The Ladies' Privilege (The Lady's Privilege) · chunk 18 of 31
Glapthorne, Henry · published 1640 · first performed or written 1637 [1637-1640] (Annals) not in BritDrama · before the Court T62 The courtier as a type: fashion, affecta typicality 0.68 · 515 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T62: courtier, shrug, face, court, italian, monsieur, scholar, fashion, french, courtiers.
Your English Deserves as large applause, who to say truth, outdrinks the Dutch, as is the common proverb, The Dutch-man drinks his buttons off, the English Doublet and all away, then mark their carriage: If two fall out and strike, and be by company Parted; though one wears in his face the badge Of his dishonour, which excites him to As brave revenge, not daunts him: for he'll straight Call out his enemy to a single Duel, Scorning his life; concerning the Lands laws, Which do forbid those combats, and ne'er part Till one be slain, and the survivor sure As death to hang for't. Excellent, I love a man that cares not for hanging. Then to their further glory, which takes off All the disgrace of halter, they are sure Ere they be scarce cold, to be Chronicled In excellent new Ballads, which being sung Ith' streets 'mong boys and girls, Colliers, and Carmen, Are bought as great memorials of their fames, Which to perpetuate, they are commonly stuck up With as great triumph in the tippling houses, As they were scutcheons. Better: yet I'd give A hundred Ducats to be chronicled In such a historical Canto: who composes them? They have their special Poets for that purpose Such as still drink small Beer, and so are apt To spit out lamentable stuff: then for their clothes They hate a cut domestic, but imitate The French precisely gallants, wear their long Parisian Breeches, with five points at knees, Whose tags concurring with their harmonious spurs Afford rare music; then have they Doublets So short i'th' waste, they seem as 'twere begot Upon their Doublets by their Cloaks, which to save stuff Are but a year's growth longer than their skirts; And all this magazine of device is furnished By your French Tailor: what Country man is yours? A Genoese. Fie, change him Monsieur, You have heard a Spanish Count's Lately arrived, without any advice, how'd'd you salute him? Thus sir, after our Italian fashion. That's too vulgar; You must accost him thus with a state face, As if your beard had been turned up that morning By advice of all the Barbers in the City, As you had dressed you in a looking-glass, Proper to none but the Duke's privy Counsellors: Pronounce your Besolos manas with a grace, As if you were the son and heir, apparent To th'Adelantado of Castille. Adorni, this is no time for mirth, Your noble General has slain Lord Bonivet, And for the act is a prisoner. Dares the state bereave him of his liberty, Without whose most unwearied valour, It had been betrayed to slavery? You know Lord Bonivet's alliance to the Duke. Alliance, death a thousand Bonivet's, And Dukes and States, weigh not A scruple poised with his full worth. He's to be tried i'th' morning without noise, For fear of mutiny, and 'tis supposed That if some virgin Lady do not claim Her privilege, and beg his life, he'll suffer. If the maid that begs must be above fifteen, 'tis shrewdly doubted where she'll be found.
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)
Your English Deserves as large applause, who to say truth, Out-drinks the Dutch, as is the common proverb, The Dutch-man drinks his buttons off, the English Doublet and all away, then marke their carriage: If two fall out and strike, and be by company Parted; though one weares in his face the badge Of his dishonour, which excites him to As brave revenge, not daunts him: for he'll straight Call out his enemy to a single Duell, Scorning his life; concerning the Lands lawes, Which doe forbid those combats, and ne're part Till one be slaine, and the survivour sure As death to hang for't. Excellent, I love a man that cares not for hanging. Then to their further glory, which takes off All the disgrace of halter, they are sure Ere they be scarce cold, to be Chronicled In excellent new Ballads, which being sung Ith' streets 'mong boyes and girles, Colliers, and Carmen, Are bought as great memorialls of their fames, Which to perpetuate, they are commonly stuck up With as great triumph in the tipling houses, As they were scutchions. Better: yet I'de give A hundred Ducats to be chronicled In such a historicall Canto: who composes them? They have their speciall Poets for that purpos Such as still drinke small Beere, and so are apt To spit out lamentable stuffe: then for their cloathes They hate a cut domesticke, but imitate The French precisely gallants, weare their long Parisian Breeches, with five poynts at knees, Whose tagges concurring with their harmonious spurres Afford rare musicke; then have they Doublets So short ith' waste, they seeme as 'twere begot Vpon their Doublets by their Cloakes, which to save stuffe Are but a yeares growth longer than their skirts; And all this magazine of device is furnish'd By your French Tayler: what Country man is yours? A Genoese. Fie, change him Monsieur, You have heard a Spanish Count's Lately arriv'd, without any advice, hou'd you salute him? Thus sir, after our Italian fashion. That's too vulgar; You must accost him thus with a state face, As if your beard had beene turn'd up that morning By advice of all the Barbers in the City, As you had drest you in a Looking-glasse, Proper to none but the Dukes privy Counsellors: Pronounce your Besolos manas with a grace, As if you were the sonne and heire, apparant To th'Adelantado of Castile. Adorni, this is no time for mirth, Your noble General has slain Lord Bonivet, And for the act is a prisoner. Dares the state bereave him of his liberty, Without whose most unwearied valour, It had beene betray'd to slavery? You know Lord Bonivets alliance to the Duke. Allyance, death a thousand Bonivets, And Dukes and States, weigh not A scruple poys'd with his full worth. He's to be tryed ith'morning without noyse, For feare of mutiny, and tis suppos'd That if some virgin Lady doe not claime Her priviledge, and begge his life, he'll suffer. If the maid that begges must be above fifteene, Tis shrewdly doubted where she'll be found.