Middleton, Thomas / Rowley, William · published 1620 · first performed or written 1620 (Annals) masque · Prince Charles's Men (first) T8 Captains, gallants and cheats typicality 0.79 · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T8: captain, master, money, gentleman, little, lieutenant, rogue, pray, minos, honest.
Though now an absolute master; yet to thee Ever a faithful servant. give't me sir to lay up, I am your Treasurer, In a poor kind. In a false kind I grant thee: How many vild complaints from time to time Has been put up against thee? they have wearied me More than a Battle sixteen hours o' fighting, I've heard the ragged Regiment so curse thee, I looked next day for Leprosy upon thee, Or puffs of pestilence as big as Wens, When thou wouldst drop asunder, like a thing Inwardly eaten, thy skin only whole: avaunt, defrauder of poor soldiers' rights, camp-caterpillar, hence; or I will send thee To make their rage a breakfast. Is it possible? Can I yet set no footing in the World? I'm angry, but not weary; I'll hunt out still: For, being Deceit, I bear the devil's name, And he's known seldom to give over his game. Troth, now the World begins to be in Hucksters handling; by this light, the Booths are full of Cutlers, and yonder's two or three queans going to victual the camp: hah, would I were whipped, if yonder be not a parson's daughter with a soldier between her legs, bag and baggage. Now 'tis the soldier's time, great Iupiter, Now give me leave to enter on my fortunes, The World's our own. Stay, beguiled thing, this time Is many ages discrepant from thine, This was the season when desert was stooped to, By greatness stooped to, and acknowledged greatest; But in thy time now, desert stoops itself To every baseness, and makes Saints of Shadows: Be patient, and observe, how times are wrought, Till it comes down to thine that rewards nought. Hah? what's the news? Be ready if I call to give fire to the Ordnance. Bless us all', here's one spits fire as he comes, he will go nigh to mull the world with looking on it, how his eyes sparkle? Shall the land-captain, sir, usurp your right, Yours that try thousand dangers to his one, Rocks, shelves, gulfs, quicksands, hundred hundred horrors, That makes the Land-men tremble when theyare told; Besides the enemy's encounter, Peace Purser, no more, I'm vexed, I'm kindled. You, Land Captain, quick, deliver. Proud Salt-Rover, thou hast the salutation of a thief. Deliver, or I'll thunder thee a pieces, Make night within this hour, e'en at high noon, Belched from the Canon: dar'st expostulate With me? my fury? What's thy merit, Land-worm, That mine not centuples? Thy lazy Marches and safe-footed battles Are but like dangerous dreams to my encounters: Why, every minute the Deep gapes for me, Beside the fiery throats of the loud fight, When we go to't, and our fell Ordnance play, 'Tis like the figure of a latter day. Let me but give the word, night begins now, Thy breath and prize both beaten from thy body: How dar'st thou be so slow? Not yet— then— Hold.
nodes 657–715 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 12 of 16 in this edition
Length
491 words · 707 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T8 — Captains, gallants and cheatscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.787 (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)
Though now an absolute master; yet to thee Euer a faithfull seruant. Giue't me sir to lay vp, I am your Treasurer, In a poore kinde. In a false kinde I grant thee: How many vilde complaints from time to time Has beene put vp against thee? they haue wearied me More then a Battell sixteene houres a' fighting, I'ue heard the ragged Regiment so curse thee, I look't next day for Leprosie vpon thee, Or puffes of pestilence as big as Wens, When thou wouldst drop asunder, like a thing Inwardly eaten, thy skin only whole▪ Auaunt, defrauder of poore soldiers rights, Campe-Caterpiller, hence; or I will send thee To make their rage a breakfast. Is it possible? Can I yet set no footing in the World? I'm angry, but not weary; Ile hunt out still: For, being Deceit, I beare the Diuels name, And he's known seldome to giue ore his game. Troth, now the World begins to bee in Hucksters handling; by this light, the Boothes are full of Cutlers, and yonders two or three queanes going to vittaile the campe: hah, would I were whipt, if yonder be not a Parsons daughter with a soldier betweene her legs, bag and baggage. Now 'tis the Soldiers time, great Iupiter, Now giue me leaue to enter on my fortunes, The Worlds our owne. Stay, beguild thing, this time Is many ages discrepant from thine, This was the season when desert was stoopt to, By greatnesse stoopt to, and acknowledg'd greatest; But in thy time now, desert stoopes it selfe To euery basenesse, and makes Saints of Shadowes: Be patient, and obserue, how times are wrought, Till it comes downe to thine that rewards naught. Hah? what's the newes? Be ready if I call to giue fire to the Ordnance. Blesse vs all', herre's one spits fire as hee comes, hee will goe nye to mull the world with looking on it, how his eyes sparckle? Shall the Land-Captaine, sir, vsurpe your right, Yours that try thousand dangers to his one, Rocks, shelues, gulfs, quick▪sands, hundred hundred horrors, That makes the Land-men tremble when th'are told; Besides the enemies encounter, Peace Purser, no more, I'm vext, I'm kindled. You, Land Captaine, quick, deliuer. Proud Salt-Rouer, thou hast the salutation of a theefe. Deliuer, or Ile thunder thee a pieces, Make night within this houre, e'en at high noone, Belch't from the Canon: dar'st expostulate With me? my fury? What's thy merit, Land-worme, That mine not centuples? Thy lazy Marches and safe-footed battailes Are but like dangerous dreames to my encounters: Why, euery minute the Deepe gapes for me, Beside the fiery throats of the loud fight, When we go too't, and our fell Ordnance play, 'Tis like the figure of a latter day. Let me but giue the word, night begins now, Thy breath and prize both beaten from thy body: How dar'st thou be so slow? Not yet—then— Hold.