Chapman, George · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) tragedy · Children of Paul's (second) · Paul's unassigned nearest T62 The courtier as a type: fashion, affecta · 468 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T62: courtier, shrug, face, court, italian, monsieur, scholar, fashion, french, courtiers.
What will he send? some Crowns? It is to sow them Upon my spirit, and make them spring a Crown Worth Millions of the feed Crowns he will send: But he's no husband here; A smooth plain ground Will never nourish any politic seed; I am for honest Actions, not for great: If I may bring up a new fashion, And rise in Court with virtue; speed his plow: The King hath known me long as well as he, Yet could my Fortune never fit the length Of both their understandings till this hour. There is a deep nick in times restless wheel For each man's good, when which nick comes it strikes; As Rhetoric, yet works not persuasion, But only is a mean to make it work: So no man riseth by his real merit, But when it cries clink in his raiser's spirit: Many will say, that cannot rise at all, Man's first hours rise, is first step to his fall. I'll venture that; men that fall low must die, As well as men cast headlong from the sky. Humour of Princes. Is this man endued With any merit worth a thousand Crowns? Will my Lord have me be so ill a Steward Of his Revenue, to dispose a sum So great with so small cause as shows in him? I must examine this: Is your name D'Ambois? Sir. Is your name D'Ambois? Who have we here? Serve you the Monsieur? How? Serve you the Monsieur? Sir, you're very hot. I serve the Monsieur; But in such place as gives me the Command Of all his other servants: And because His grace's pleasure is, to give your good A Pass through my Command; Methinks you might Use me with more good fashion. Cry you mercy. Now you have opened my dull eyes, I see you; And would be glad to see the good you speak of: What might I call your name? Monsieur Maffe. Monsieur Maffe? Then good Monsieur Maffe, Pray let me know you better. Pray do so, That you may use me better, For yourself, By your no better outside, I would judge you To be a Poet; Have you given my Lord Some Pamphlet? Pamphlet? Pamphlet sir, I say. Did his wise excellency leave the good That is to pass your charge, to my poor use, To your discretion? Though he did not sir, I hope 'tis no bad office to ask reason, How that his grace gives me in charge, goes from me? That's very perfect sir. Why very good sir; I pray then give me leave: If for no Pamphlet, May I not know what other merit in you, Makes his compunction willing to relieve you? No merit in the world sir. That is strange. You're a poor soldier, are you?
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)
What will he send? some Crounes? It is to sow them Vpon my spirit, and make them spring a Croune Worth Millions of the feede Crounes he will send: But hee's no husband heere; A smooth plaine ground Will neuer nourish any politicke seede; I am for honest Actions, not for great: If I may bring vp a new fashion, And rise in Court with vertue; speede his plow: The King hath knowne me long as well as hee, Yet could my Fortune neuer fit the length Of both their vnderstandings till this houre. There is a deepe nicke in times restlesse wheele For each mans good, when which nicke comes it strikes; As Rhetoricke, yet workes not perswasion, But only is a meane to make it worke: So no man riseth by his reall merit, But when it cries Clincke in his Raisers spirit: Many will say, that cannot rise at all, Mans first houres rise, is first steppe to his fall. Il'e venture that; men that fall low must die, As well as men cast headlong from the skie. Humor of Princes. Is this man indu'd With any merit worth a thousand Crounes? Will my Lord haue me be so ill a Steward Of his Reuenue, to dispose a summe So great with so small cause as shewes in him? I must examine this: Is your name D'Ambois? Sir. Is your name D'Ambois? Who haue wee heere? Serue you the Monsieur? How? Serue you the Monsieur? Sir, y'are very hot. I serue the Monsieur; But in such place as giues me the Command Of all his other seruants: And because His Graces pleasure is, to giue your good A Passe through my Command; Methinks you might Vse me with more good fashion. Crie you mercie. Now you haue opened my dull eies, I see you; And would be glad to see the good you speake of: What might I call your name? Monsieur Maffe. Monsieur Maffe? Then good Monsieur Maffe, Pray let me know you better. Pray doe so, That you may vse me better, For your selfe, By your no better outside, I would iudge you To be a Poet; Haue you giuen my Lord Some Pamphlet? Pamphlet? Pamphlet sir, I say. Did his wise excellencie leaue the good That is to passe your charge, to my poore vse, To your discretion? Though he did not sir, I hope tis no bad office to aske reason, How that his grace giues mee in charge, goes from me? That's very perfect sir. Why very good sir; I pray then giue me leaue: If for no Pamphlet, May I not know what other merit in you, Makes his compunction willing to relieue you? No merit in the world sir. That is strange. Y'are a poore souldier, are you?