Dekker, Thomas · published 1631 · first performed or written 1611 [c.1611-c.1613; re-licensed for stage, Aug 21, 1623] (Annals) tragicomedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) · Red Bull unassigned nearest T62 The courtier as a type: fashion, affecta · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T62: courtier, shrug, face, court, italian, monsieur, scholar, fashion, french, courtiers.
be attentive, I will show you your Court Coranto pace, it consisteth of 5. bees and 3. cees; you borrow of any man, are brave on any terms, brag at any hand to pay, bellow at any that demands it, bite any Catchpole that fangs you, but carry neither Conscience nor coin in your whole pockets. Tell me Signior, tell me why in the City does a harmless sign hang at the door of a subtle Nicodemus sitting in a shop? And tell me Signior, tell me, why when you eat our good cheer i'th' City, have you handsome wide chops, but meeting us at Court, none; your gum's glued up, your lips coped like a Ferret, not so much as the corner of a Custard; if a cold cup, and a dry cheat loaf 'tis well. Come, come, You are Acorns, and your Sons the Prodigals that eat you up. Go, go, you are Prodigals, and glad of the yellow Acorns we leave our Sons. I will cross myself when I owe money to a Citizen, and pass by his door. I will bless myself, when a Courtier owing me no money, comes near my door. You are descended from the tankard generation. You are ascended up to what you are, from the black Jack and bombard distillation. Dear Signior. Delicious Don. Boy. My Lord. Art sure thou sawst the Admiral at Court! Am I sure I see your Lordship in your gown. And talking with the King? Most familiarly. And what say the people about my committing to mine own house? The beast grins at it, there's a Libel already of you my Lord. A Libel, away. Yes faith my Lord, and a Song to the tune of Lament Ladies, Lament. I'm glad the stinkards are so merry, a halter on 'em, it's music to them to have every man thrown off, you have seen the king's Mistress, boy have you not, what manner of piece is't? Troth my Lord I know not, I never saw her shot off, a pretty little pocket dag. What report gives she? A very good report of her Husband, but he gives an ill report of her. How does the Ladies take it; now the King keeps a Wench under the queen's nose? They take it passing heavily, it goes to the heart of some of them, that he keeps not them too. I heard say they were all once leaving the Court? True sir, but there was a device which stopped 'em. Who are you! My Lord, we must speak with you. What are you? fetch me a weapon Your friends. 'Sdeath break it open. The King; I did not understand your Majesty. You shall, for I'll speak plain to you, know you these? Not I. You do not, a king's arm thou seest Has a long reach, as far as Portugal Can We fetch treason back hatched here by you. Me!
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)
Bee attentiue, I will shew you your Court Coranto pace, it consisteth of 5. bees and 3. cees; you borrow of any man, are braue on any termes, brag at any hand to pay, bellow at any that demands it, bite any Catchpole that fangs you, but carry neither Conscience nor coyne in your whole pockets. Tell mee Signior, tell mee why in the City does a harmlesse signe hang at the doore of a subtill Nicodemus sitting in a shop? And tell me Signior, tell me, why when you eate our good cheare i'th City, haue you handsome wide chops, but meeting vs at Court, none; your gumme's glew'd vp, your lips coap'd like a Ferret, not so much as the corner of a Custard; if a cold cup, and a dry cheate loafe 'tis well. Come, come, You are Acornes, and your Sonnes the Prodigals that eate you vp. Goe, goe, you are Prodigals, and glad of the yellow Acornes we leaue our Sonnes. I will crosse my selfe when I owe money to a Citizen, and passe by his doore. I will blesse my selfe, when a Courtier owing me no money, comes neare my doore. You are discended from the tanckerd generation. You are ascended vp to what you are, from the blacke Iacke and bumbard distillation. Deere Signior. Delicious Don. Boy. My Lord. Art sure thou saw'st the Admirall at Court! Am I sure I see your Lordship in your gowne. And talking with the King? Most familiarly. And what say the people about my committing to mine owne house? The beast grinnes at it, there's a Libell already of you my Lord. A Libell, away. Yes faith my Lord, and a Song to the tune of Lament Ladies, Lament. I'me glad the stinkards are so merry, a halter on 'em, it's musick to them to haue euery man thrown off, you haue seen the Kings Mistris, boy haue you not, what manner of peice is't? Troth my Lord I know not, I neuer saw her shot off, a pretty little pocket dag. What report giues she? A very good report of her Husband, but he giues an ill report of her. How does the Ladies take it; now the King keepes a Wench vnder the Queenes nose? They take it passing heauily, it goes to the heart of some of them, that he keepes not them too. I heard say they were all once leauing the Court? True sir, but there was a deuise which stopp'd 'em. Who are you! My Lord, we must speake with you. What are you? fetch me a weapon Your friends. 'Sdeath breake it open. The King; I did not vnderstand your Maiesty. You shall, for Ile speake plaine to you, know you these? Not I. You doe not, a Kings arme thou seest Has a long reach, as farre as Portugall Can We fetch treason backe hatcht here by you. Me!