Jonson, Ben · published 1616 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Children of the Chapel (second) T8 Captains, gallants and cheats typicality 0.78 · 504 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T8: captain, master, money, gentleman, little, lieutenant, rogue, pray, minos, honest.
'Slight! I hold my life, This same is he met him in holy street. Troth, 'tis like enough. This act of PROPERTIUS relisheth very strange, with me. By thy leave, my neat scoundrel: what, is this the mad boy you talked on? I: this is master ALBIUS, Captain. Give me thy hand, AGAMEMNON; we hear abroad, thou art the HECTOR of citizens: what sayest thou? are we welcome to thee, noble NEOPTOLEMUS? Welcome, Captain? by JOVE, and all the Gods i'the capitol— No more, we conceive thee. Which of these is thy wedlock, MENELAUS? thy HELLEN? thy LUCRECE? that we may do her honour; mad boy? she i'the little fine dressing, sir, is my Mistress. For fault of a better, sir. A better, profane rascal? I cry thee mercy (my good scroil) was't thou? No harm, Captain. she is a VENUS, a VESTA, a MELPOMENE: Come hither, PENELOPE; what's thy name, IRIS? My name is CHLOE, sir; I am a gentlewoman. Thou art in merit to be an empress (CHLOE) for an eye, and a lip; thou hast an emperor's nose: kiss me again: 'tis a virtuous punk, So. Before JOVE, the gods were a sort of goslings, when they suffered so sweet a breath, to perfume the bed of a stinkard: thou hadst ill fortune, THISBE; the fates were infatuate; they were, punk; they were. That's sure, sir: let me crave your name, I pray you, sir. I am known by the name of Captain TUCCA, punk; the noble Roman, punk: a gent'man, and a commander, punk. In good time: a gentleman, and a commander? that's as good as a poet, methinks. A pretty instrument! It's my cousin CYTHERIS viol, this: is't not? Nay, play cousin, it wants but such a voice, and hand, to grace it, as yours is. Alas, cousin, you are merrily inspired. Pray you play, if you love me. Yes, cousin: you know, I do not hate you. A most subtle wench! How she hath baited him with a viol yonder, for a song! Cousin, 'pray you call mistress CHLOE; she shall hear an essay of my poetry. I'll call her. Come hither, cockatrice: here's one, will set thee up, my sweet punk; set thee up. Are you a peewit, so soon, sir? Wife: mum. love is blind, and a wanton; In the whole world, there is scant- one such another: No, not his Mother. He hath plucked her doves, and sparrows, To feather his sharp arrows, And alone prevaileth, Whilst sick VENUS waileth. But if CYPRIS once recover The wag; it shall behove her To look better to him: Or she will undo him. O, most odoriferous music! A, ha! stinkard. Another ORPHEUS, you slave, another ORPHEUS! an ARION, riding on the back of a dolphin, rascal! Have you a copy of this ditty, sir? Master ALBIUS has. ay, but in truth, they are my wives verses; I must not show 'em. Show 'em, bankrupt, show 'em; they have salt in 'em, and will brook the air, stinkard.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1098–1143 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 31 of 57 in this edition
Length
504 words · 810 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T8 — Captains, gallants and cheatscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.784 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
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)
'Slight! I hold my life, This same is he met him in holy street. Troth, 'tis like enough. This act of PROPERTIVS relisheth very strange, with me. By thy leaue, my neat scoundrell: what, is this the mad boy you talk't on? I: this is master ALBIVS, Captaine. Giue me thy hand, AGAMEMNON; we heare abroad, thou art the HECTOR of citizens: what sayest thou? are we welcome to thee, noble NEOPTOLEMVS? Welcome, Captaine? by IOVE, and all the Gods i'the capitoll— No more, we conceiue thee. Which of these is thy wedlocke, MENELAVS? thy HELLEN? thy LVCRECE? that wee may doe her honor; mad boy? Shee i'the little fine dressing, sir, is my Mistris. For fault of a better, sir. A better, prophane rascall? I crie thee mercy (my good scroile) was't thou? No harme, Captaine. Shee is a VENVS, a VESTA, a MELPOMENE: Come hither, PENELOPE; what's thy name, IRIS? My name is CHLOE, sir; I am a gentlewoman. Thou art in merit to be an empresse (CHLOE) for an eye, and a lip; thou hast an emperors nose: kisse me againe: 'tis a vertuous punke, So. Before IOVE, the gods were a sort of goslings, when they suffred so sweet a breath, to perfume the bed of a stinkard: thou hadst ill fortune, THISBE; the fates were infatuate; they were, punke; they were. That's sure, sir: let me craue your name, I pray you, sir. I am know'n by the name of Captaine TVCCA, punke; the noble Roman, punke: a gent'man, and a commander, punke. In good time: a gentleman, and a commander? that's as good as a poet, me thinkes. A prettie instrument! It's my cousin CYTHERIS violl, this: is't not? Nay, play cousin, it wants but such a voice, and hand, to grace it, as yours is. Alas, cousin, you are merrily inspir'd. 'Pray you play, if you loue me. Yes, cousin: you know, I doe not hate you. A most subtill wench! How she hath baited him with a violl yonder, for a song! Cousin, 'pray you call mistris CHLOE; shee shall heare an essay of my poetrie. I'le call her. Come hither, cockatrice: here's one, will set thee vp, my sweet punke; set thee vp. Are you a puet, so soone, sir? Wife: mum. LOue is blinde, and a wanton; In the whole world, there is scant▪ one such another: No, not his Mother. He hath pluckt her doues, and sparrowes, To feather his sharpe arrowes, And alone preuaileth, Whilst sicke VENVS waileth. But if CYPRIS once recouer The wag; it shall behoue her To looke better to him: Or shee will vndoe him. O, most odoriferous musicke! A, ha! stinkard. Another ORPHEVS, you slaue, another ORPHEVS! an ARION, riding on the backe of a dolphin, rascall! Haue you a copy of this dittie, sir? Master ALBIVS ha's. I, but in truth, they are my wiues verses; I must not shew 'hem. Shew 'hem, bankerupt, shew 'hem; they haue salt in 'hem, and will brooke the aire, stinkard.