Cynthia's Revels, or The Fountain of Self-Love · chunk 55 of 66
Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1600 [1600-1601] (Annals) satire · Children of the Chapel (second) T16 Gallantry: ladies, lordships and complim typicality 0.81 · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T16: lady, madam, gentleman, lordship, ladies, honour, mistress, sweet, court, servant.
It shall if you will, I forgive my right. Are you so confident? what's your weapon? At any, ay, sir. The perfect Close, That's now the best. Content, I'll pay your scholarity. Who offers? marry, that will I. I dare give you that advantage, too. You dare? Well, look to your liberal sconce. Make your play still, upon the answer, sir. Hold your peace, you are a hobby-horse. Sit by me, Master. Now CRITES, strike home. You shall see me undo the assured swaggerer with a trick, instantly: I will play all his own play before him; court the wench, in his garb, in his phrase, with his face; leave him not so much as a look, an eye, a stalk, or an imperfect oath, to express himself by, after me. Excellent, CRITES. When begin you, sir? Have you consulted? To your cost, sir; which is the Piece, stands forth to be courted? O, are you she? Well, Madame, or sweet lady, it is so, I do love you in some sort, do you conceive? and though I am no Monsieur, nor no signor, and do want (as they say) logic and sophistry, and good words, to tell you why it is so; yet by this hand, and by that candle, it is so; And though I be no bookworm, nor one that deals by art, to give you rhetoric, and causes, why it should be so, or make it good it is so, yet dam me, but I know it is so, and am assured it is so, and I and my sword shall make it appear it is so; and give you reason sufficient, how it can be no otherwise, but so— 'Slight, ANAIDES, you are mocked; and so we are all. How now, signor! What, suffer yourself to be cozened of your courtship, before your face? This is plain confederacy, to disgrace us: Let's be gone, and plot some revenge. When men disgraces share, The lesser is the care. Nay stay, my dear Ambition, I can do you over too. You that tell your Mistress, Her beauty is all composed of theft; Her hair stole from APOLLO's goldy-locks; Her white and red, lilies, and roses stolen out of paradise; Her eyes, two stars, plucked from the sky; Her nose, the gnomon of loves dial, that tells you how the clock of your heart goes: And for her other parts, as you cannot reckon 'em, they are so many; so you cannot recount them, they are so manifest. Yours, if his own, unfortunate HOYDEN, in stead of HEDON. Sister, come away, I cannot endure 'em longer. Go, Dors, and you, my Madame Courting-stocks, Follow your scorned, and derided mates; Tell to your guilty breasts, what mere guilt blocks You are, and how unworthy human states. Now, sacred god of wit, if you can make Those, whom our sports tax in these apish graces, Kiss (like the fighting snakes) your peaceful rod; These times shall canonize you for a god.
seed 43: T5 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
It shall if you will, I forgiue my right. Are you so confident? what's your weapon? At any, I, sir. The perfect Close, That's now the best. Content, I'le pay your scholaritie. Who offers? Mary, that will I. I dare giue you that aduantage, too. You dare? Well, looke to your liberall skonce. Make your play still, vpon the answere, sir. Hold your peace, you are a hobby-horse. Sit by me, Master. Now CRITES, strike home. You shall see me vndoe the assur'd swaggerer with a tricke, instantly: I will play all his owne play before him; court the wench, in his garbe, in his phrase, with his face; leaue him not so much as a looke, an eye, a stalke, or an imperfect oth, to expresse himselfe by, after me. Excellent, CRITES. When begin you, sir? Haue you consulted? To your cost, sir; which is the Peece, stands forth to bee courted? O, are you shee? Well, Madame, or sweet lady, it is so, I doe loue you in some sort, doe you conceiue? and though I am no Monsieur, nor no Signior, and do want (as they say) logicke and sophistrie, and good words, to tell you why it is so; yet by this hand, and by that candle, it is so; And though I bee no booke-worme, nor one that deales by arte, to giue you rhetorike, and causes, why it should be so, or make it good it is so, yet dam me, but I know it is so, and am assur'd it is so, and I and my sword shall make it appeare it is so; and giue you reason sufficient, how it can be no otherwise, but so— S'light, ANAIDES, you are mockt; and so we are all. How now, Signior! What, suffer your selfe to bee cossen'd of your courtship, before your face? This is plaine confederacy, to disgrace vs: Let's bee gone, and plot some reuenge. When men disgraces share, The lesser is the care. Nay stay, my deare Ambition, I can doe you ouer too. You that tell your Mistris, Her beautie is all composde of theft; Her haire stole from APOLLO's goldy-locks; Her white and red, lillies, and roses stolne out of paradise; Her eyes, two starres, pluckt from the skie; Her nose, the gnomon of Loues diall, that tells you how the clocke of your heart goes: And for her other parts, as you cannot reckon 'hem, they are so many; so you cannot recount them, they are so manifest. Yours, if his owne, vnfortunate HOYDEN, in stead of HEDON. Sister, come away, I cannot endure 'hem longer. Goe, Dors, and you, my Madame Courting-stocks, Follow your scorned, and derided mates; Tell to your guiltie brests, what meere guilt blocks You are, and how vnworthy humane states. Now, sacred god of wit, if you can make Those, whom our sports taxe in these apish graces, Kisse (like the fighting snakes) your peacefull rod; These times shall canonize you for a god.