Cynthia's Revels, or The Fountain of Self-Love · chunk 49 of 66
Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1600 [1600-1601] (Annals) satire · Children of the Chapel (second) unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
Sir, he shall yield you all the honour of a competent adversary, if you please to undertake him— I am priest for the encounter. Me? challenge me? What! my Master, sir? 'Slight, Monsieur, meddle with me, do you hear? but do not meddle with my Master. Peace, good squib, go out. And stink, he bids you. Master? Silence, I do accept him. Sit you down, and observe. Me? He never professed a thing at more charges. Prepare yourself, sir. Challenge me? I will prosecute what disgrace my hatred can dictate to me. How tender a travailers spleen is? comparison, to men, that deserve least, is ever most offensive. You are instructed in our chartel, and know our weapons? I appear not without their notice, sir. But must I lose the prizes, Master? I will win them for you, be patient. Lady, vouchsafe the tenure of this ensign. Who shall be your stickler? Behold him. I would not wish you a weaker. Sound musics. I provoke you, at the bare Accost. Excellent comely! And worthily studied. This is th' exalted Foretop. O, his leg was too much produced. And his hat was carried skiruily. Peace; Let's see the monsieurs Accost: Rare! Sprightly, and short. True, it is the french curteau: He lacks but to have his nose slit. He does hop. He does bound too much. The second bout, to conclude this weapon. Good, believe it! An excellent offer! This is called the solemn bandstring. Foe, that cringe was not put home. 'Sfoot, he makes a face like a stabbed LUCRECE. Well, he would needs take it upon him, but would I had done it for all this. He makes me sit still here, like a baboon as I am. Making villainous faces. See, the French prepares it richly. ay, this is yclept the serious trifle. 'sblood, 'tis the horse-start out o' the brown study. Rather the bird-eyed stroke, sir. Your observance is too blunt, sir. judges, award the prize. Take breath, sir. This bout hath been laborious. And yet your Critic, or your Besso'gno, will think these things foppery, and easy, now. Or rather mere lunacy. For, would any reasonable creature make these his serious studies, and perfections? Much less, only live to these ends? to be the false pleasure of a few, the true love of none, and the just laughter of all? We must prefer the Monsieur, we courtiers must be partial. Speak, Guardian. Name the prize, at the bare Accost. A pair of wall-eyes, in a face forced. Give the Monsieur. AMORPHUS hath lost his eyes. I! is the palate of your judgement down? Gentles, I do appeal. Yes master, to me. The judges be fools. How now, sir? Tie up your tongue, Mongrel. He cannot appeal. Say you, sir? Sir you still, sir. Why, so I do. Do not I, I pray you? Remercy, Madame, and these honourable Censors. Well, to the second weapon, The better regard: I will encounter you better. Attempt. Sweet Honour. What says my good Ambition?
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)
Sir, he shall yeeld you all the honor of a competent aduersarie, if you please to vnder-take him— I am prest for the encounter. Me? challenge me? What! my Master, sir? S'light, Monsieur, meddle with me, doe you heare? but doe not meddle with my Master. Peace, good squib, goe out. And stinke, he bids you. Master? Silence, I doe accept him. Sit you downe, and obserue. Me? He neuer profest a thing at more charges. Prepare your selfe, sir. Challenge me? I will prosecute what disgrace my hatred can dictate to me. How tender a trauailers spleene is? comparison, to men, that deserue least, is euer most offensiue. You are instructed in our chartell, and know our weapons? I appeare not without their notice, sir. But must I lose the prizes, Master? I will win them for you, bee patient. Lady, vouchsafe the tenure of this ensigne. Who shall be your stickler? Behold him. I would not wish you a weaker. Sound musiques. I prouoke you, at the bare Accost. Excellent comely! And worthily studied. This is th' exalted Fore-top. O, his legge was too much produc'd. And his hat was carried skiruily. Peace; Let's see the Monsieur's Accost: Rare! Sprightly, and short. True, it is the french curteau: He lacks but to haue his nose slit. He do's hop. He do's bound too much. The second bout, to conclude this weapon. Good, beleeue it! An excellent offer! This is call'd the solemne band-string. Foe, that cringe was not put home. S'foot, he makes a face like a stab'd LVCRECE. Well, he would needes take it vpon him, but would I had done it for all this. He makes me sit still here, like a babioun as I am. Making villanous faces. See, the French prepares it richly. I, this is y'cleped the serious trifle. S'lud, 'tis the horse-start out o' the browne studie. Rather the bird-ey'd stroke, sir. Your obseruance is too blunt, sir. Iudges, award the prize. Take breath, sir. This bout hath beene laborious. And yet your Criticke, or your Besso'gno, will thinke these things sopperie, and easie, now. Or rather meere lunacy. For, would any reasonable creature make these his serious studies, and perfections? Much lesse, onely liue to these ends? to be the false pleasure of a few, the true loue of none, and the iust laughter of all? We must preferre the Monsieur, we courtiers must be partiall. Speake, Guardian. Name the prize, at the bare Accost. A paire of wall-eyes, in a face forced. Giue the Monsieur. AMORPHVS hath lost his eies. I! is the palate of your judgement downe? Gentles, I doe appeale. Yes master, to me. The judges be fooles. How now, sir? Tie vp your tongue, Mungrill. He cannot appeale. Say you, sir? Sir you still, sir. Why, so I doe. Doe not I, I pray you? Remercie, Madame, and these honourable Censors. Well, to the second weapon, The better Reguard: I will encounter you better. Attempt. Sweet Honour. What sayes my good Ambition?