Capt. Sterling

muscle

Was he dreaming still? More hands… lifting him from the cart, carrying him further… upward…then there were…. fewer hands stripping him down to his shirt then placing him in ….He closed his eyes as one pair of hands covered him with bed linens, bathed down his face, neck and chest . He tried to push them off. By God, he was tired of people touching him without his consent. “Go away,” he mumbled, but the hands insisted on continuing with their task. He could only sigh and relent. Would he never learn to submit? Hardly. He covered his face with his hands, he could feel the deep scar distorting the left side of his face, pulling the lower eyelid downward where it did not belong. How many of his crew then were killed because he refused to do what his captors wanted? He did not wish to remember any of this…. Why now? He shook off the pestering hands and rolled away from them onto his side. All his officers…. Until he told the captain of the Turks that he could no longer bare to watch them murder his men…my, but the Turks were an obliging sort he mused. It happened quickly after that, a sudden but all too sure flick of a wrist and his face had been split asunder. It had occurred so quickly he never even had time to scream… He screamed now in the language he had been forced to learn to survive… “LEAVE ME BE!!” It was enough … to allow him to fall back asleep.

Have Faith

guilty

common

middling sort

Now Cheeky sex isn't original sin... apple

primative urges

lovers' rendevous

tongue in someone else's cheek...

Oh you can give him all the rope he wants, he's already proven himself a right pratt when it comes to knots...

Séductrice

fare well

turned out pockets

poverty

Blushing... aw gee thanks..!

Hard to tell from the side view... although yes, they do look fuller than those in the Hogarth. Keep in mind open knee breeches also have gathering at the waistband they are not meant to be perfectly fitted/flat fore or aft in the seat...just not as wide as petticote breeches at the knee. Also what type of coat/tunic does he have on... the angle of the line from waist to back of knee seems more indicative of coatskirts or an apron drawn up to the side for some reason....makes judging the seat that much harder... Interesting find...thanks for posting it... Greg, it may have been hard for you to google that print due to the fact that it is from Maurice Leloir's Histoire du Costume Vol. 10, 1672-1725, showing dress styles in Holland, I believe... My concern with the Hogarth is, is he not trying to illustrate Falstaff in that series? Is that not a character based in a play? How period correct is Hogarth trying to be and if he is, is he trying to depict the time of Falstaff or showing the common man of the time he did the illustration? Hector

mood ring

careless

He closed his eyes as the lady tried to give him some relief. Her touch was sure and gentle, so unlike the frantic worry of his lover or the constant fussiness of his steward that often only ended in more discomfort. And yet, he felt uncertain now… he did not know this rescuer , and certainly, on top of everything else he was embarrassed that he had been caught where he had no right to be and in such a wretched state. He glanced over at the brute still mounted, that seemed ill at ease with his mistress’s concern and her attentions to one less fortunate and yet , although with argument, did as she requested. He tried to follow the speech between them but found he could not make sense of it… he wondered if he could make sense of anything at the moment. As the lady’s companion rode off, Sterling tried to rouse himself, but found her still sure and gentle touch upon his chest, forcing him to keep his place. “Lady…” he barely whispered. He tried to take her in, but she had positioned herself on his blind side… innocently... or…. When she raised the flask a second time to his lips, and he felt her hand support his head, he closed his eyes once more but only found himself able to gag upon the liquid, then felt her silk cloth pressing to his mouth. “Forgive me… Me pardonner, la Dame,” he groaned. He felt more of the cool water bathing his face and he gave up trying to think any further. He slumped downward in mind and body and then only could recall more hands upon his person, lifting him and carrying him off. Perchance he was only dreaming....

Careful there...watch that.

easy

Yeah I hear you! Try a sleeved waistcoat first... kind of like a bridge between the two...

what'shisname???

"Pardon monsieur..." The words came, or so they seemed, from across a immense void. They moved heavily through his clouded, sleep filled wits and took an eternity before their significance was grasped. Sterling shifted a little, his fingers, by habit closing first about the silver, wire wrapped hilt that he had left beneath his touch. His eyes could not open thus far, instead they screwed tightly shut. He arched tentatively. The voice sounded for a second time. "Pardon monsieur, my mistress wishes to know how you have found yourself here and what your business might be. This is an area of private holdings and you are, by dictate, trespassing." Still grasping the small sword, he struggled to draw himself upward and barely managed to roll over onto his side. To all appearances he was as if one completely lost to drink. “Pardon? Empiéter ? Mais j'étais….”the captain halted in mid thought as well as mid sentence. No that was not right… he remembered. He truly had not been given permission to be where he now found himself, he had but bullied his way there. He leaned upward on one hand and wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. Even such fine linen felt coarse against his skin. My Lord, but he was soaked through. He looked up, forced to turn his head to see the man that was accusing him… Mistress, he saw... no… he looked about him and saw the companion, standing at a distance, backlit by the sun. “No, mes... excuses à votre ...bonne Dame. Le défaut est toute... mine…” Sterling finally carried on, as he laboured to regain his feet. As he straightened, he heard a roaring in his ears, like the waves of the sea. He turned to face the Lady. He tried to take a step forward. An incredible sense of lightness instantly overwhelmed him as his intent to bow crumbled with the man. The small sword was the first to fall into the grass. He caught himself on hands and knees... a pitiful spectacle. He could feel the sweat stinging his eyes, dripping from his face. He thought he heard one of the riders move still closer to him… When he strained his neck to look up, the sunlight was all but eclipsed by the one he believed to be the lady of the estate. “Help..,” the plea came as a groan… “M'aider s'il vous plaît.”