The Dutch Courtesan (Cockle de Moye) · chunk 5 of 35
Marston, John · published 1605 · first performed or written 1605 [1603-1605] (Annals) comedy · Children of the Queen's Revels · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T35 Fools, wit and railing · 536 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T35: fool, wit, aristippus, achilles, wise, fools, patroclus, thersites, master, men.
Come along, yonder's the preface or exordium to my wench, the bawd: Fetch, fetch. What M. Cocledemoy, is your knaveship yet stirring, look to it, Mulligrub lies for you. The more fool he, I can lie for myself, worshipful friend, hang toasts, I vanish. Ha my fine boy thou art a scholar, and hast read Tully's Offices, my fine knave, hang toasts. The Vintner will toast you and he catch you. I will draw the Vintner to the stoop, and when he runs low tilt him, he my fine knave, art going to thy recreation. Yes my capticeous rascal. Thou wilt look like a fool then by and by. Look like a fool why? Why according to the old saying, A beggar when he is lousing of himself looks like a Philosopher, a hard bound Philosopher, when he is on the stool, looks like a tyrant, and a wise man, when he is in his belly act, looks like a fool, God give your worship good rest, grace and mercy keep your syringe straight, and your Lotium unspile. See, Sir this is she. This? This. A Courtesan? Now cold blood defend me, what a proportion afflicts me? O mine aderliuer love, vat sall me do to requite dis your must affection. Marry salute my friend, clip his neck, and kiss him welcome. A mine art, Sir you been very velcome. Kiss her man with a more familiar affection, so, come what entertainment, go to your Lute. And how dost approve my sometimes elected? fees none of your ramping Cannibals, that devour man's flesh, nor any of your curtain gulfs, that will never be satisfied, until the best thing a man has be thrown into them. I loved her with my heart, until my soul showed me the imperfection of my body, and placed my affection on a lawful love, my modest Beatrice, which if this short heels knew, there were no being for me with eyes before her face. But faith, dost thou not some what excuse my sometimes incontinency with her enforcive beauties. Speak. Hah, she is a whore, is she not? Whore? fie whore? you may call her a Courtesan, a Cockatrice, or (as that worthy spirit of an eternal happiness said) a Suppository, but whore? fie: 'tis not in fashion to call things by their right names, is a great merchant, a cuckold, you must say, he is one of the livery, is a great Lord, a fool, you must say he is weak, is a gallant pocky, you must say, he has the court scab, come she's your mistress or so: Come Siren your voice. Vill not you stay in mine bosom tonight love? By no means sweet breast, this Gentleman has vowed to see me chastened laid. He shall have a bed too, if dat it please him. Peace you tender him offence, he is one of a professed abstinence, Siren your voice and away. The dark is my delight, So 'tis the Nightingales. My music's in the night, So is the Nightingales. My body is but little, So is the Nightingales. I love to sleep 'gainst prickle. So doth the Nightingale. Thankes, Busse, so the night growes old good re.
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)
Come along, yonders the preface or exordium to my wench, the bawde: Fetch, fetch. What M. Cocledemoy, is your knaueſhippe yet ſtirring, looke to it, Mulligrub lyes for you. The more foole he, I can lye for my ſelfe, worſhipfull friend, hang toaſtes, I vanniſh. Ha my fine boy thou art a ſcholler, and haſt read Tullies Offices, my fine knaue, hang toaſtes. The Vintner will toaſt you and he catch you. I will draw the Vintner to the ſtoope, and when he runs low tilt him, he my fine knaue, art going to thy recreation. Yes my capticeous raskall. Thou wilt looke like a foole then by and by. Looke like a foole why? Why according to the old ſaying, A begger when he is lowſing of himſelfe lookes like a Philoſopher, a hard bound Philoſopher, when he is on the ſtoole, lookes like a tyrant, and a when hee is in his bey , lookes like a foole, God gie your worſhip good reſt, grace and mercy keepe your Syring ſtraight, and your Lotium vnſpile. See, Sir this is ſhe. This? This. A Curteſan? Now cold bloud defend me, what a proportion afflictes me? O mine aderliuer loue, vat ſall me do to requi dis your muſt affection. Marry ſalute my friend, clippe his necke, and kiſſe him welcome. A mine art, Sir you bin very velcome. Kiſſe her man with a more familiar affection, ſo, come what entertainement, goe to your Lute. And how doſt approue my ſomtimes elected? fees none of your ramping Cannibals, that deuoure mās fleſh, nor any of your curtian gulfes, that will neuer be ſatisfied, vntill the beſt thing has be throwne into them. I lou'd her with my heart, vntill my ſoule ſhewed me the imperfection of my body, and placed my affection on a lawful loue, my modeſt Beatrice, which if this ſhort heeles knew, there were no being for mee with eyes before her face. But faith▪ doſt thou not ſome what excuſe my ſometimes incontinency with her enforciue beauties. Speake. Hah, ſhe is a whore, is ſhe not? VVhore? fie whore? you may call her a Curtezan, a Cocatrice, or (as that worthy ſpirite of an eternall happineſſe ſaide) a Suppoſitarie, but whore? fie: tis not in faſhion to call thinges by their right names, is a great marchant, a coockold, you muſt ſay, he is one of the liuery, is a great Lord, a foole, you muſt ſay he is weake, is a gallant pocky, you muſt ſay, he has the court , come ſhees your miſtreſſe or ſo: Come Syren your voice. Vill not you ſtay in mine boſome to night loue▪ By no meanes ſweet breaſt, this Gentleman has vowde to ſee me chaſtly layde. He ſhall haue a bedde too, if dat it pleaſe him. Peace you tender him offence, hee is one of a profeſſed abſtinence, Syren your voyce and away. The darke is my delight, So tis the Nightingales. My Muſicke's in the night, So is the Nightingales. My body is but little, So is the Nightingales. I loue to ſleepe gainſt prickle. So doth the Nightingale. Thankes, Buſſe, ſo the night growes old good re.