Master Arden of Faversham in Kent · chunk 30 of 40
Anonymous / Kyd, Thomas / Shakespeare, William / Watson, Thomas · published 1592 · first performed or written 1591 [1588-1592] (Annals) tragedy · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 469 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
What wilt thou do me wrong, & threat me too? Nay then I'll tempt thee, Arden do thy worst, God I beseech thee show some miracle, On thee or thine, in plaguing thee for this. That plot of ground, which thou detains from me, I speak it in an agony of spirit, Be ruinous and fatal unto thee: Either there be butchered by thy dearest friends, Or else be brought for men to wonder at. Or thou or thine miscarry in that place. Or there run mad, and end thy cursed days, Fie bitter knave bridle thine envious tongue, For curses are like arrows shot upright, Which falling down light on the suitors head. Light where they will, were I upon the sea, As oft I have in many a bitter storm, And saw a dreadful southern flaw at hand, The pilate quaking at the doubtful storm, And all the sailors praying on their knees, Even in that fearful time would I fall down, And ask of God, whate'er betide of me, Vengeance on Arden, or some misevent, To show the world, what wrong the carl hath done, This charge I'll leave with my distressful wife. My children shall be taught such prayers as these, And thus I go but leave my curse with thee. It is the railingest knave in Christendom, And oftentimes the villain will be mad, It greatly matters not what he says, But I assure you, I near did him wrong. I think so M. Arden. Now that our horses are gone home before, My wife may haply meet me on the way, For God knows she is grown passing kind of late, And greatly changed from the old humour Of her wonted frowardness. And seeks by fair means to redeem old faults. Happy the change, that altars for the best, But see in any case you make no speech, Of the cheer we had at my Lord Cheiny's, Although most bounteous and liberal, For that will make her think herself more wronged, In that we did carry her along, For sure she grieved that she was left behind, Come Franklin, let us strain to mend our pace, And take her unawares playing the cook. For I believe she'll strive to mend our cheer. Why there's no better creatures in the world Then women are, when they are in good humours. Who is that? Mosbie, what so familiar? Injurious strumpet, and thou ribald knave, untwine those arms. I with a sugared kiss, let them untwine. Ah Mosbie, perjured beast, bear this and all. And yet no horned beast, The horns are thine. O monstrous, Nay then 'tis time to draw. Help help, they murder my husband. Zounds who injures M. Mosbie. Help Will I am hurt. I may thank you Mistress arden for this wound,
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T30 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What wist thou do me wrong, & threat me too? Nay then Ile tempt thee, Arden doo thy worst, God I beseech thee show some miracle, On thée or thine, in plauging thée for this. That plot of ground, which thou detaines from me, I speake it in an agony of spirite, Be ruinous and fatall vnto thée: Either there be butcherd by thy dearest fréends, Or els be brought for men to wonder at. Or thou or thine miscary in that place. Or there runne mad, and end thy cursed dayes, Fy bitter knaue brydle thine enuious tongue, For curses are like arrowes shot vpright, Which falling doun light on the sutors head. Light where they will, were I vppon the sea, As oft I haue in many a bitter storme, And said a dreadfull suthern flaw at hand, The Pylate quaking at the doubtfull storme, And all the saylers praying on their knees, Euen in that fearefull time would I fall down, And aske of God, what ere betide of me, Vengeance on Arden, or some misevent, To shewe the world, what wrong the carle hath done, This charge Ile leaue with wy distresfull wife. My children shall be taught such praiers as these, And thus I go but leaue my curse with thee. It is the raylingest knaue in christendome, And oftentimes the villaine will be mad, It greatly matters not what he sayes, But I assure you, I nere did him wrong. I think so M. Arden. Now that our horses are gone home before, My wife may hapely mete me on the way, For God knowes she is growne passing kinde of late, And greatly chaunged from the oulde humor Of her wounted frowardnes. And seekes by faire meanes to redeeme ould faults. Happy the change, that alters for the best, But see in any case you make no speache, Of the cheare we had at my Lord Cheineis, Although most bounteous and liberall, For that will make her think her selfe more wrongd, In that we did carry her a long, For sure she greeued that she was left behinde, Come Francklin, let vs strain to mend our pace, And take her vnawares playing the cooke. For I beléeue sheele stryue to mend our chéere. Why thers no better creaturs in the world Then women are, when they are in good humors. Who is that? Mosbie, what so familiare? Iniurious strumpet, and thou ribald knaue, Unt wyne those armes. I with a sugred kisse, let them vntwine. Ah Mosbie, perturde beast, beare this and all. And yet no horned beast, The hornes are thine. O monstrous, Nay then tis time to draw. Helpe helpe, they murther my husband. Zounds who iniures M. Mosbie. Help Wil I am hurt. I may thank you Mistres arden for this wound,