The Constant Maid (Love Will Find Out the Way) · chunk 27 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 0.75 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T61: gyles, giles, lord, wood, captain, cutt, lady, ladies, emphatical, knights.
But while I am in office I'll know nobody. I am your scrivener. Draw thy purse, wherein Thou keep'st thy ears, and leave 'em at the door; The Guard trust none without a pawn; they'll serve, If they be ne'er redeemed, to seethe in milk For a sore throat: Jewes ears I know they are. Sir Gyles, here's your Niece. My Niece? the devil she is. Pray Uncle let me in. Her very voice: Ha? open the doors there; Where is she? Whom? My Niece that called to me. None called: nor was there any woman here. No, nor my Scrivener bawling out, Sir Gyles, Not at any hand your worship. Then I dream, And I am a fool to make a question on't. Ha, ha, ha. The knaves laugh at me, but let 'em, I Shall be as merry with this tale tomorrow: What fancies men have in their sleep sometimes? His Highness. Where be the Ladies? They are all i'th' Masque. Nay, 'tis no matter, why do I ask the question? You'll see 'em, Sir, anon. willit please your Grace? And you Sir Gyles, the subject of the Masque. What's here, the three Goddesses Contention for the golden ball? This is Paris; So. These are the three Goddesses; Iuno, Pallas, Venus. Iuno doth woo him with her State and Kingdoms. But he refuses, more fool he. He is not for her service, though she offer To make him Scholar and a Soldier: A complete man. No, no, that fairy must win the ball. Ha? that's my Niece. Which, Sr. Gyles? That whom Dame Venus and her Dandiprat Are busy withal. Why that's the Bride. Bride, quotha? Married this morning; 'Tis my daughter, sir. Nay, if she be my Niece, I am sure she was not Married this morning. She's safe enough at home, And has but halfe her wits, as I remember: The devil cannot juggle her from my custody. Ha, ha, I do dream still. 'Tis time to break off revels: How like you this, Sr. Gyles? A very fine dream, i'faith. I see you'd be a-bed; You are not used To these late hours. Lights for his Highness. I humbly beg your licence I may return to my own lodging. Well, sir, 'tis easily granted. Lights for Sir Gyles: One shall attend you home. Ha, ha, ha. Why do you laugh? At a conceit, at a conceit: What did I eat last night, to make me dream thus? You have done well? Would you had done no worse. These are his clothes, and you must give account How you came by 'em, and produce him safe Ere you acquit yourself; We may suspect You ha' killed him. Then I obey my destiny; Justice I see pursues the guilty person: Dispose me where you please. He does confess. whate'er you be, you can but have my life For his; all your revenge can reach no higher: And to the law I yield myself.
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)
But while I am in office I'll know no body. I am your Scrivenor. Draw thy purse, wherein Thou keep'st thy eares, and leave 'em at the doore; The Guard trust none without a pawne; they'll serve, If they be ne're redeem'd, to seethe in milke For a sore throat: Jewes eares I know they are. Sir Gyles, here's your Neece. My Neece? the devill she is. Pray Uncle let me in. Her very voice: Ha? open the doores there; Where is she? Whom? My Neece that call'd to me. None call'd: nor was there any woman here. No, nor my Scrivener bawling out, Sir Gyles, Not at any hand your worship. Then I dreame, And I am a fool to make a question on't. Ha, ha, ha. The knaves laugh at me, but let 'em, I Shall be as merry with this tale to morrow: What fancies men have in their sleep sometimes? His Highnesse. Where be the Ladies? They are all i'th' Masque. Nay, 'tis no matter, why do I aske the question? You'll see 'em, Sir, anon. Wilt please your Grace? And you Sir Gyles, the subject of the Masque. What's here, the three Goddesses Contention for the golden ball? This is Paris; So. These are the three Goddesses; Iuno, Pallas, Venus. Iuno doth wooe him with her State and Kingdomes. But he refuses, more foole he. He is not for her service, though she offer To make him Schollar and a Souldier: A compleat man. No, no, that fairie must win the ball. Ha? that's my Neece. Which, Sr. Gyles? That whom Dame Venus and her Dandiprat Are busie withall. Why that's the Bride. Bride, quotha? Married this morning; 'Tis my daughter, sir. Nay, if she be my Neece, I am sure she was not Married this morning. She's saf enough at home, And has but halfe her wits, as I remember: The devil cannot juggle her from my custody. Ha, ha, I do deame still. 'Tis time to breake off revels: How like you this, Sr. Gyles? A very fine dreame, ifaith. I see you'd be a bed; You are not us'd To these late houres. Lights for his Highness. I humbly beg your license I may returne to my owne lodging. Well, sir, 'tis easily granted. Lights for Sir Gyles: One shall attend you home. Ha, ha, ha. Why do you laugh? At a conceit, at a conceit: What did I eat last night, to make me dream thus? You have done well? Would you had done no worse. These are his clothes, and you must give account How you came by 'em, and produce him safe Ere you acquit your selfe; We may suspect You ha' kill'd him. Then I obey my destiny; Justice I see pursues the guilty person: Dispose me where you please. He does confess. What ere you be, you can but have my life For his; all your revenge can reach no higher: And to the law I yeeld my selfe.