Shakespeare, William · published 1600 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1597-1598] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T8 Captains, gallants and cheats typicality 0.79 · 511 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T8: captain, master, money, gentleman, little, lieutenant, rogue, pray, minos, honest.
Then, to you mistress Dorothy, I will charge you. Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy companion: what you poor base rascally cheating lacke-linnen mate? away you mouldy rogue, away, I am meat for your master. I know you mistress Dorothy. Away you cutpurse rascal, you filthy boung, away, by this wine I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps and you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away you bottle ale rascal, you basket hilt stolen juggler, you. Since when, I pray you sir: God's light, with two points on your shoulder? much. God let me not live, but I will murder your ruff for this. No more Pistol, I would not have you go off here, discharge yourself of our company, Pistol. No, good captain Pistol, not here, sweet captain. Captain, thou abominable damned cheter, art thou not ashamed to be called Captain? and Captains were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you, before you have earned them: you a captain? you slave, for what? for teareing a poor whores ruff in a bawdy house: he a captain! hang him rogue, he lives upon mowldy stewed pruins, and dried cakes: a captain? God's light these villains will make the word as odious as the word occupy, which was an excellent good word before it was il sorted, therefore captains had need look toost. Pray thee go down good Ancient. Hark thee hither mistress Dol. Not I, I tell thee what corporal Bardolfe, I could tear her, I'll be revenged of her. Pray thee go down. I'll see her damned first, to Pluto's damned lake by this hand to th'infernal deep, with erebus & tortures vile also: hold hook and line, say I: down, down dogs, down faters have we not Hiren here? Good captain Pistol be quiet, 'tis very late i'faith, I beseek you now aggravate your choler. These be good humours indeed, shall packhorses, and hollow pampered jades of Asia which cannot go but thirty mile a day, compare with Caesars and with Cannibals, and troiant Greeks'? nay rather damn them with King Cerberus, and let the Welkin roar, shall we fall foul for toys? By my troth captain, these are very bitter words. Be gone good Ancient, this will grow to a brawl anon. Men like dogs give crowns like pins, have we not Hiren here? A my word Captain, there's none such here, what the goodyeare do you think I would deny her? for God's sake be quiet. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis, come gives some sack, si fortune me torment sperato me contento, fear we broad sides? no, let the fiend give fire, give me some sack, and sweet heart, lie thou there, come we to full points here? and are & caeteraes, no things? Pistol, I would be quiet. Sweet Knight, I kiss thy neaffe, what, we have seen the seven stars. For God's sake thrust him down stairs, I cannot endure such a fustian rascal. Thrust him down stairs, know we not Galloway nags?
nodes 597–620 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 18 of 47 in this edition
Length
511 words · 732 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T8 — Captains, gallants and cheatscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.789 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T11 · seed 44: T14 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Then, to you mistris Dorothy, I will charge you. Charge me? I scorne you, scuruy companion: what you poore base rascally cheting lacke-linnen mate? away you mouldie rogue, away, I am meate for your maister. I know you mistris Dorothy. Away you cutpurse rascall, you filthy boung, away, by this wine Ile thrust my knife in your mouldie chappes and you play the sawcie cuttle with me. Away you bottle ale rascall, you basket hilt stale iuggler, you. Since when, I pray you sir: Gods light, with two points on your shoulder? much. God let me not liue, but I will murther your ruffe for this. No more Pistol, I would not haue you go off here, discharge your selfe of our company, Pistoll. No, good captaine Pistoll, not here, sweete captain. Captain, thou abhominable damnd cheter, art thou not ashamed to be called Captaine? and Captaines were of my mind, they would trunchion you out, for taking their names vpon you, before you haue earnd them: you a captaine? you slaue, for what? for teareing a poore whoores ruffe in a bawdy house: hee a captaine! hang him rogue, he liues vpon mowldy stewd prins, and dried cakes: a captaine? Gods light these villaines wil make the word as odious as the word occupy, which was an excellent good worde before it was il sorted, therefore captains had neede look toot. Pray thee go downe good Ancient. Hearke thee hither mistris Dol. Not I, I tell thee what corporall Bardolfe, I could teare her, Ile be reuengde of her. Pray thee go downe. Ile see her damnd first, to Plutoes damnd lake by this hād to th'infernal deep, with erebus & tortures vile also: holde hooke and line, say I: downe, downe dogges, downe faters haue we not Hiren here? Good captaine Peesell be quiet, tis very late yfaith, I beseeke you now aggrauate your choller. These be good humors indeede, shal pack-horses, and hollow pamperd iades of Asia which cannot goe but thirtie mile a day, compare with Caesars and with Canibals, and troiant Greekes? nay rather damne them with King Cerbeus, and let the Welkin roare, shall we fall foule for toies? By my troth captaine, these are very bitter words. Be gone good Ancient, this will grow to a brawle anon. Men like dogges giue crownes like pins, haue we not Hiren here? A my word Captaine, theres none such here, what the goodyeare do you thinke I would denie her? for Gods sake be quiet. Then feed and be fat, my faire Calipolis, come giues some sacke, si fortune me tormente sperato me contento, feare we brode sides? no, let the fiend giue fire, giue me some sacke, and sweet hart, lie thou there, come we to ful points here? and are & caeteraes, no things? Pistol, I would be quiet. Sweet Knight, I kisse thy neaffe, what, we haue seene the seuen starres. For Gods sake thrust him down staires, I cannot indure such a fustian rascall. Thrust him downe staires, know we not Galloway nagges?