Marston, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) (?) unassigned nearest T62 The courtier as a type: fashion, affecta · 465 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T62: courtier, shrug, face, court, italian, monsieur, scholar, fashion, french, courtiers.
We come sweet gallants; and grumbling hate lie still And turn Fantastic: he that climbs a hill Must wheel about, the ladder to account Is sly dissemblance, he that means to mount, Must lie all level in the prospective Of eager sighted greatness, thou wouldst thrive, The Venice state is young, loose, and unknit, Can relish nought but luscious vanities Go fit his tooth, O glavering flattery, How potent art thou: front look brisk and sleek, That such base dirt as you should dare to reek, In PRINCE's nostrils. Well my scene is long. I come hot bloods, those that their state would swell, Must bear a counter-face: the devil and hell Confound them all, that's all my prayers exact, So ends our chat, sound Music for the Act. For Godsake remember to take special marks of me, or you will near be able to know me. Why man? Why good faith I scarce know myself already methinks I should remember to forget myself, now I am so shining brave. Indeed Francisco was always a sweet youth, for I am a Perfumer, but thus brave? I am an alien to it, would you make me like the drowned Albano, must I bear't mainly up, must I be he. What else man? O what else? I warrant you give him but fair rich clothes, He can be ta'en, reputed any thing, apparel's grown a God and goes more neat, Makes men of rags, which straight he bears aloft, Like patched up scarecrows to affright the rout Of the Idolatrous vulgar, that worship Images, Stand awed and bare-scalped at the gloss of silks, Which like the glorious Ajax of Lincoln's Inn, (Suruai'd with wonder by me when I lay, Factor in London:) laps up nought but filth And excrements, that bear the shape of men, Whose inside every day would peck and tear, But that vain scarecrow clothes entreats forbear. You would have me take upon me Albano, A valiant gallant Venetian Burgomasco, Well my beard, my feather, short sword and my oath Shall do't fear not. What I know a number By the sole warrant of a Lapy-beard, A rain beat plume, and a good chop filling oath, With an odd French shrug, and by the Lord or so, Ha leaped into sweet Captain with such ease, As you would fear't not, I'll gauge my heart I'll do't, How sits my Hat, ha, Iack doth my feather wag. methinks now in the common sense of fashion, Thou shouldst grow proud, and like a fore-horse view, None but beforehand gallants, as for sides And those that rank in equal file with thee, Study a faint salute, give a strange eye, But as to those in rearward O be blind, The world wants eyes, it cannot see behind.
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)
We come sweet gallants; and grumbling hate lye stil And turne Phantastique: he that climbes a hill Must wheele about, the ladder to account Is slie dissemblance, he that meanes to mount, Must lye all leuell in the prospectiue Of eager sighted greatnesse, thou wouldst thriue, The Venice state is young, loose, and vnknit, Can rellish naught but lushious vanities Goe fit his tooth, O glauering flatterie, How potent art thou: front looke briske and sleeke, That such base durt as you should dare to reeke, In Princes nostrils. Well my sceane is long. I come hotte blouds, those that their state would swell, Must beare a counter-face: the diuell and hell Confound them all, that's all my prayers exact, So ends our chat, sound Musick for the Act. For God-sake remember to take speciall markes of me, or you will nere be able to know me. Why man? Why good faith I scarce know my selfe already me thinks I should remember to forget my selfe, now I am so shining braue. Indeed Francisco was alwayes a sweete youth, for I am a Persumer, but thus braue? I am an alien to it, would you make mee like the drownd Albano, must I bear't mainly vp, must I bee hee. What els man? O what else? I warrant you giue him but faire riche cloathes, Hee can bee tane, reputed any thing, Apparail's growne a God and goes more neate, Makes men of ragges, which straight he beares aloft, Like patcht vp scar-Crowes to affright the rout Of the Idolatrous vulgar, that worship Images, Stand aw'd and bare-skalp't at the glosse of silkes, Which like the glorious Aiax of Lincolnes Inne, (Suruai'd with wonder by me when I lay, Factor in London:) lappes vp naught but filth And excrements, that beare the shape of men, Whose in-side euery day would peck and teare, But that vaine skar-crow cloathes intreates forbeare. You would haue me take vpon me Albano, A valiant gallant Venetian Burgomasco, Well my beard, my feather, short sword and my oth Shall doo't feare not. What I know a number By the sole warrant of a Lapy-beard, A raine beate plume, and a good chop filling oth, With an odde French shrugge, and by the Lotd or so, Ha leapt into sweete Captaine with such ease, As you would-feart not, Ile gage my heart Ile do't, How sits my Hat, ha, Iack doth my feather wagge. Me thinkes now in the common sence of fashion, Thou shouldst grow proud, and like a fore-horse view, None but before-hand gallants, as for sides▪ And those that ranke in equall file with thee, Studdy a faint salute, giue a strange eye, But as to those in rere-ward O be blind, The world wants eyes, it cannot see behind.