1 The Honest Whore (1 The Converted Courtesan) (The Patient Man and the Honest Whore) · chunk 7 of 48
Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1604 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Thou wert not so even now, sickness pale hand Laid hold on thee even in the deadst of feasting, And when a cap crowned with thy lover's health Had touched thy lips, a sensible cold dew Stood on thy cheeks, as if that death had wept To see such beauty altered. I remember I sat at banquet, but felt no such change. Thou hast forgot then how a messenger Came wildly in with this unsavoury news That he was dead. What messenger? who's dead? Hipolito, alack, wring not thy hands. I saw no messenger, heard no such news, Trust me you did sweet Lady. La you now. Yes indeed Madam. La you now, 'tis well God knows. You ha' slain him, and now you'll murder me. Good Infaelice vex not thus thyself, Of this the bad report before did strike So coldly to the heart, that the swift currents Of life were all frozen up. It is untrue, 'tis most untrue, O most unnatural father! And we had much to do by Arm best cunning, To fetch life back again. Most certain Lady. Why la you now, you'll not believe me, friends, Sweat we not all; had we not much to do? Yes indeed my Lord, much. Death drew such fearful pictures in thy face, That were Hipolito alive again, I'll kneel and woo the noble gentleman To be thy husband: now I sore repent My sharpness to him, and his family; Nay, do not weep for him, we all must die: Doctor, this place where she so oft hath seen H lively presence, haunts her, does it not? Doubtless my Lord it does. It does, it does. Therefore sweete girle thou shalt to Bergn ▪ Even where you will, in any place there's woe. A Coach is ready, Bergamo doth stand In a most wholesome air, sweet walks, there's deer, ay, thou shalt hunt and send us venison. Which like some gods in the Coprian groves, Thine own fair hand shall strike; sirs, you shall teach her To stand, and how to shoot, ay, she shall hunt: Cast off this sorrow. In girl, and prepare This night to ride away to Bergamo. O most unhappy maid. Follow it close. No words that she was buried on your lives, Or that her ghost walks now after she's dead; I'll hang you if you name a funeral. He speaks Lord▪ I speake deadly word. And I'll speak Welch, which is harder then Greek. Away▪ looke to Did you observe how her complexion Upon his name and death, O would 'twere true. It may my Lord. May? how? I wish his death. And you may have your wish; say but the word, And 'tis a strong Spell to rip up his grave: I have good knowledge with Hipolito, He calls me friend, I'll creep into his bosom, And sting him there to death can do't. Perform it; I'll create thee half mine heir.
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)
Thou wert not so even now, sicknes pale hand Laid hold on thee even in the deadst offeasting, And when a cap crownde with thy lovers health Had toucht thy lips, a sencible cold dew Stood on thy cheekes, as if that death had wept To see such beautie alterd. I remember I sate at banquet, but felt no such change. Thou hast forgot then how a messenger Came wildely in with this vnsavorie newes That he was dead. What messenger? whoes dead? Hipolito, alacke, wring not thy hands. I saw no messenger, heard no such newes, Trust me you did sweete Lady. La you now. Yes indeede Madam. La you now, tis well God knowes. You ha slaine him, and now you'le murder mee. Good Infaelishae vexe not thus thy selfe, Of this the bad rep before did strike So coldly to the heart▪ that the swift currents Of life were all frozen vp. It is vntrue, Tis most vntrue, O most vnnaturall father▪ And we had much to do by Ar best cunning, To fetch life backe againe. Most certaine Lady. Why la you now, you'le not beleeve mee, friends, Sweate we not all; had we not much to do? Yes indeede my Lord, much▪ Death drew such fearefull pictures in thy face, That were Hipolito alive agen, Ile kneele and woo the noble gentleman To be thy husband▪ now I repent My sharpenes to him▪ and his family▪ Nay, do not weepe for him, we all must die: Doctor, this place where she so oft hath seene H lively presence, haunts her, does it not? Doubtlesse my Lord it does▪ It does, it does. Therefore sweete girle thou shalt to Bergn ▪ Even where you will, in any place theres woe. A Coach is ready, Berg doth stand In a most wholesome aire, sweete walkes, theres diere, I, thou shalt hunt and send vs venison. Which like some gods in the groves▪ Thine owne faire hand shall strike; sirs, you shall teach he To stand, and how to shoote, I, she shall hunt: Cast off this sorrow▪ In girle, and prepare This night to ride away to Berg. O most vnhappie maid. Follow it close. No words that she was buried on your lives▪ Or that her ghost walkes now after shees dead; Ile hang you if you name funerall He speaks Lord▪ I speake deadly word. And Ile speake Greek. Away▪ looke to Did you observe how Vpon his name and death, O would t'were true. It may my Lord. May? how? I wish his death. And you may have your wish▪ say but the word, And tis a strong Spell to rip vp his grave: I have good knowledge with Hipolito, He calls me friend, Ile creepe into his bosome, And sting him there to deathpoison can doo't. Performe it; Ile create thee halfe mine heire.