Ruffian

Tom is a ruffian.

He is a ruffian.

What wilt thou on thy death-bed play the Ruffian?

It was at Count Siloszech's. He'd heard her sing in the streets, with a tall, black-bearded ruffian, who accompanied her on a guitar, and a little fiddling gypsy fellow. She was a handsome woman, with hair down to her knees, but stupid as an owl.

He [her husband] is no sooner abroad than she is instantly at home, revelling with her ruffians.

Methinks the wind does speak aloud at land; A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements. If it hath ruffianed so upon the sea.

ruffian rage