Chapman, George · published 1611 · first performed or written 1602 [1601-1602] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars T8 Captains, gallants and cheats typicality 0.65 · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T8: captain, master, money, gentleman, little, lieutenant, rogue, pray, minos, honest.
Then sir, as in the field the drum, so to the feast the dresser gives the Alarm, Ran tan tara, tan tan tantara tan. O how it stirs my stomach? First then sets forward a wing of light horse, as salads, broths, sauces, flewed meats, and other kickshores, and they give a charge, then do the battle join Captain Capon in white-brith, Lieutenant calves head. That's my place. Ancient Surloigne, a man of a goodly presence, and full of expectation, as you ancient aught to be, then have you Sergeant Tear-cat, Corporal Conny, lancepresado Lark, Gentlemen, Panbakex, & all the species of a company. Would we might fall to the fight once. Why now grows the fight hot man, now shall you see many a tall piece of beef, many a tough capon go down, and here's the trial of a man's stomach, all the while the Artillery plays on both hands, the Canons lay about them, the flagons go off, thick and threefold, and many a tall man goes halting off, some quite overthrown both horse and foot. O my heart bleeds. That is, thy teeth water. In conclusion, as the remnant of the feast, (I mean such dishes as 'scaped the fury of the fight) if they be serviceable, are reserved to furnish out another day if they be maimed or spoiled, they are sent abroad to relieve prisons and hospitals. So the remainder of the fight, if they be serviceable, they are reserved to supply a second field, for the fragments of the fight, viz. the maimed soldiers, they are sent likewise to furnish prisons and hospitals, how sayest thou now Lieutenant, shall we to the feast, or to the fight? No fighting good Captain, to the feast for God's sake. thou'rt a my mind right, and so will we presently march on to the sack of the emperors head, then to the May-night feast, and show at signor Honorio's, and there will be a wench there boy, a delicate young morsel, a kinswoman of signor Honorio's, and her father's only child, he a mighty rich Clarissimo, and her shalt thou court, win her and wear her, thou hast wit at will. But shall that wench be her father's son and heir Captain? She shall be his heir, a mine honesty. But shall not my Mistress your wife be at that show? She shall, and we could find her; Fannio has been abroad this hour to seek her: the Ass is stepped into some corner or other mourning for my absence. See who comes here? Come coz, march fair, methinks thou becomest a Page excellent naturally, cheer up thy heart wench. Fie for shame kiss in the streets? Why not? truth seeks no corners, and 'twas a true loves kiss, and so is this. Ware riot, dost thou mark Lieutenant? God's pity, my husband. What were these Captain? Upon my life the hindermost of them, is a wench in man's attire, didst thou not mark besides his slabbering about her, her big thighs and her splay feet.
nodes 882–903 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 38 of 45 in this edition
Length
510 words · 692 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T8 — Captains, gallants and cheatscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.647 (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 sir, as in the field the drumme, so to the feast the dresser giues the Alarme, Ran tan tara, tan tan tantara tan. O how it stirres my stomacke? First then sets forward a wing of light horse, as sallads, brothes, sauces, flew'd meats, and other kickshores▪ and they giue a charge, then do the battell ioyne Captaine Capon in white-brith, Lieutenant calues head. Thats my place. Ancient Surloigne, a man of a goodly presence, and full of expectation, as you ancient ought to bee, then haue you Sergeant Piemeat, Corporall Conny, Lanceprizado Larke, Gentlemen, Panbakex, & all the species of a company. Would we might fall to the fight once. Why now growes the fight hot man, now shall you see many a tall piece of beefe, many a tough capon go downe, and hee'rs the triall of a mans stomacke, all the while the Artillery playes on both hands, the Canons lay about them, the flagons go off, thicke and threefold, and many a tall man goes halting off, some quite ouerthrowne both horse and foote. O my heart bleeds. That is, thy teeth water. In conclusion, as the remnant of the feast, (I meane such dishes as scap't the fury of the fight) if they be seruiceable, are reseru'd to furnish out another day if they be maim'd or spoyld, they are sent abroad to relieue prisons and hospitals. So the remainder of the fight, if they be seruiceable, they are reseru'd to supply a second field, for the fragments of the fight, viz. the maimd soldiers, they are sent likewise to furnish prisons and hospitals, how sayest thou now Lieutenant, shall we to the feast, or to the fight? No fighting good Captain, to the feast for Gods sake. Tha'rt a my mind right, and so will we presently march on to the sacke of the Emperours head, then to the May-night feast, and shew at Signior Honorios, and there will be a wench there boy, a delicate yong morsell, a kinswoman of Signior Honorios, and her fathers only child, he a mighty rich Clarissimo, and her shalt thou court, winne her and weare her, thou hast wit at will. But shall that wench be her fathers sonne and heire Captaine? Shee shall be his heire, a mine honesty. But shall not my Mistris your wife bee at that show? Shee shall, and we could finde her; Fannio has beene abroade this houre to seeke her: the Asse is stept into some corner or other mourning for my absence. See who comes here? Come Cuze, march faire, me thinks thou becom'st a Page excellent naturally, cheere vp thy heart wench. Fie for shame kisse in the streets? Why not? truth seekes no corners, and 'twas a true loues kisse, and so is this. Ware riot, do'st thou marke Lieftenant? Gods pitty, my husband. What were these Captaine? Vpon my life the hindermost of them, is a wench in mans attire, didst thou not marke besides his slabbering about her, her bigge thighs and her spay feete.