Blurt, Master Constable, or The Spaniard's Night Walk · chunk 33 of 34
Anonymous · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 [1601-1602] (Annals) romance · Children of Paul's (second) T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.80 · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
My honest fellow, with a good defence, Enter again, fetch out the Courtesan, And all that are within. I'll tickle her; it shall near be said that a brown Bill looked pale. Frenchman, thou art indebted to our Duke. For what? Thy life, for (but for him) thy soul Had long ere this hung trembling in the air, Being frighted from thy bosom with our swords. I do not thank your Duke; yet (if you will) Turn bloody Executioners: who dies For so bright beauty, is a bright Sacrifice. The beauty you adore so, is profane, The breach of wedlock (by our law) is death. Law give me law. With all severity. In my loves eyes immortal joys do dwell, She is my heaven; she from me, I am in hell: Therefore your Law, your Law: Make way, she comes. Fie, Fie, Fie. Your fie, fie, fie, nor your foh, foh, foh, cannot serve your turn; on must now bear it off with head and shoulders. Now fetch Curvetto, and the Spaniard heather, Their punishments shall lie under one doom, What is she masked? A punk too; follow fellows, Slubber afore: She that is masked, is leader of this Mask, What's here? bows, Bills and Guns? noble Camillo, I am sure you are Lord of all this misrule: I pray For whose sake do you make this swaggering fray? For yours, and for your own we come resolved, To murder him, that poisons your chaste bed; To take revenge on you, for your false heart: And (wanton dame) our wrath here must not sleep, Your sin being deep'st, your share shall be most deep. With pardon of your grace, myself (to you all) At your own weapons, thus do answer all. For paying away my heart, that was my own, Fight not to win that, in good troth 'tis gone, For my dear loves abusing my chaste bed, And her sweet theft: Alack, you are misled, This was a plot of mine, only to try Your loves strange temper; sooth I do not lie. My Fontinell near dallied in her arms; She never bound his heart with amorous charms, My Fontinell near loathed my sweet embrace, She never drew loves picture by his face; When he from her white hand would strive to go, She never cried fie, fie, nor no, no, no. With prayers and bribes, we hired her (Both) to lie Under that roof; for this must my love die? Who dare be so hard hearted? look you, we kiss, And if he loathe his Violetta; judge by this. O sweetest Violet; I blush— Good figure, Wear still that maiden blush, but still be mine. I seal myself thine own, with both my hands, In this true deed of gift: Gallants, here stands This lady's Champion, at his foot I'll lie, That dares touch her: who taints my constancy, I am no man for him, fight he with her, And yield, for she's a noble conqueror.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My honest fellow, with a good defence, Enter againe, fetch out the Curtizan, And all that are within. Ile tickle her; it shall nere bee said that a browne Byll lookt pale. Frenchman, thou art indebted to our Duke. For what? Thy life, for (but for him) thy soule Had long ere this hung trembling in the ayre, Being frighted from thy bosome with our swoords. I doe not thanke your Duke; yet (if you will) Turne bloudie Executioners: who dyes For so bright beauty, is a bright Sacrifice. The beautie you adore so, is prophane, The breach of wedlocke (by our law) is death. Law giue me law. With all seueritie. In my Loues eyes immortall ioyes doe dwell, She is my heauen; she from me, I am in hell: Therefore your Law, your Law: Make way, she comes. Fye, Fye, Fye. Your fye, fye, fye, nor your foh, foh, foh, cannot serue your turne; on must now beare it off with head and shoulders. Now fetch Curuetto, and the Spaniard heather, Their punishments shall lye vnder one doome, What is she maskt? A puncke too; follow fellows, Slubber afore: Shee that is maskt, is leader of this Maske, What's heere? Bowes, Billes and Gunnes? noble Camillo, I am sure you are Lord of all this mis-rule: I pray For whose sake doe you make this swaggering fray? For yours, and for your owne we come resolu'd, To murther him, that poisons your chaste bed; To take reuenge on you, for your false heart: And (wanton Daine) our wrath heere must not sleepe, Your sinne being deep'st, your share shall be most deepe. With pardon of your grace, my selfe (to you all) At your owne weapons, thus doe answere all. For paying away my heart, that was my owne, Fight not to win that, in good troth tis gone, For my deere loues abusing my chaste bed, And her sweet theft: Alacke, you are misled, This was a plot of mine, onelie to trie Your loues strange temper; sooth I doe not lye. My Fontinell nere dally'd in her armes; She neuer bound his heart with amorous charmes, My Fontinell nere loath'd my sweet embrace, Shee neuer drew loues picture by his face; When he from her white hand would striue to goe, Shee neuer cry'd fye, fye, nor no, no, no. With prayers and bribes, we hyred her (Both) to lye Vnder that roofe; for this must my loue dye? Who dare be so hard harted? looke you, we kisse, And if he loath his Uioletta; iudge by this. O sweetest Violet; I blush— Good figure, Weare still that maiden blush, but still be mine. I seale my selfe thine owne, with both my hands, In this true deede of gift: Gallants, heere stands This Ladies Champion, at his foote Ile lye, That dares touch her: who taintes my constancie, I am no man for him, fight he with her, And yeeld, for shee's a noble conquerer.