1602 Dekker Satiromastix III i: Cub, doe not scorne mee because I goe in Stage, in Buffe.at buff, n.1
1602 Dekker Satiromastix III i: If I might ha my wil, thou shouldst not put thy spoone into that bumble-broth (for indeede Ide taste her my selfe).at bumble-broth (n.) under bumble, v.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix III i: Let not thy tongue play so hard at hot-cockles.at play at hot cockles (v.) under cockles, n.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix I ii: Holde vp thy hand, I ha seene the day thou didst not scorne to holde vp thy golles.at goll, n.1
1602 Dekker Satiromastix IV ii: Charge one of them to take vp the Buckllers, against that hayre-monger Horace.at hair-monger (n.) under hair, n.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix I ii: blunt: Nay prethee deare Tucca, come you shall shake — tucca: Not handes with great Hunkes there.at hunks, n.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix V ii: Make a Campe royall of fashion-mongers quake at your paper Bullets.at -monger, sfx
1602 Dekker Satiromastix III i: Dost thou loue that mother Mumble-crust, dost thou?at mumble-crust (n.) under mumble, v.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix II i: A Rebato [i.e. a linen-covered wire frame to which a ruff was pinned] must be poaked; now many women weare Rebatoes, and many that weare Rebatoes – Must be poakt.at poke, v.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix V ii: I haue layde roddes in Pisse and Vinegar for thee.at rod in piss (n.) under rod, n.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix II i: Heere is Sir Adam Prickshaft, a sentleman [sic] of a very good braine, and well headed: you see he shootes his bolt sildome, but when Adam lets goe, he hits.at shoot one’s bolt (v.) under shoot, v.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix IV ii: A Gentleman, or an honest Cittizen, shall not sit in your pennie-bench Theaters, with his Squirrell, by his side cracking nuttes.at squirrel, n.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix III i: Little Adam shee shall bee thy Eeue, for lesse then an Apple [...] send her some token, shee’s greedie, shee shall take it, doe, send, thou shalt sticke in her (Prickeshaft) but send.at stick, v.
1602 Dekker Satiromastix III i: Ile holde my life thou art struck with Cupids Birde-bolt, my little Prickshaft, art? Dost thou loue that mother Mumble-crust, dost thou? dost thou long for that whim-wham?at whim-wham, n.