1 The Honest Whore (1 The Converted Courtesan) (The Patient Man and the Honest Whore) · chunk 3 of 48
Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1604 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men unassigned nearest T26 Devils, hell and fiends · 465 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
Cursed be that day for ever that robbed her Of breath, and me of bliss, henceforth let it stand Within the Wizard's book (the calendar) Marked with a marginal finger, to be chosen By thieves, by villains, and black murderers, As the best day for them to labour in. If henceforth this adulterous bawdy world Be got with child with treason, sacrilege, Atheism, rapes, treacherous friendship, perjury, Slander, (the beggar's sin) lies, (sin of fools) Or any other damned impieties, On Monday let 'em be delivered: I swear to thee Mathaeo, by my soul. Hereafter weekly on that day i'll glue Mine eyelids down, because they shall not gaze On any female cheek. And being locked up In my close chamber, there i'll meditate On nothing but my Infaelice's end, Or on a dead man's skull draw out mine own. You'll do all these good works now every monday, because it is so bad: but I hope upon tuesday morning I shall take you with a wench. If ever whilst frail blood through my veins run, On woman's beams I throw affection, Save her that's dead: or that I loosely fly Toth' shore of any other wafting eye, Let me not prosper heaven. I will be true, Even to her dust and ashes: could her tomb Stand whilst I lived so long, that it might rot, That should fall down, but she be ne'er forgot. If you have this strange monster, Honesty, in your belly, why so jig-makers and chroniclers shall pick something out of you: but and I smell not you and a bawdy house out within these ten days, let my nose be as big as an English bag-pudding: I'll follow your lordship, though it be to the place aforenamed. How now porter, will she come? If I may trust a woman sir, she will come. There's for thy pains, godamercy, if ever I stand in need of a wench that will come with a wet finger, Porter, thou shalt earn my money before any Clarissimo in Milan; yet so god sa me she's mine own sister body and soul, as I am a christian Gentleman; farewell, i'll ponder till she come: thou hast been no bawd in fetching this woman, I assure thee. No matter if I had sir, better men than Porters are bawds. O God sir, many that have borne offices. But Porter, art sure thou went'st into a true house? I think so, for I met with no thieves. Nay but art sure it was my sister Viola. I am sure by all superscriptions it was the party you ciphered. Not very tall. Nor very low, a middling woman. 'twas she faith, 'twas she, a pretty plump cheek like mine. At a blush, a little very much like you.
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)
Curst be that day for ever that robd her Of breath, and me of blisse, hencefoorth let it stand Within the Wizardes booke (the kalendar) Markt with a marginall finger, to be chosen By theeves, by villaines, and blacke murderers, As the best day for them to labour in. If hencefoorth this adulterous bawdy world Be got with childe with treason, sacrilege, Atheisme, rapes, treacherous friendship, periurie, Slaunder, (the beggars sinne) lies, (sinne of fooles) Or anie other damnd impieties, On Monday let em be delivered: I sweare to thee Mathaeo, by my soule. Heereafter weekely on that day ile glew Mine eie-lids downe, because they shall not gaze On any female cheeke. And being lockt vp In my close chamber, there ile meditate On nothing but my Infaelices end, Or on a dead mans scull drawe out mine owne. Youle doe all these good workes now every monday, because it is so bad: but I hope vppon tuesday morning I shall take you with a wench. If ever whilst fraile bloud through my veins runne, On womans beames I throw affection, Save her thats dead: or that I loosely flie To'th shoare of any other wafting eie, Let me not prosper heaven. I will be true, Even to her dust and ashes: could her tombe Stand whilst I livde so long, that it might rot, That should fall downe, but she be ne're forgot. If you have this strange monster, Honestie, in your belly, why so Iig-makers and chroniclers shall picke somthing out of you: but and I smell not you and a bawdy house out within these tenne daies, let my nose be as bigge as an English bag-pudding: Ile followe your lordship, though it be to the place aforenamed. How now porter, will she come? If I may trust a woman sir, she will come. Theres for thy paines, godamercy, if ever I stand in neede of a wench that will come with a wet finger, Porter, thou shalt earne my mony before anie Clarissimo in Millane; yet so god sa mee shees mine owne sister body and soule, as I am a christian Gentleman; farewell, ile ponder till shee come: thou hast bin no bawde in fetching this woman, I assure thee. No matter if I had sir, better men than Porters are bawdes. O God sir, manie that have borne offices. But Porter, art sure thou wentst into a true house? I thinke so, for I met with no thieves. Nay but arte sure it was my sister Viola. I am sure by all superscriptions it was the partie you ciphered. Not very tall. Nor very lowe, a midling woman. Twas she faith, twas she, a prettie plumpe cheeke like mine. At a blush, alittle very much like you.