Cynthia's Revels, or The Fountain of Self-Love · chunk 54 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 · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
You will see, I shall now give him the gentle dor, presently, he forgetting to shift the colours, which are now changed, with alteration of the Mistress. At your last weapon, sir. The perfect Close. Set forward, intend your approach. Monsieur. 'Tis yours, signor. With your example, sir. Not I, sir. It is your right. By no possible means. You have the way. As I am noble— As I am virtuous— Pardon me, sir. I will die first. You are a tyrant in courtesy. He is removed— judges bear witness. What of that, sir? You are removed, sir. Well. I challenge you; you have received the dor. Give me the prize. Soft, sir. How, the dor? The common Mistress, you see, is changed. Right, sir. And you have still in your hat the former colours. You lie, sir, I have none: I have pulled 'em out. I meant to play discoloured. The dor, the dor, the dor, the dor, the dor! the palpable dor. Heart of my blood. AMORPHUS, what ha' you done? Stuck a disgrace upon us all, and at your last weapon? I could have done no more. By heaven, it was most unfortunate luck. Luck! by that candle, it was mere rashness, and oversight, would any man have ventured to play so open, and forsake his ward? Damn me if he ha' not eternally undone himself, in court; and discountenanced us, that were his main countenance, by it. Forgive it, now. It was the solecism of my stars. The Wring by the hand, and the Banquet is ours. O, here's a lady, feels like a wench of the first year; you would think her hand did melt in your touch; and the bones of her fingers ran out at length, when you priest 'em, they are so gently delicate! He that had the grace to print a kiss on these lips, should taste wine, & rose-leaves. O, she kisses as close as a cockle. Let's take 'em down, as deep as our hearts, wench, till our very souls mix. Adieu, signor. Good faith, I shall drink to you at supper, sir. Stay, Monsieur. Who awards you the prize? Why, his proper merit, sir: you see he has played down your grand garb-master, here. That's not in your logic to determine, sir: you are no courtier. This is none of your seven, or nine beggarly sciences, but a certain mystery above 'em, wherein we that have skill must pronounce, and not such freshmen as you are. Indeed, I must declare myself to you no professed courtling; nor to have any excellent stroke, at your subtle weapons: yet if you please, I dare venture a hit with you, or your fellow, sir DAGONET, here. With me? Yes, sir. Heart, I shall never have such a fortune to save myself in a fellow again, and your two reputations, gentlemen, as in this. I'll undertake him. Do, and swinge him soundly, good ANAIDES. Let me alone, I'll play other manner of play, then has been seen, yet. I would the prize lay on't.
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)
You will see, I shall now giue him the gentle dor, presently, hee forgetting to shift the colours, which are now chang'd, with alteration of the Mistris. At your last weapon, sir. The perfect Close. Set forward, intend your approch. Monsieur. 'Tis yours, Signior. With your example, sir. Not I, sir. It is your right. By no possible meanes. You haue the way. As I am noble— As I am vertuous— Pardon me, sir. I will die first. You are a tyranne in courtesie. He is remou'd—Iudges beare witnesse. What of that, sir? You are remou'd, sir. Well. I challenge you; you haue receiued the dor. Giue me the prize. Soft, sir. How, the dor? The common Mistris, you see, is changed. Right, sir. And you haue still in your hat the former colours. You lie, sir, I haue none: I haue pull'd 'hem out. I meant to play discolour'd. The dor, the dor, the dor, the dor, the dor! the palpable dor. Heart of my bloud. AMORPHVS, what ha' you done? Stuck a disgrace vpon vs all, and at your last weapon? I could haue done no more. By heauen, it was most vnfortunate lucke. Lucke! by that candle, it was meere rashnesse, and ouer-sight, would any man haue venterd to play so open, and forsake his ward? Dam' me if he ha' not eternally vndone himselfe, in court; and discountenanc'd vs, that were his maine countenance, by it. Forgiue it, now. It was the soloecisme of my starres. The Wring by the hand, and the Banquet is ours. O, here's a lady, feeles like a wench of the first yeare; you would thinke her hand did melt in your touch; and the bones of her fingers ran out at length, when you prest 'hem, they are so gently delicate! Hee that had the grace to print a kisse on these lips, should taste wine, & rose-leaues. O, shee kisses as close as a cockle. Let's take 'hem downe, as deepe as our hearts, wench, till our very soules mixe. Adieu, Signior. Good faith, I shall drinke to you at supper, sir. Stay, Monsieur. Who awards you the prize? Why, his proper merit, sir: you see hee has plaid downe your grand garbe-Master, here. That's not in your logicke to determine, sir: you are no courtier. This is none of your seuen, or nine beggerly sciences, but a certaine mysterie aboue 'hem, wherein wee that haue skill must pronounce, and not such fresh-men as you are. Indeed, I must declare my selfe to you no profest courtling; nor to haue any excellent stroke, at your subtile weapons: yet if you please, I dare venter a hit with you, or your fellow, sir DAGONET, here. With me? Yes, sir. Heart, I shall neuer haue such a fortune to saue my selfe in a fellow againe, and your two reputations, gentlemen, as in this. I'le vndertake him. Doe, and swinge him soundly, good ANAIDES. Let mee alone, I'le play other manner of play, then has beene seene, yet. I would the prize lay on't.