Histriomastix, or The Player Whipped · chunk 9 of 25
Marston, John · published 1610 · first performed or written 1599 [1598-1599] (Annals) moral · Unknown T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.83 · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
Fie what unworthy foolish foppery, Presents such buzzardly simplicity. No more, no more, unless 'twere better, And for the rest ye shall be our debtor. My Lords, of your accords, some better pleasure for to bring, if you a theme affords, you shall know it, that I post-haste the Poet, extempore can sing. I pray my Lord let's hait, the Play is so good, That this must needs be excellent. Content (my Lord) pray give a theme. Your Poets and your Pots, Are knit in true-Love knots. Give your Scholar degrees, and your Lawyer his fees And some dice for Sir Petronel flash: Give your Courtier grace, and your Knight a new case, And empty their purses of cash. Give your play-gull a stool, and my Lady her fool, And her usher potatoes and marrow But your Poet were he dead, set a pot to his head, And he rises as pert a sparrow. O delicate wine with thy power so divine, Full of ravishing sweet inspiration, Yet a verse may run clear that is tapped out of bear: Especially in the vacation. But when the term comes, that with trumpets and drums, Our play houses ring in confusion, Than Bacchus me murder, but rhyme we no further, Some sack now, upon the conclusion. Give them forty pence let them go, How likes Landulpho this extempore song? I blush in your behalfs at this base trash; In honour of our Italy we sport, As if a Synod of the holly Gods, Came to triumph within our Theatres, (Always commending English courtesy.) Our amphitheatres and Pyramids Are situate like three-headed Dindymus, Where stand the Statues of three striving Queens, That once contended for the golden ball, (Always commending English courtesy.) Are not your curious Dames of sharper spirit? I have a mistress whose entangling wit, Will turn and wind more cunning arguments, Then could the Craetan Labyrinth engyre. (Always commending English courtesy,) Good sir, you give our English Ladies cause, Respectively to applaud th' Italian guise, Which proudly henceforth we will prosecute. Command what fashion Italy affords. By'r Lady sir, I like not of this pride, Give me the ancient hospitality, They say 'tis merry in hall, when beards wag all. The Italian Lord is an Ass, the song is a good song, Brave minds, now beautify your thoughts with pomp, Send forth your Ships unto the furthest Seas, Fetch me the feathers of th' Arabian Birds, Bring Mermaids combs, and glasses for my gaze: Let all your sundry imitating shapes, Make this your native soil, the land of Apes. Then Ladies trick your trains with Turkish pride, Plate your disheveled hair with ropes of Pearl, Wear sparkling Diamonds like twinkling stars, And let your spangled crowns shine like the Sun, " If you will sit in throne of state with Pride, The newest fashion (still) must be your guide. Vain. Vainglory vows to lackey by thy foot, Till she hath swollen men's hearts with Arrogance. In like designs, two Hypocrisy, Is priest to spend her deepest industry.
seed 43: T16 · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Fie what vnworthy foolish foppery, Presents such buzzardly simplicity. No more, no more, vnlesse twere better, And for the rest yee shall be our debter. My Lords, of your accords, some better pleasure for to bring, if you a theame affords, you shall knowe it, that I Post-hast the Poet, extempore can sing. I pray my Lord let's hate, the Play is so good, That this must needs be excellent. Content (my Lord) pray giue a theame. Your Poetts and your Pottes, Are knit in true-Loue knots. Giue your Scholler degrees, and your Lawyer his fees And some dice for Sir Petronell flash: Giue your Courtier grace, and your Knight a new case, And empty their purses of cash. Giue your play-gull a stoole, and my Lady her foole, And her vsher potatoes and marrow But your Poet were he dead, set a pot to his head, And he rises as peart a sparrow. O delicate wine with thy power so diuine, Full of rauishing sweete inspiration, Yet a verse may runne cleare that is tapt out of beare: Especially in the vacation. But when the terme comes, that with trumpets and drumes, Our play houses ringe in confusion, Then Bacchus me murder, but rime we no further, Some sacke now, vpon the conclusion. Giue them forty pence let them goe, How likes Landulpho this extempore song? I blush in your behalfes at this base trasn; In honour of our Italy we sport, As if a Synod of the holly Gods▪ Came to tryumph within our Theaters, (Alwaies commending English curtesie.) Our Amphitheaters and Pyramides▪ Are scituate like three-headded Dindymus, Where stand the Statues of three striuing Queenes, That once contended for the goulden ball, (Alwaies commending English curtesie.) Are not your curious ames of sharper spirit? I haue a mistresse whoſe ntangling wit, Will turne and winde more cunning arguments, Then could the Craetan Labyrinth ingyre. (Alwayes commending English courtesie,) Good sir, you giue our English Ladyes cause, Respectiuely to applaud th' Italian guise, Which proudly hence-forth we will prosecute. Command what fashion Italy affoords. By'r Lady sir, I like not of this pride, Giue me the ancient hospitallity, They say 'tis merry in hall, when beards wag all. The Italian Lord is an Asse, the song is a good song, Braue mindes, now beautifie your thoughts with pompe, Send forth your Shipps vnto the furthest Seas, Fetch mee the feathers of th' Arabian Birds, Bring Mermaides combes, and glasses for my gaze: Let all your sundry imitating shapes, Make this your natiue soyle, 'the land of Apes. Then Ladies trick your traines with Turkish pride, Plate your disheau led haire with ropes of Pearle, Weare sparkling Diamonds like twinckling starres, And let your spangled crownes shine like the Sunne, "If you will sit in throne of state with Pride, "The newest fashion (still) must be your guide. Vain. Vaine-glory vowes to lackey by thy foote, Till she hath swolne mens hearts with Arrogance. In like designes, twofac'd Hypocrisie, Is prest to spend her deepest industry.