1 The Honest Whore (1 The Converted Courtesan) (The Patient Man and the Honest Whore) · chunk 2 of 48
Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1604 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.80 · 449 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Speak no more sentences, my good lord, but slip hence; you see they are but fits, i'll rule him I warrant ye. ay, so, tread gingerly, your Grace is here somewhat too long already. 'sblood the jest were now, if having ta'en some knocks o'th' pate already, he should get loose again, and like a mad Ox, toss my new black cloaks into the kennel. I must humour his lordship: my lord Hipolito, is it in your stomach to go to dinner? Where is the body? The body, as the Duke spoke very wisely, is gone to be wormed. I cannot rest, i'll meet it at next turn, I'll see how my love looks, How your love looks? worse than a scarecrow, wrestle not with me: the great fellow gives the fall for a ducat. I shall forget myself. Pray do so, leave yourself behind yourself, and go whither you will. 'sfoot, do you long to have base rogues that maintain a saint Anthony's fire in their noses (by nothing but two penny Ale) make ballads of you? if the Duke had but so much mettle in him, as is in a cobblers awl, he would ha' been a vexed thing: he and his train had blown you up, but that their powder has taken the wet of cowards: you'll bleed three pottles of Aligant, by this light, if you follow 'em, and then we shall have a hole made in a wrong place, to have Surgeons roll thee up like a baby in swaddling clouts. What day is today, Mathaeo? Yea mary, this is an easy question: why today is, let me see, Thursday. Oh, Thursday. here's a coil for a dead commodity, 'sfoot women when they are alive are but dead commodities, for you shall have one woman lie upon many men's hands. she died on monday then. And that's the most villainous day of all the week to die in: and she was well, and eat a mess of water-gruel on monday morning. ay, it cannot be, Such a bright taper should burn out so soon. O yes my Lord, so soon: why I ha' known them, that at dinner have been as well, and had so much health, that they were glad to pledge it, yet before three o'clock have been found dead drunk. On Thursday buried! and on monday died, Quick haste by’r lady: sure her winding sheet Was laid out fore her body, and the worms That now must feast with her, were even bespoke, And solemnly invited like strange guests. Strange feeders they are indeed my lord, and like your jester or young Courtier, will enter upon any man's trencher without bidding.
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)
Speake no more sentences, my good lord, but slip hence; you see they are but fits, ile rule him I warrant ye. I, so, treade gingerly, your Grace is heere somewhat too long already. Sbloud the jeast were now, if having tane some knockes o'th pate already, he should get loose againe, and like a madde Oxe, tosse my new blacke cloakes into the kennell. I must humour his lordship: my lord Hipolito, is it in your stomacke to goe to dinner? Where is the body? The body, as the Duke spake very wisely, is gone to be wormd. I cannot rest, ile meete it at next turne, Ile see how my love lookes, How your love lookes? worse than a scarre-crowe, wrastle not with me: the great felow gives the fall for a duckat. I shall forget my selfe. Pray do so, leave your selfe behinde your selfe, and go whither you will. Sfoote, doe you long to have base roags that maintaine a saint Anthonies fire in their noses (by nothing but two peny Ale) make ballads of you? if the Duke had but so much mettle in him, as is in a coblers awle, he would ha beene a vext thing: he and his traine had blowne you vp, but that their powlder haz taken the wet of cowards: youle bleed three pottles of Aligant, by this light, if you follow em, and then wee shall have a hole made in a wrong place, to have Surgeons roll thee vp like a babie in swadling clowts. What day is to day, Mathaeo? Yea mary, this is an easie question: why to day is, let me see, thurseday. Oh, thurseday. Heeres a coile for a dead commoditie, sfoote women when they are alive are but dead commodities, for you shall have one woman lie vpon many mens hands. Shee died on monday then. And thats the most villainous day of all the weeke to die in: and she was wel, and eate a messe of water-grewel on monday morning. I, it cannot be, Such a bright taper should burne out so soone. O yes my Lord, so soone: why I ha knowne them, that at dinner have bin aswell, and had so much health, that they were glad to pledge it, yet before three a clocke have bin found dead drunke. On thurseday buried! and on monday died, Quicke haste birlady: sure her winding sheete Was laide out fore her bodie, and the wormes That now must feast with her, were even bespoke, And solemnely invited like strange guests. Strange feeders they are indeede my lord, and like your jeaster or yong Courtier, will enter vpon any mans trencher without bidding.