident, to gain our best favour. I've often prayed for this blessed hour, and thought I did not sin in my ambition. It is a virtue to covet honour From your excellence: which I shall ever Study to deserve. Laura begin your trial. This is a rude kind of duty, speak your Intention. Twice have I kneeled to gain your kindness in My suit, now grant it, or i'll turn Traitor. Make your suit known. I have been bred in rugged wars, A woman's government is soft and fit For Babes to bow to, dismiss straight your Court. Orseollo, did not your offence breed mirth, You should perceive't more difficult to find A pardon for't. Send me straight to Sea, if but t'encounter A fleet of fiends rigged by witches, or with A colony to settle a Plantation In the deserts of Barbary, I'll choose Any employment rather than to hear a Lady utter perfumed breath, or see her Advance in her masculine garb, in her New mimic posture.
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 were no Lord else, I was a French mans Scholler, For twenty crownes a moneth, you may guesse by that My abilities. Tis the best fooling, and the safest for The body, your French glide away like Rivers, Without a noise, and turning with Meanders, Out move ye, your lofty trickes, are tude, And doe to much examine. May we not rise, I ha knowne good dancers rise at Court, what say you to A cosse caper. Ride the Cannon, and you ha No care to preserve your bonds, but I forget, Adtos signiour, I must attend the Dutchesse. Doe not hyperbolize with her my Lord. Pardonate Signior mio. Tis so, tis baudy, that shrug tells me so, Giotto. Your honours servant. Were you never a Courtier before. I onely hitherto have spent my eyesight. In observation, now I grow proud to write My selfe dependant. Signiour Comachio my Vncle, lends you. But Ime not to learne To adore the rising Sun, I looke on him As in his West, but I've ambition To merit your grace. I see then thou wot be a Courtier. Comachio, shew me your Nephew! Y'are welcome to Court my Lord. It is your highnesse pleasure I should presume so, And I am confident I may. He has not onely profited in growth Of person, but in's judgement too: talkes well, Our Court wants such Comachio, your Nephewes Contemplation ends here. Padua must Loose him, he shall be our servant. Shee jeeres him, and I gaine no credit by 't. Keepe your tongue quiet, cease your abortive Language, or Ile cut your throate. This is the tricke of all Courtiers, They would engrosse Princes e'n to Themselves, I must not speake to her. This is the Gentleman, your grace was pleas'd T'accept from my commends. You are a Florentine. I am proud to owne my Country. We have heard so much of your demerits, That 'twere injustice not to cherish you, Be confident, to gaine our best favour. I've often pray'd for this blessed houre, and thought I did not sinne in my ambition. It is a vertue to covet honour From your excellence: which I shall ever Study to deserve. Laura begin your triall. This is a rude kinde of duty, speake your Intention. Twice have I kneel'd to gaine your kindnesse in My sute, now grant it, or ile turne Traitour. Make your sute knowne. I have beene bred in rugged warres, A womans governement is soft and fit For Babes to bow to, dismisse streight your Court. Orseollo, did not your offence breed mirth, You should perceiv't more difficult to finde A pardon fort. Send me streight to Sea, if but t'incounter A fleet of fiends rigg'd by witches, or with A colony to settle a Plantation In the desarts of Barbary, Ile choose Any employment rather then to heare a Lady utter perfum'd breath, or see her Advance in her masculine garbe, in her New mimicke posture.