Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1610 (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T62 The courtier as a type: fashion, affecta · 485 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T62: courtier, shrug, face, court, italian, monsieur, scholar, fashion, french, courtiers.
Sir, although We may be said to want the guilt, and trappings, The dress of honour; yet we strive to keep The seeds, and the materials. I do see The old ingredient, virtue, was not lost, Nor the drug money, used to make your compound. There is a strange nobility, i' your eye, This lip, that chin! methinks you do resemble One o' the Austrian princes. Very like, Her father was an Irish costermonger. The house of Valois, just, had such a nose. And such a forehead, yet, the Medici Of Florence boast. Troth, and I have been likened To all these Princes. I'll be sworn, I heard it. I know not how! it is not any one, But e'en the very choice of all their features. I'll in, and laugh. A certain touch, or air, That sparkles a divinity, beyond An earthly beauty! O, you play the courtier. Good lady, gi' me leave— In faith, I may not, To mock me, sir. To burn i' this sweet flame: The Phoenix never knew a nobler death. Nay, now you court the courtier: and destroy What you would build. This art, sir, i' your words, Calls your whole faith in question. By my soul— Nay, oaths are made o' the same air, sir. Nature Never bestowed upon mortality, A more unblamed, a more harmonious feature: She played the stepdame in all faces, else. Sweet madame, le' me be particular— Particular, sir? I pray you, know your distance. In no ill sense, sweet lady, but to ask How your fair graces pass the hours? I see You're lodged, here, i' the house of a rare man, An excellent Artist: but, what's that to you? Yes, sir. I study here the mathematics, And distillation. O, I cry your pardon. H' is a divine instructor! can extract DOst thou not laugh? Yes. Are they gone? All's clear. The widow is come. And your quarreling disciple? I. I must to my Captainship again, then. Stay, bring 'em in, first. So I meant. What is she? A Bony-bell? I know not. we'll draw lots, You'll stand to that? What else? O, for a suit, To fall now, like a curtain: flap. To th'door, man. You'll ha' the first kiss, 'cause I am not ready. Yes, and perhaps hit you through both the nostrils. Who would you speak with? where's the Captain? Gone, sir, About some business. Gone? he'll return straight. But master Doctor, his Lieutenant, is here. Come near, my worshipful Boy, my terrae Fili, That is, my Boy of land; make thy approaches: Welcome, I know thy lusts, and thy desires, And I will serve, and satisfy 'em. Begin, Charge me from thence, or thence, or in this line; Here is my centre: Ground thy quarrel. You lie. How, child of wrath, and anger! the loud lie? For what, my sudden Boy? Nay, that look you too, I am aforehand.
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)
Sir, although We may be said to want the guilt, and trappings, The dresse of honor; yet we striue to keepe The seedes, and the materialls. I doe see The old ingredient, vertue, was not lost, Nor the drug money, vs'd to make your compound. There is a strange nobilitie, i' your eye, This lip, that chin! Me thinks you doe resemble One o' the Austriack princes. Very like, Her father was an Irish costar-monger. The house of Valois, iust, had such a nose. And such a fore-head, yet, the Medici Of Florence boast. Troth, and I haue beene lik'ned To all these Princes. I'll be sworne, I heard it. I know not how! it is not any one, But ee'n the very choise of all their features. I'll in, and laugh. A certaine touch, or aire, That sparkles a diuinitie, beyond An earthly beautie! O, you play the courtier. Good lady, gi' me leaue— In faith, I may not, To mock me, sir. To burne i' this sweet flame: The Phoenix neuer knew a nobler death. Nay, now you court the courtier: and destroy What you would build. This art, sir, i' your words, Calls your whole faith in question. By my soule— Nay, oathes are made o' the same aire, sir. Nature Neuer bestow'd vpon mortalitie, A more vnblam'd, a more harmonious feature: Shee play'd the step-dame in all faces, else. Sweet madame, le' me be particular— Particular, sir? I pray you, know your distance. In no ill sense, sweet lady, but to aske How your faire graces passe the houres? I see Yo'are lodg'd, here, i' the house of a rare man, An excellent Artist: but, what's that to you? Yes, sir. I studie here the mathematiques, And distillation. O, I crie your pardon. H' is a diuine instructer! can extract DOst thou not laugh? Yes. Are they gone? All's cleare. The widdow is come. And your quarrelling disciple? I. I must to my Captaine-ship againe, then. Stay, bring 'hem in, first. So I meant. What is shee? A Bony-bell? I know not. Wee'll draw lots, You'll stand to that? What else? O, for a suite, To fall now, like a cortine: flap. To th'dore, man. You'll ha' the first kisse, 'cause I am not readie. Yes, and perhaps hit you through both the nostrils. Who would you speak with? Wher's the Captaine? Gone, sir, About some businesse. Gone? Hee'll returne straight. But master Doctor, his Lieutenant, is here. Come neere, my worshipfull Boy, my terrae Fili, That is, my Boy of land; make thy approches: Welcome, I know thy lusts, and thy desires, And I will serue, and satisfie 'hem. Beginne, Charge me from thence, or thence, or in this line; Here is my center: Ground thy quarrell. You lie. How, child of wrath, and anger! the loud lie? For what, my sodaine Boy? Nay, that looke you too, I am afore-hand.