Chapman, George · published 1605 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · before the Court T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.83 · 527 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Ah errant sheepshead, hast thou lived thus long, And dar'st not look a Woman in the face? Though I desire especially to see My Son a Husband, Shall I therefore have him Turn absolute Cullion? Let's see, kiss thy hand. Thou kiss thy hand? thou wipest thy mouth by th'mass. Fie on thee Clown; They say the world's grown finer, But I for my part, never saw young men Worse fashioned and brought up then now adays. 'sfoot, when myself was young, was not I kept As far from Court as you? I think I was: And yet my Father on a time invited The Duchess of his house; I being then About some five and twenty years of age, Was thought the only man to entertain her: I had my congee; plant myself of one leg, Draw back the other with a deep fetched honour: Then with a Bell regard advance mine eye With boldness on her very physnomy. Your Dancers all were counterfeits to me: And for discourse in my fair Mistress presence, I did not as you barren Gallants do, Fill my discourses up drinking Tobacco; But on the present furnished ever more With tales and practised speeches; as some times What be't o'clock? What stuff's this Petticoat? What cost the making? What the Fringe and all? And what she had under her Petticoat? And such like witty compliments: and for need, I could have written as good Prose and Verse, As the most beggarly Poet of am all, Either acrostic, Exordion, Epithalamions, satires, Epigrams, Sonnets in dozens, or your Quatorzanies, In any Rhyme Masculine, Feminine, Or Sdrnciolla, or couplets, Blank Verse, You're but bench-whistlers nowadays to them That were in our times: well, about your Husbandry, Go, for I'fayth thouart fit for nothing else. Ber-lady you have played the Courtier rarely. But did you ever see so blank a Fool, When he should kiss a Wench, as my Son is? alas 'tis but a little bashfulness, You let him keep no company, nor allow him Money to spend at Fence and Dancing-schools, You're too severe i'faith. And you too supple. Well Sir, for your sake I have staid your Son From flying to the wars: now see you rate him, To stay him yet from more expenseful courses, Wherein your lenity will encourage him. Let me alone, I thank you for this kindness. So, are they gone? Now tell me brave Valerio Have I not won the wreath from all your wits, Brought thee t'enjoy the most desired presence Of thy dear love at home? and with one labour My brother t'enjoy thy sister, where It had been her undoing t'have him seen, And make thy father crave what he abhors: T'entreat my brother home t'enjoy his daughter, Command thee kiss thy wench, chide for not kissing, And work all this out of a Machiavel, A miserable Politician? I think the like was never played before! Indeed I must commend thy wit of force, And yet I know not whose deserves most praise Of thine, or my wit: thine for plotting well, Mi, that durst vndertake and carrie it With such true form.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Ah errant Sheepes-head, hast thou liu'd thus long, And dar'st not looke a Woman in the face? Though I desire especially to see My Sonne a Husband, Shall I therefore haue him Turne absolute Cullion? Lets see, kisse thy hand. Thou kisse thy hand? thou wip'st thy mouth by th'masse. Fie on thee Clowne; They say the world's growne finer, But I for my prt, neuer saw Youngmen Worse fashin'd and brought vp then now adayes. Sfoote, when my selfe was young, was not I kept As farre from Court as you? I thinke I was: And ye my Father on a time inuited The Dutchesse of his houe; I being then About some fiue and twentie yeares of age, Was thought the onelie man to entertaine her: I had my Conge; plant my selfe of one legg, Draw backe the tother with a deepe fetcht honor: Then with a Bell regard aduant mine eye With boldnes on her verie visnomie. Your Dauncers all were counterfets to mee: And for discourse in my faire Mistresse presence, I did not as you barraine Gallants doe, Fill my discourses vp drinking Tobacco; But on the present furnisht euer more With tales and practisde speeches; as some times What ist a clocke? What stuff's this Petticoate? What cost the making? What the Frindge and all? And what she had vnder her Petticoate? And such like wittie complements: and for need, I could haue written as good Prose and Verse, As the most beggerlie Poet of am all, Either accrostique, Exordion, Epithalamious, Syres, Epigrams, Sonnets in Doozens, or your Quatorzanies, In any Rime Masculine, Feminine, Or Sdrnciolla, or cooplets, Blancke Verse, Y'are but bench-whistlers now a dayes to them That were in our times▪ well, about your Husbandrie, Go, for I'fayth th'art fit for nothing else. B-Ladie you haue plaide the Courtier rarelie. But did you euer see so blanck a Foole, When he should kisse a Wench, as my Sonne is? Ahlas tis but a little bashfulnes, You let him keepe no companie, nor allow him Monie to spend at Fence and Dauncing-scholes, Y'are too seueere y'faith. And you too supple. VVell Sir, for your sake I haue staide your Sonne From flying to the warres: now see you rate him, To staie him yet from more expencefull courses, Wherein your lenitie will encourage him. Let me alone, I thank you for this kindnes. So, are they gone? Now tell me braue Ualerio Haue I not wonne the wreath from all your wits, Brought thee t'enioy the most desired presence Of thy deare loue at home? and with one labour My brother t'enioy thy sister, where It had beene her vndooing t'haue him seene, And make thy father craue what he abhorres: T'entreate my brother home t'enioy his daughter, Commaund thee kisse thy wench, chide for not kissing, And woke all this out of a Macheuil▪ A miserable Politician? I thinke the like was neuer plaid before▪ Indeede I must commend thy wit of force, And yet I know not whose deserues most praise Of thie, or my wit: thine for plotting well, Mi, that durst vndertake and carrie it With such true forme.