The Trial of Chivalry (This Gallant Cavaliero Dick Bowyer) · chunk 17 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 0.76 · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T8: captain, master, money, gentleman, little, lieutenant, rogue, pray, minos, honest.
Who's there? Dick Bowyer? Some call me so, what then? Pembroke salutes thee. Oh, good morrow, my Lord, good morrow. I prithee, Captain, sawst thou Ferdinand, Son to Navarre, as thou didst walk the round? even now, my Lord, he passed along this way. Himself alone? or had he company? Nay questionless, he was alone, my Lord. Couldst thou discern his face? how did he look? Faith, scurvily, my Lord, like a green cheese, or the inside of a rotten pompion. There is Crowns for thee to drink. I thank your Lordship. To see the difference between these French Curs, and our English Cavaliers: there's as much bounty in them, as there's Marchpane in a dish of Almond butter. I might have stood here till my teeth chatter in my head, ere the other lancepresado would have said, Here, Captain Bowyer, there's a cardecue, to wash down melancholy. But had I known as much, I would have basted him, till his bones had rattled in his skin. Come, sir, you shall answer your walking before our Captain. Well, sirs, take heed what you do, I am a PRINCE's man, if you stay me upon the Kings high way, I can lay fellowship to your charge. But sirrah, we can lay Treason to thine, for being without the word. Without the word! O pernicious Frenchman! without the word! why, I have called thee Villain, him Rascal; this, Slave; that, Rogue; and am I still without the word? ay, sir, the word that must serve your turn, the Watchword. Faith, you're like to watch this twelvemonth, ere you have any other words at my hands. How now masters, what calf are you dragging to the slaughterhouse there? ha? A straggler, and a spy: Captain, I pray examine him. So, Lieutenant Core, you are crept from your cups at last, I'll talk with you anon: but, sirrah, to you: From whence come you? I came, sir, from the King of France's camp. So, what's your name? My name, sir, is Bow wow. S'hart, what a name's that! the Hedgehog mocks us: Bow wow, quotha? what kin art thou to the generation of Dogs? No dog, sir, would you should know it, though I be encompassed with curs. Zounds, he calls us curs, hang the hodge-podge up in a fathom or two of match. Not you, sir, I call not you so: I know you to be a very insufficient ill-spoken Gentleman. Well, sirrah, whom do you serve? My master, sir, is the Lady Katharine, the French king's daughter: I have been abroad about some business of hers, and am now going back again. An honourable Lady, sir: let him go: 'tis against the law of arms to stay him. Stand of: but soft, I do not know your name, sir, that my Lady may give you thanks.
nodes 896–927 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 17 of 38 in this edition
Length
474 words · 687 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T8 — Captains, gallants and cheatscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.764 (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)
Who's there? Dick Bowyer? Some call me ſo, what then? Pembrooke ſalutes thee. Oh, good morrow, my Lord, good morrow. I prythee, Captayne, ſawſt thou Ferdinand, Sonne to Nauar, as thou didſt walke the round? Euen now, my Lord, he paſt along this way. Himſelfe alone? or had he company? Nay queſtionleſſe, he was alone, my Lord. Couldſt thou diſcerne his face? how did he looke? Faith, ſcuruily, my Lord, like a greene cheeſe, or the inſide of a rotten Pumpian. There is Crownes for thee to drinke. I thanke your Lordſhip. To ſee the difference betweene theſe French Curres, and our Engliſh Caualiers: there's as much bounty in them, as there's Marchpane in a diſh of Almond butter. I might haue ſtood heere till my teeth chatter in my head, e're the tother Launcepriſado would haue ſayd, Here, Captayne Bowyer, there's a Cardicue, to waſh downe melancholy. But had I knowne as much, I would haue baſted him, till his bones had rattled in his skin. Come, ſir, you ſhall anſwere your walking before our Captayne. Well, ſirs, take heed what you doe, I am a Princes man, if you ſtay me vpon the Kings hye way, I can lay fellowſhip to your charge. But ſirra, wee can lay Treaſon to thine, for being without the word. Without the word! O pernicious Frenchman! without the word! why, I haue call'd thee Villayne, him Raſcall; this, Slaue; that, Rogue; and am I ſtill without the word? I, ſir, the word that muſt ſerue your turne, the Watch-word. Fayth, y'are like to watch this tweluemoneth, ere you haue any other words at my hands. How now maſters, what calfe are you dragging to the ſlaughter-houſe there? ha? A ſtraggler, and a ſpy: Captayne, I pray examine him. So, Lieutenant Core, you are crept from your cups at laſt, Ile talke with you anon: but, ſirra, to you: From whence come you? I came, ſir, from the King of Fraunces campe. So, what's your name? My name, ſir, is Bow wow. S'hart, what a name's that! the Hedge-hog mocks vs: Bow wow, quotha? whatkin art thou to the generation of Dogges? No dog, ſir, would you ſhould know it, though I be encompaſt with curres. Zounds, he calls vs curres, hang the hotch-potch vp in a fathom or two of match. Not you, ſir, I call not you ſo: I know you to be a very inſufficient ill-ſpoken Gentleman. Well, ſirra, whom do you ſerue? My maſter, ſir, is the Lady Katharine, the French Kings daughter: I haue bin abroad about ſome buſineſſe of hers, and am now going backe againe. An honorable Lady, ſir: let him goe: tis againſt the law of armes to ſtay him. Stand of: but ſoft, I doe not know your name, ſir, that my Lady may giue you thanks.