Marston, John · published 1602 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T62 The courtier as a type: fashion, affecta · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T62: courtier, shrug, face, court, italian, monsieur, scholar, fashion, french, courtiers.
Then, noble spirit, slide in strange disguise, Unto some gracious Prince, and sojourn there, Till time, and fortune give revenge firm means. No, i'll not trust the honour of a man: Gold is grown great, and makes perfidiousness A common water in most Princes Courts: He's in the Checkroll: I'll not trust my blood; I know none breathing, but will cog a die For twenty thousand double Pistolets. How goes the time? I saw no sun today. No sun will shine, where poor Andrugio breaths, My soul grows heavy: boy let's have a song: we'll sing yet, faith, even despite of fate. 'tis a good boy, & by my troth, well sung. O, and thou feltst my grief, I warrant thee, Thou wouldst have struck division to the height; And made the life of music breath: hold boy: why so? For God's sake call me not Andrugio, That I may soon forget what I have been. For heavens name, name not Antonio; That I may not remember he was mine. Well, ere yon sunne set, ile shew my selfe my selfe, Worthy my blood. I was a Duke; that's all. No matter whether, but from whence we fall. Castilio? Alberto? Balurdo? none up? Forobosco? Flattery, nor thou up yet: Then there's no Courtier stirring: that's firm truth? I cannot sleep: Feliche seldom rests In these court lodgings. I have walked all night, To see if the nocturnal court delights Could force me envy their felicity: And by plain troth; I will confess plain troth: I envy nothing, but the Travense light. O, had it eyes, and ears, and tongues, it might See sport, hear speech of most strange surquedries. O, if that candlelight were made a Poet, He would prove a rare firking Satirist, And draw the core forth of impostumed sin. Well, I thank heaven yet, that my content Can envy nothing, but poor candlelight. As for the other glistering copper spangs, That glisten in the tire of the Court, Praise God, I either hate, or pity them. Well here i'll sleep till that the scene of up Is passed at Court. O calm hushed rich content, Is there a being blessedness without thee? How soft thou downest the couch where thou dost rest, Nectar to life, thou sweet Ambrosian feast. Am not I a most sweet youth now? Yes, when your throat's perfumed; your very words Do smell of Amber grease. O stay sir, stay; Sprinkle some sweet water to your shoes heels, That your mistress may swear you have a sweet foot. Good, very good, very passing passing good. Fut, what treble minikin squeaks there, ha? good? very good, very very good? I will warble to the delicious concave of my Mistress ear: and strike her thoughts with The pleasing touch of my voice. Feliche, health, fortune, mirth, and wine, To thee my love divine. I drink to thee, sweeting. Plague on thee for an Ass. Now thou hast seen the Court; by the perfection of it, dost not envy it?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Then, noble spirit, slide in strange disguise, Vnto some gratious Prince, and soiourne there, Till time, and fortune giue reuenge firme meanes. No, ile not trust the honour of a man: Golde is growne great, and makes perfidiousnesse A common water in most Princes Courts: He's in the Chekle-roule: Ile not trust my blood; I know none breathing, but will cogge a dye For twentie thousand double Pistolets. How goes the time? I saw no sunne to day. No sun wil shine, where poor Andrugio breaths, My soule growes heauie: boy let's haue a song: Weele sing yet, faith, euen despite of fate. Tis a good boy, & by my troth, well sung. O, and thou felt'st my griefe, I warrant thee, Thou would'st haue strook diuision to the height; And made the life of musicke breath: hold boy: why so? For Gods sake call me not Andrugio, That I may soone forget what I haue bin. For heauens name, name not Antonio; That I may not remember he was mine. Well, ere yon sunne set, ile shew my selfe my selfe, Worthy my blood. I was a Duke; that's all. No matter whether, but from whence we fall. Castilio? Alberto? Balurdo? none vp? Forobosco? Flattery, nor thou vp yet: Then there's no Courtier stirring: that's firme truth? I cannot sleepe: Feliche seldome rests In these court lodgings. I haue walkt all night, To see if the nocturnall court delights Could force me enuie their felicitie: And by plaine troth; I will confesse plaine troth: I enuie nothing, but the Trauense light. O, had it eyes, and eares, and tongues, it might See sport, heare speach of most strange surquedries. O, if that candle-light were made a Poet, He would prooue a rare firking Satyrist, And drawe the core forth of impostum'd sin. Well, I thanke heauen yet, that my content Can enuie nothing, but poore candle-light. As for the other glistering copper spangs, That glisten in the tyer of the Court, Praise God, I eyther hate, or pittie them. Well here ile sleepe till that the sceane of vp Is past at Court. O calme husht rich content, Is there a being blessednesse without thee? How soft thou down'st the couch where thou dost rest, Nectar to life, thou sweet Ambrosian feast. Am not I a most sweete youth now? Yes, when your throat's perfum'd; your verie words Doe smell of Amber greece. O stay sir, stay; Sprinkle some sweete water to your shooes heeles, That your mistresse may swear you haue a sweet foot. Good, very good, very passing passing good. Fut, what trebble minikin squeaks there, ha? good? very good, very very good? I will warble to the delicious concaue of my Mistresse eare: and strike her thoughts with The pleasing touch of my voice. Feliche, health, fortune, mirth, and wine, To thee my loue diuine. I drinke to thee, sweeting. Plague on thee for an Asse. Now thou hast seene the Court; by the perfecction of it, dost not enuie it?