The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 10 of 38
Anonymous · published 1605 · first performed or written 1601 [1599-1604] (Annals) romance · Derby's (Strange's) Men T8 Captains, gallants and cheats typicality 0.74 · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T8: captain, master, money, gentleman, little, lieutenant, rogue, pray, minos, honest.
Thomasin, you know me, I hate prolixity: in a word, my humour is thus, I love you. And I do not spoil that humour, so— Your answer compendiously, & avoid prolixity. Mary muff! by Iesu, I scorn to humble the least part about me, to give answer to such a trotting question: as I live, it jolts mine ears worse in hearing, than the PRINCE's coach on a broken causey. Thomasin, leave this pace, & take me with you: my Lord loves your Lady, yet I hear say, she is this night betrothed to the Prince of France: so I love you, and shall I lose you? No, I hate prolixity: in a word, the end is, i'll marry you. Pretty, as God save me! what will Captain Bowyer say to that, if he should know it? A good Rogue, by Iesu. Bowyer a Captain? a Capon, a button mould, a lame haberdine, a red beard Sprat, a Yellow hammer, a bow case, a very jackdaw with his tongue slit. Zounds, what a Philistine is this? what a dictionary of proper names hath the Rogue got together? heart, his tongue crawls as fast as the Cheese doth in Germany. I'll pierce you for this, you Lobster. Bowyer, mordu futra for him; and that sour crab do but leer at thee, I shall squeeze him to vargis. And you squeeze me, I may haps grow saucy with you, you whoreson burnt Pudding pie, you dry Parsnip: kiss me, Thomasin: so, dare you stand to your word now, and squeeze me? Stumps, I challenge thee for this indignity. Bowyer, I will gird myself with thy guts, I am a Soldier and a Captain. Captain? s'hart, and thou hast under thy charge, any other than Pigmies, I am Gogmagog. Dost thou hear (sowgelder?) and I do not with six Cranes (well marshalled) overrun thee and thy hundred and fifty, say Dick Bowyer's a coward. For that word, draw. Hold, Gentlemen. Peace (good Thomasin) silence, sweet socket. Peter, dost see this sword? this sword killed Sarlaboys, that was one Rogue: now it shall kill thee, that's two Rogues. Whoreson puttock, no garbage serve you but this? have at you. Who's this at enmity within our Camps? What, Bowyer, and the servant to great Bourbon? Both sheath your weapons: by our martial law, This act is death. I'll be hanged then. Dost thou hear, noble General? Dick Bowyer knows what belongs to service: we did not draw of any malice, by this element of iron & steel, but to measure which of our swords were longest. I'll save you for once, you Sarazen, because I see you'll hang scurvily: but the next time— Good Captain Bowyer, let our English troops Keep a strong watch tonight: my throbbing heart, Like to a screech-owl in the midnight hour, Bodes some black scene of mischief imminent.
nodes 489–513 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 10 of 38 in this edition
Length
478 words · 705 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T8 — Captains, gallants and cheatscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.742 (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)
Thomaſin, you know me, I hate prolixity: in a word, my humour is thus, I loue you. And I do not ſpoyle that humour, ſo— Your anſwere compendiouſly, & auoyd prolixity. Mary muffe! by Ieſu, I ſcorne to humble the leaſt part about me, to giue anſwere to ſuch a trotting queſtion: as I liue, it ioults mine eares worſe in hearing, then the princes coach on a broken cawſey. Thomaſin, leaue this pace, & take me with you: my Lord loues your Lady, yet I heare ſay, ſhe is this night betrothed to the Prince of France: ſo I loue you, and ſhall I loſe you? No, I hate prolixity: in a word, the end is, ile mary you. Prety, as God ſaue me! what will Captaine Bowyer ſay to that, if he ſhould know it? A good Rogue, by Ieſu. Bowyer a Captayn? a Capon, a button mould, a lame haberdine, a red beard Sprat, a Yellow hammer, a bow caſe, a very Iackdaw with his toung ſlit. Zounds, what a Philiſtine is this? what a dictionary of proper names hath the Rogue got together? heart, his toung crawles as faſt as the Cheeſe doth in Germany. Ile pearce you for this, you Lobſter. Bowyer, mordu futra for him; and that ſowre crab do but leere at thee, I ſhall ſqueeze him to vargis. And you ſqueeze me, I may haps grow ſaucy with you, you whorſon burnd Pudding pye, you dry Parſnip: kiſſe me, Thomaſin: ſo, dare you ſtand to your word now, and ſqueeze me? Stumps, I challenge thee for this indignity. Bowyer, I will gyrd my ſelfe with thy guts, I am a Souldiour and a Captayne. Captayne? s'hart, and thou haſt vnder thy charge, any other then Pigmies, I am Gogmagog. Doſt thou heare (ſowgelder?) and I do not with ſixe Cranes (wel marſhald) ouerrunne thee and thy hundred and fifty, ſay Dick Bowyer's a coward. For that word, draw. Hold, Gentlemen. Peace (good Thomaſin) ſilence, ſweet ſocket. Peter, doſt ſee this ſword? this ſword kild Sarlaboys, that was one Rogue: now it ſhall kill thee, that's two Rogues. Whorſon puttock, no garbage ſerue you but this? haue at you. Who's this at enmity within our Camps? What, Bowyer, and the ſeruant to great Burbon? Both ſheathe your weapons: by our martiall law, This act is death. Ile be hangd then. Doeſt thou heare, noble Generall? Dick Bowyer knowes what belongs to ſeruice: we did not draw of any malice, by this element of yron & ſteele, but to meaſure which of our ſwords were longeſt. Ile ſaue you for once, you Sarazen, becauſe I ſee youle hang ſcuruily: but the next time— Good Captayne Bowyer, let our Engliſh troops Keepe a ſtrong watch to night: my throbbing heart, Like to a Scritchowle in the midnight houre, Bodes ſome blacke ſcene of miſchiefe imminent.