The Roaring Girl, or Moll Cutpurse · chunk 39 of 47
Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1611 · first performed or written 1611 (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men · Fortune T8 Captains, gallants and cheats typicality 0.70 · 510 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T8: captain, master, money, gentleman, little, lieutenant, rogue, pray, minos, honest.
Here, here, let's be rid of their jobbering, Not a cross Sir Bewtiout, you base rogues, I have taken measure of you, better than a tailor can, and I'll fit you, as you (monster with one eye) have fitted me, Your Worship will not abuse a soldier. Soldier? thou deserv'st to be hanged up by that tongue which dishonours so noble a profession, soldier you skeldering varlet? hold, stand, there should be a trap-door hereabouts. The balls of these glaziers of mine (mine eyes) shall be shot up and down in any hot piece of service for my invincible Mistress. I did not think there had been such knavery in black patches as now I see. Oh sir he hath been brought up in the I'll of dogs, and can both fawn like a Spaniel, and bite like a mastiff, as he finds occasion. What are you sirrah? a bird of this feather too. A man beaten from the wars sir. I think so, for you never stood to fight. What's thy name fellow soldier? I am called by those that have seen my valour, Tear-Cat. Tear-cat? A mere whiplack, and that is in the Commonwealth of rogues, a slave, that can talk of sea-fight, name all your chief Pirates, discover more countries to you, then either the Dutch, Spanish, French, or English ever found out, yet indeed all his service is by land, and that is to rob a Fair, or some such venturous exploit; Tear-cat, foot sirrah I have your name now I remember me in my book of horners, horns for the thumb, you know how. No indeed Captain Moll (for I know you by sight) I am no such nipping Christian, but a maunderer upon the pad I confess, and meeting with honest Trapdore here, whom you had cashiered from bearing arms, out at elbows under your colours, I instructed him in the rudiments of roguery, and by my map made him sail over any Country you can name, so that now he can maunder better than myself. So then Trapdore thou art turned soldier now. Alas sir, now there's no wars, 'tis the safest course of life I could take. I hope than you can cant, for by your cudgels, you sirrah are an upright man. As any walks the high way I assure you. And Tear-cat what are you? a wild rogue, an angler, or a ruffler? Brother to this upright man, flesh and blood, ruffling Tear-cat is my name, and a ruffler is my style, my title, my profession. Sirrah where's your Doxy, halt not with me. Doxy Moll, what's that? His wench. My doxy I have by the Salomon a doxy, that carries a kitchen mort in her flat at her back, besides my dell and my dainty wild del, with all whom I'll tumble this next darkmans in the strummel, and drink been baufe, and eat a fat gruntling cheat, a cackling cheat, and a quacking cheat. Here's old cheating. My doxy stays for me in a bousing ken, brave Captain.
nodes 1906–1932 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 39 of 47 in this edition
Length
510 words · 699 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T8 — Captains, gallants and cheatscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.696 (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)
Here, here, let's be rid of their iobbering, Not a crosse Sir Bewtiout, you base rogues, I haue taken measure of you, better then a taylor can, and I'le fit you, as you (monster with one eie) haue fitted mee, Your Worship will not abuse a souldier. Souldier? thou deseru'st to bee hang'd vp by that tongue which dishonours so noble a profession, souldier you skeldering varlet? hold, stand, there should be a trapdore here abouts. The balles of these glasiers of mine (mine eyes) shall be shot vp and downe in any hot peece of seruice for my inuincible Mistresse. I did not thinke there had bene such knauery in blacke patches as now I see. Oh sir he hath bene brought vp in the Ile of dogges, and can both fawne like a Spaniell, and bite like a Mastiue, as hee finds occasion. What are you sirra? a bird of this feather too. A man beaten from the wars sir. I thinke so, for you neuer stood to fight. What's thy name fellow souldier? I am cal'd by those that haue seen my valour, Tear-Cat. Teare-Cat? A meere whip-Iacke, and that is in the Common-wealth of rogues, a slaue, that can talke of sea-fight, name all your chiefe Pirats, discouer more countries to you, then either the Dutch, Spanish, French, or English euer found out, yet indeed all his seruice is by land, and that is to rob a Faire, or some such venturous exploit; Teare-Cat, foot sirra I haue your name now I remember me in my booke of horners, hornes for the thumbe, you know how. No indeed Captaine Mol (for I know you by sight) I am no such nipping Christian, but a maunderer vpon the pad I confesse, and meeting with honest Trapdore here, whom you had cashierd from bearing armes, out at elbowes vnder your colours, I instructed him in the rudements of roguery, and by my map made him saile ouer any Country you can name, so that now he can maunder better then my selfe. So then Trapdore thou art turn'd souldier now. Alas sir, now there's no warres, 'tis the safest course of life I could take. I hope then you can cant, for by your cudgels, you sirra are an vpright man. As any walkes the hygh way I assure you. And Teare-Cat what are you? a wilde rogue, an angler, or a ruffler? Brother to this vpright man, flesh and bloud, ruffling Teare-Cat is my name, and a ruffler is my stile, my title, my profession. Sirra where's your Doxy, halt not with mee. Doxy Mol, what's that? His wench. My doxy I haue by the Salomon a doxy, that carries a kitchin mort in her slat at her backe, besides my dell and my dainty wilde del, with all whom I'le tumble this next darkmans in the strommel, and drinke ben baufe, and eate a fat gruntling cheate, a cackling cheate, and a quacking cheate. Here's old cheating. My doxy stayes for me in a bousing ken, braue Captaine.