The Constant Maid (Love Will Find Out the Way) · chunk 25 of 32
Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1630(?)-1640] (Annals) not in BritDrama T61 Sir Giles Goosecap and related knightly typicality 0.81 · 472 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T61: gyles, giles, lord, wood, captain, cutt, lady, ladies, emphatical, knights.
Where ha' you left him? I'th' Gallery, where with much patience, He does expect his highness will send for him. Then all runs smooth, his wonder still continues. I fed that humour artificially; He is half persuaded all's but a dream, To which imagination his clothes Are a great help, because he paid not for 'em: Sometimes he is very merry, then again He struts about with such a scurvy pride, As some new crept into Nobility; When men of their first Livery come to see 'em; His honour has so changehim, that he now Knows not of what Religion he is; Or if he chance to think of his first faith, He spits o'th' hangings, and excused with, I do not like the Story, 'tis apocryphal: Sometimes he'll offer at a jest, and talk Nonsense with him that has been seven years Lorded; Frown upon any man that will presume To have more knowledge, in worse clothes; I told him It was his grace's pleasure he should be Controller of the Masque, and he did sweat, As he were studying for some mighty oaths To clear the presence: he is here; away. And you are Master of the house, Sir Clement, For so I heard you called. It is my name, Sr. Gyles, unworthy of this grace his Highness Is deigned to show in honouring of my daughter. And was she married this morning, say you? This morn she lost her Virgin name. I have not seen her yet, nor any of the Ladies, You have but little noise methinks in the house. It would offend his Grace. Who, as you say, came hither privately, with a small train Of Lords; Would I might see his face again; I am not sent for yet, I have been ready, Sr. Clement, these three hours, and I do wonder His Grace forgets himself so much. That Music speaks him on entrance. ay, that garb becomes him; How was his person lost within that shape He was first presented to me? Indeed the case is somewhat a Altered, by your highness' bounty To your poor subject, Hornet. Now he looks As he did scorn the quorum, and were hungry To eat a Statesman; 'Las an office in The household is too little for a breakfast: A Baron, but a morning's draught, he'll gulp it, Like a round Egg in Muscadine: methinks At every wiping of his mouth, should drop A golden saying of Pythagoras; A piece of Machiavell; I see already Hang on his Beard (which wants but stroking out) The Statutes and the Magna Charta have Taken a lease at his tongue's end. I will think on't; He shall be— but toth' banquet, Then let the mask be ready, there we shall Employ your worthy diligence. Heaven bless your mighty Grace. You'll follow.
seed 43: T59 · seed 44: T53 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Where ha' you left him? I'th' Gallery, where with much patience, He does expect his highnesse will send for him. Then all runs smoothe, his wonder still continues. I fed that humour artificially; He is halfe perswaded all's but a dream, To which imagination his clothes Are a great help, because he paid not for 'em: Sometimes he is very merry, then agen He struts about with such a scurvy pride, As some new crept into Nobility; When men of their first Livery come to see 'em; His honour has so chang'him, that he now Knowes not of what Religion he is; Or if he chance to thinke of his first faith, He spits o'th hangings, and excused with, I do not like the Story, 'tis apocryphall: Sometimes he'll offer at a jest, and talke Non-sense with him that has been seaven yeares Lorded; Frowne upon any man that will preume To have more knowledge, in worse clothes; I told him It was his Graces pleasure he should be Controuler of the Masque, and he did sweat, As he were studying for some mighty oathes To cleere the presence: he is here; away. And you are Master of the house, Sir Clement, For so I heard you call'd. It is my name, Sr. Gyles, unworthy of this grace his Highnesse Is daign'd to shew in honouring of my daughter. And was she married this morning, say you? This morne she lost her Virgin name. I have not seen her yet, nor any of the Ladies, You have but little noise methinkes in the house. It would offend his Grace. Who, as you say, came hither privately, with a small trai Of Lords; Would I might see his face agen; I am not sent for yet, I have beene ready, Sr. Clement, these three houres, and I do wonder His Grace forgets himselfe so much. That Musick speaks him on entrance. I, that garbe becomes him; How was his person lost within that shape He was first presented to me? Indeed the case is somewhat a Altered, by your highnesse bounty To your poore subject, Hornet. Now he lookes As he did scorne the quorum, and were hungry To eat a Statesman; 'Las an office in The houshold is too little for a breakfast: A Baron, but a mornings draught, he'll gulpe it, Like a round Egge in Muscadine: Me thinkes At every wiping of his mouth, should drop A golden saying of Pythagoras; A piece of Machiavell; I see already Hang on his Beard (which wants but stroaking out) The Statutes and the Magna Charta have Taken a lease at his tongues end. I will think on't; He shall be — but toth' banquet, Then let the masque be ready, there we shall Employ your worthy diligence. Heaven blesse your mightie Grace. You'll follow.