Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1619 · first performed or written 1611 (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Globe T8 Captains, gallants and cheats typicality 0.89 · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T8: captain, master, money, gentleman, little, lieutenant, rogue, pray, minos, honest.
Yet here is something due, which I as touched in conscience will discharge Captain; I'll pay this rent for you. Spare yourself my good Lord; my brave friends aim at nothing but the virtue. That's but a cold discharge Sir for their pains. O Lord, my good Lord. Be not so modest, I will give you something. They shall dine with your Lordship, that's sufficient. Something in hand the while; ye rogues, ye apple-squires: do you come hither with your bottled valour, your windle froth, to limit out my beatings. I do beseech your Lordship. O good Lord. 'sfoot, what a many of beaten slaves are here? get me a cudgel sirrah, and a tough one. More of your foot, I do beseech your Lordship. You shall, you shall dog, and your fellow beagle. A this side good my Lord. Off with your swords, for if you hurt my foot, I'll have you flayed you rascals. Mines off my Lord. I beseech your Lordship stay a little, my strap's tied to my codpiece point: Now when you please. Captain, these are your valiant friends, you long for a little too? I am very well, I humbly thank your Lordship. What's that in your pocket slave, my key you mongrel? thy buttocks cannot be so hard, out with't quickly. Here 'tis Sir, a small piece of Artillery, that a gentleman a dear friend of your Lordships sent me with to get it mended Sir; for if you mark, the nose is somewhat loose. A friend of mine you rascal, I was never wearier of doing nothing, then kicking these two soot-bales. Here's a good cudgel Sir. It comes too late; I am weary, prithee do thou beat 'em. My Lord this is foul play i'faith, to put a fresh man upon us; Men are but men. That jest shall save your bones, up with your rotten regiment, and be gone; I had rather thrash, then be bound to kick these rascals, till they cried hold: Bessus you may put your hand to them now, and then you are quit. Farewell, as you like this, pray visit me again, 'twill keep me in good breath. Has a devilish hard foot, I never felt the like. Nor I, and yet I'm sure I ha' felt a hundred. If he kick thus i'th' dog-days, he will be dry foundered: what cure now Captain, besides oil of bays? Why well enough I warrant you, you can go. Yes, God be thanked; but I feel a shrewd ache, sure he has sprung my huckle bone. I ha' lost a haunch. A little butter friend, a little butter: butter and parsley is a sovereign matter: probatum est. Captain, we must request your hands now to our honours. Yes marry shall ye, and then let all the world come, we are valiant to ourselves, and there's an end: Nay, than we must be valiant; O my ribs.
nodes 2257–2291 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 43 of 49 in this edition
Length
489 words · 675 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T8 — Captains, gallants and cheatscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.895 (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)
Yet here is ſomething due, which I as toucht in conſcience will diſcharge Captaine; Ile pay this rent for you. Spare your ſelfe my good Lord; my braue friends aime at nothing but the vertue. Thats but a cold diſcharge Sir for their paines. O Lord▪ my good Lord. Be not ſo modeſt, I will giue you ſomething. They ſhall dine with your Lordſhip, that's ſufficient. Something in hand the while; ye rogues, ye appleſquiers: doe you come hether with your botled valour, your windle frothe, to limit out my beatings. I doe beſeech your Lordſhip. O good Lord. Sfoote, what a many of beaten ſlaues are here? get me a cudgell ſirra, and a tough one. More of your foot, I doe beſeech your Lordſhip. You ſhall, you ſhall dog, and your fellow beagle. A this ſide good my Lord. Off with your ſwords, for if you hurt my foote, Ile haue you fleade you raſcals. Mines off my Lord. I beſeech your Lordſhip ſtay a little, my ſtrap's tied to my codpiece point: Now when you pleaſe. Captaine, theſe are your valiant friends, you long for a little too? I am verie well, I humblie thanke your Lordſhip. Whats that in your pocket ſlaue, my key you mungrell? thy buttocks cannot be ſo hard, out with't quicklie. Here tis Sir, a ſmall piece of Artillerie, that a gentleman a deare friend of your Lordſhips ſent me with to get it mended Sir; for if you marke, the noſe is ſomewhat looſe. A friend of mine you raſcall, I was neuer wearier of doing nothing, then kicking theſe two foote-bals. Heres a good cudgell Sir. It comes too late; I am wearie, prethee doe thou beate vm. My Lord this is foule play ifaith, to put a freſh man vpon vs; Men are but men. That it ſhall ſaue your bones, vp with your rotten regiment, and be gone; I had rather threſh, then be bound to kicke theſe raskals, till they cride hold: Beſſus you may put your hand to them now, and then you are quit. Farewell, as you like this, pray viſit mee againe, twill keepe me in good breath. Has a diuelliſh hard foote, I neuer felt the like. Nor I, and yet Ime ſure I ha felt a hundred. If he kicke thus ith dog-daies, he will be drie founderd: what cure now Captaine, beſides oyle of bayes? Why well enough I warrant you, you can goe. Yes, God be thanked; but I feele a ſhrewd ach, ſure he has ſprang my huckle bone. I ha loft a haunch. A little butter friend, a little butter▪ butter and parſelie is a ſoueraigne matter: probatum eſt. Captaine, we muſt requeſt your hands now to our honours. Yes marrie ſhall ye, and then let all the world come, we are valiant to our ſelues, and theres an end: Nay, then we muſt be valiant; O my ribbes.