1 The Honest Whore (1 The Converted Courtesan) (The Patient Man and the Honest Whore) · chunk 1 of 48
Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1604 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.79 · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
BEhold, yond comet shows his head again; Twice hath he thus at cross-turns thrown on us Prodigious looks: Twice hath he troubled The waters of our eyes. See, he's turned wild; Go on in God's name. On afore there ho. Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides Your weapons to keep back the desperate boy From doing violence to the innocent dead. I pry thee dear Matheo. Come, you're mad. I do arrest thee murderer: set down. villains set down that sorrow, 'tis all mine. I do beseech you all, for my blood's sake Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath join in confederacy with your weapons points; If he proceeds to vex us, let your swords Seek out his bowels: funeral grief loathes words. Set on. Set down the body. O my Lord? You're wrong: i'th' open street? you see she's dead. I know she is not dead. Frantic young man, Wilt thou believe these gentlemen? pray speak: Thou dost abuse my child, and mockest the tears That here are shed for her: If to behold Those roses withered, that set out her cheeks: That pair of stars that gave her body light, Darkened and dim for ever: All those rivers That fed her veins with warm and crimson streams, Frozen and dried up: If these be signs of death, Then is she dead. Thou unreligious youth, Art not ashamed to empty all these eyes Of funeral tears, (a debt due to the dead,) As mirth is to the living: Sham'st thou not To have them stare on thee? hark, thou art cursed Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speak. My Lord. What wouldst thou have? is she not dead? Oh, you ha' killed her by your cruelty. Admit I had, thou killst her now again; And art more savage than a barbarous Moore. Let me but kiss her pale and bloodless lip. O fie, fie, fie. Or if not touch her, let me look on her. As you regard your honour. Honour! smoke. Or if you loved her living, spare her now. ay, well done sir, you play the gentleman: Steal hence: 'tis nobly done: away: I'll join My force to yours, to stop this violent torment: Pass on. Matheo, thou dost wound me more. I give you physic noble friend, not wounds, Oh well said, well done, a true gentleman: Alack, I know the sea of lover's rage Comes rushing with so strong a tide: it beats And bears down all respects of life, of honour, Of friends, of foes, forget her gallant youth. Forget her? nam, na, be but patient: For why death's hand hath sued a strict divorce Twixt her and thee: what's beauty but a corpse? What but fair sand-dust are earth's purest forms: Queens bodies are but trunks to put in worms.
nodes 0–65 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 1 of 48 in this edition
Length
474 words · 641 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.790 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
BEhold, yon Commet shewes his head againe; Twice hath he thus at crosse-turnes throwne on vs Prodigious lookes: Twice hath he troubled The waters of our eyes. See, hee's turnde wilde; Go on in Gods name. On afore there ho. Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides Your weapons to keepe backe the desprate boy From doing violence to the innocent dead. I pry thee deere Matheo. Come, y'are mad. I do arest thee murderer: set downe. Villaines set downe that sorrow, tis all mine. I do beseech you all, for my bloods sake Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath Ioine in confederacie with your weapons points; If he proceed o vexe vs, let your swordes Seeke out his bowells: funerall griefe loathes words. Set on. Set downe the body. O my Lord? Y'are wrong: i'th open streete? you see shees dead. I know shee is not dead. Franticke yong man, Wilt thou beleeve these gentlemen? pray speake: Thou doost abuse my childe, and mockst the teares That heere are shed for her: If to behold Those roses withered, that set out her cheekes: That paire of starres that gave her body light, Darkned and dim for ever: All those rivers That fed her veines with warme and crimson streames, Frozen and dried vp: If these be signes of death, Then is she dead. Thou vnreligious youth, Art not ashamde to emptie all these eyes Of funerall teares, (a debt due to the dead,) As mirth is to the living: Sham'st thou not To have them stare on thee? harke, thou art curst Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speake. My Lord. What wouldst thou have? is she not dead? Oh, you ha killd her by your crueltie. Admit I had, thou killst her now againe; And art more savage then a barbarous Moore. Let me but kisse her pale and bloodlesse lip. O fie, fie, fie. Or if not touch her, let me looke on her. As you regard your honour. Honour! smoake. Or if you lov'de hir living, spare her now. I, well done sir, you play the gentleman: Steale hence: tis nobly done: away: Ile ioyne My force to yours, to stop this violent torment: Passe on. Matheo, thou doost wound me more. I give you phisicke noble friend, not wounds, Oh well said, well done, a true gentleman: Alacke, I know the sea of lovers rage Comes rushing with so strong a tide: it beates And beares downe all respects of life, of honour, Of friends, of foes, forget her gallant youth. Forget her? Na, na, be but patient: For why deaths hand hath sued a strict divorse Twixt her and thee: whats beautie but a coarse? What but faire sand-dust are earths purest formes: Queenes bodies are but trunckes to put in wormes.