Satiromastix, or The Untrussing of the Humorous Poet · chunk 33 of 44
Dekker, Thomas · published 1602 · first performed or written 1601 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men and Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
By Sesu, as blunt as a Welsh bag-pudding. As blunt as the top of Poule's; 'tis not like thy Aloe, Cicatrine tongue, bitter: no, 'tis no stabber, but like thy goodly and glorious nose, blunt, blunt, blunt: dost roar bulchin? dost roar? thoust a good rouncival voice to cry lantern & Candlelight. Two vrds Horace about your ears: how chance it passes, that you bid God bye to an honest trade of building Symneys, and laying down Bricks, for a worse handicraftness, to make nothing but rails; your Muse leans upon nothing but filthy rotten rails, such as stand on Poule's head, how chance? Sir Vaughan. You lie sir varlet sir villain, I am sir Salamanders, 'ounds, is my man Master Peter Salamanders face as vrse as mine? Sentlemen, all and Ladies, and you say once or twice Amen, I will lap this little Silde, this Booby in his blankets again. A blanket, these crackt Venice glasses shall fill him out, they shall tosse him, holde fat wag taies: so, come, in, take this bandy with the racket of patience, why when? dost flampe mad Tambelaine, dot tampe? thou thinkst th'ast Morter vnder thy , do ▪ Come, a bandy ho. O hold most sacred beauties. Hold, silence, the puppet-teacher speaks. Sir Vaughan, noble Captain, Gentlemen, Crispinus, dear Demetrius o redeem me, Out of this infamou—by God by lsu— Nay, swear not so good Horace, now these Ladies, Are made your executioners: prepare, To suffer like a gallant, not a coward; I'll try t'unloose, their hands, impossible. Nay, women's vengeance are implacable. Why, would you make me thus the ball of scorn? I'll tell thee why, because thoust entered Actions of assault and battery, against a company of honourable and worshipful Fathers of the law: you wrangling rascal, law is one of the pillars ath land, and if thou be'st bound to't (as I hope thou shalt be) thou'lt prove a skip-lack, thou'lt be whipped. I'll tell thee why, because thy sputtering chaps yelp, that Arrogance, and impudence, and Ignorance, are the essential parts of a Courtier. You remember Horace they will punk, and pink, and pump you, and they catch you by the coxcomb: on I pray, one lash, a little more. I'll tell thee why because thou criest ptrooh at worshipful Citizens, and cal'it them Flatcaps, Cuckolds, and bankrupts, and modest and virtuous wives punks & cockatrices. I'll tell thee why, because thoust arraigned two Poets against all law and conscience; and not content with that, hast turned them amongst a company of horrible black Friars. The same hand still, it is your own another day, M. Horace, admonitions is good meat. Thou art the true arraigned Poet, and shouldst have been hanged, but for one of these partakers, these charitable Copper-laced Christians, that fetched thee out of Purgatory, (Players I mean) Theaterians pouch-mouth, Stage-walkers; for this Poet, for this, thou must lie with these four wenches, in that blanket, for this—
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
By Sesu, as blunt as a Welsh bag-pudding. As blunt as the top of Poules; tis not like thy Aloe, Cicatrine tongue▪ bitter: no▪ tis no sabber▪ but like thy goodl and glorious nose, blunt, blunt, blunt: dost roare bulchin? dost roare? th'ast a good rouniuall voice to cry Lanthorne & Candle-light. Two vrds Horace about your eares: how chnce it passes, that you bid God byg to an onet trade of building Symneys, and laying downe Brickes, for a worse handicraftnes▪ to make nothing but raies; your Mue leanes vpon nothing but filthy rotten ailes, such as stand on Poules head, how chance? Sir Vaughan. You lye sr varlet sir llaine, I am sir Salamanders, ounds, is my man Master Peter Salamanders face as vrse as mine? Sentlemen, all and Ladies, and you say once or twice Amen, I will lap this little Silde, this Booby in his blankets agen. A blanket, these crackt Venice glasses shall fill him out, they shall tosse him, holde fat wag taies: so, come, in, take this bandy with the racket of patience, why when? dost flampe mad Tambelaine, dot tampe? thou thinkst th'ast Morter vnder thy , do ▪ Come▪ a andy ho. O holde mot sacred beauties. Hold, lence, the puppet-teach speakes. Sir Vaughan, noble Capten, Gentlemen, Crispinus, deare Deetus ô rdeeme me, Out of this infamou—by God by lsu— Nay, sweare not so good Horace, now these Ladies, Are made your exutioners: prepare, To suffer like a galla, not a coward; Ile trie t'vnloose, their hands, impossible. Nay, womens ar implacable. Why, would you make me thus the ball of scorne? Ile tell thee why, because that ened Alons of assault and battery, against a companie of honourable and worshipfull Fathers of the law: you wrangling racall, law is one of the pillers ath land, and if thou beest bound too't (as I hope thou shalt bee) thou't prooe a skip-lacke, thou't be whipt. Ile tell thee why, because thy sputtering chappes yelpe, that Arrogance, and mpudence, and Ignoraunce, are the essentiall parts of a Courtier. You remember Horace they will puncke, and pincke, and pumpe you, and they catch you by the coxcombe: on I pray, one lash, a little more. Ile tell thee why because thou ryest ptrooh at worshipfull Cittizens, and cal' them Flat-caps, Cuckolds, and banckrupts, and modest and vertuous wiues punckes & cockatrices. Ile tell thee why, because th'ast arraigned two Poets against all lawe and conscience; and not content with that, hast turn'd them amongst a company of horrible blacke Fryes. The same had still, it is your owne another day, M. Horace, admonitions is good meate. Thou art the true arraign'd Poet, and shouldst haue been hang'd, but for one of these part-takers, these charitable Copper-lac'd Christians▪ that fetcht thee out of Purgatory, (Players I meane) Theaterians pouch-mouth▪ Stage-walkers; for this Poet, for this, thou must lye with these foure wenches, in that blancket, for this—