1 The Honest Whore (1 The Converted Courtesan) (The Patient Man and the Honest Whore) · chunk 18 of 48
Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1604 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Mathaeo! that's true, but believe it, I No sooner had laid hold upon your presence, But straight mine eye conveyed you to my heart. Oh, you cannot feign with me, why, I know Lady, This is the common passion of you all, To hook in a kind gentleman, and then Abuse his coin, conveying it to your lover, And in the end you show him a french trick, And so you leave him, that a coach may run Between his legs for breadth. O by my soul! Not I: therein i'll prove an honest whore, In being true to one, and to no more. If any be disposed to trust your oath, Let him: i'll not be he, I know you feign All that you speak, I: for a mingled harlot, Is true in nothing but in being false. What! shall I teach you how to loathe yourself? And mildly too: not without sense or reason. I am content, I would fain loathe myself, If you not love me. Then if your gracious blood be not all wasted, I shall assay to do't. Lend me your silence, and attention,- you have no soul, That makes you weigh so light: heavens treasure bought it, And halfe a crown hath sold it: for your body Is like the common shore, that still receives All the towns filth. The sin of many men Is within you, and thus much I suppose, That if all your committers stood in rank, they'd make a lane, (in which your shame might dwell) And with their spaces reach from hence to hell. Nay, shall I urge it more, there has been known, As many by one harlot, maimed and dismembered, As would ha' stuffed an Hospital: this I might Apply to you, and perhaps do you right: O you're as base as any beast that bears, Your body is e'en hired, and so are theirs. For gold and sparkling jewels, (if he can) You'll let a Jew get you with christian: Be he a Moore, a Tartar, though his face Look uglier than a dead man's skull, Could the devil put on a human shape, If his purse shake out crowns, up then he gets, Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits: So that you're crueler than Turks, for they Sell Christians only, you sell yourselves away. Why those that love you, hate you: and will term you liquorish damnation: wish themselves half sunk After the sin is laid out, and e'en curse Their fruitless riot, (for what one begets Another poisons) lust and murder hit, A tree being often shook, what fruit can knit? O me unhappy! I can vex you more; A harlot is like Dunkirk, true to none, Swallows both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch, black-doored Italian last of all the French, And he sticks to you faith: gives you your diet, Brings you acquainted, first with monsieur Doctor, And than you know what follows. Misery. Rank, sinking, and most loathsome misery.
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)
Mathaeo! thats true, but beleeue it, I No sooner had laid hold vpon your presence, But straight mine eye conueid you to my heart. Oh, you cannot faine with me, why, I know Lady, This is the common passion of you all, To hooke in a kind gentleman, and then Abuse his coyne, conueying it to your louer, And in the end you shew him a french trick, And so you leaue him, that a coach may run Betweene his legs for bredth. O by my soule! Not I: therein ile proue an honest whore, In being true to one, and to no more. If any be disposde to trust your oath, Let him: ile not be he▪ I know you feine All that you speake, I: for a mingled harlot, Is true in nothing but in being false. What! shall I teach you how to loath your selfe? And mildly to: not without sense or reason. I am content, I would faine loath my selfe, If you not loue me. Then if your gratious blood be not all wasted, I shall assay to doo't. Lend me your silence, and attention,-you haue no soule, That makes you wey so light: heauens treasure bought it, And halfe a crowne hath sold it: for your body Is like the common shoare, that still receiues All the townes filth. The sin of many men Is within you, and thus much I suppose, That if all your committers stood in ranke, Theide make a lane, (in which your shame might dwell) And with their spaces reach from hence to hell. Nay, shall I vrge it more, there has bene knowne, As many by one harlot, maym'd and dismembred, As would ha stuft an Hospitall: this I might Apply to you, and perhaps doe you right: O y'are as base as any beast that beares, Your body is ee'ne hirde, and so are theirs. For gold and sparkling iewels, (if he can) Youle let a Iewe get you with christian: Be he a Moore, a Tartar, tho his face Looke vglier then a dead mans scull, Could the diuel put on a humane shape, If his purse shake out crownes, vp then he gets, Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits: So that y'are crueller then Turkes, for they Sell Christians onely, you sell your selues away. Why those that loue you, hate you: and will terme you Lickerish damnation: wish themselues halfe sunke After the sin is laid out, and ee'ne curse Their fruitlesse riot, (for what one begets Another poisons) lust and murder hit, A tree being often shooke, what fruit can knit? O me vnhappy! I can vexe you more; A harlot is like Dunkirke, true to none, Swallowes both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch, Blacke-doord Italian last of all the French, And he sticks to you faith: giues you your diet, Brings you acquainted, first with monsier Doctor, And then you know what followes. Misery. Ranke, snking, and most loathsome misery.