Middleton, Thomas · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 [1604-1606] (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
Nay sweet husband. Husband I me undone, beggared, cozened, confounded for ever: married already? will it please you know me now mistress Harlot, and master Horner, who am I now? Oh, he's as like my other husband as can be. I'll have judgement, i'll bring you before a judge, you shall feel wife whether my flesh be dead or no, i'll tickle you i'faith, i'faith. The judge that he'll solicit knows me well. Let's on then, and our grievances first tell. Here they come. O where. Heart of shame, upon my wedding morning so disgraced! Have you so little conscience Officers, You will not take a bribe? Master Lethe we may lie together lawfully hereafter, for we are coupled together before people enough i'faith. There goes the strumpet. Pardon my wilful blindness and enjoy me. For now the difference appears too plain, Betwixt a base slave and a true Gentleman. I do embrace thee in the best of love, How soon affections fail, how soon they prove. His cozenages are odious, he the plaintiff, Not only framed deceitful in his life, But so to mock his funeral. Most just. The Livery all assembled, mourning weeds, Throughout his house e'en down to his last servant The Herald richly hired to lend him Arms, Feigned from his Ancestors, which I dare swear knew no other Arms but those they laboured with, All preparations furnished, nothing wanted Save that which was the cause of all, his death, If he be living. 'twas an impious part. We are not certain yet it is himself, But some false spirit that assumes his shape, And seeks still to deceive me. Oh are you come? my Lord? their here, good morrow Tomazin. Now what are you? I am Quomodo my Lord, & this my wife, Those my two men, that are bound wrongfully. How are we sure you're he? Oh you cannot miss my Lord. I'll try you. Are you the man that lived the famous cozener? O no my Lord. Did you deceive this Gentleman of his right, And laid Nets o'er his land? Not I my Lord. Then you're not Quomodo but a counterfeit, Lay hands on him, and bear him to the whip. Stay, stay a little I pray, now I remember me my Lord, I cozened him indeed, 'tis wondrous true. Then I dare swear this is no counterfeit. Let all doubts cease this man is Quomodo. Why la you now, you would not believe this, I am found what I am. But setting these thy odious shifts apart, Why did that thought profane, enter thy breast, To mock the world with thy supposed death? Conceive you not that my Lord? a policy. So. For having gotten the lands I thirsted still, To know what fate would follow 'em. Being ill got. Your lordship apprehends me. I think I shall anon.
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)
Nay ſweete husband. Husband I me vndone, beggard, couzend, confounded for euer: married alreadie? will it pleaſe you knowe mee now miſtris Harlot, and maſter Horner, who am I now? Oh, hee's as like my tother husband as can be. Ile haue iudgement, ile bring you before a Iudge, you ſhall feele wife whether my fleſh be dead or no, ile tickle you yfaith, yfaith. The Iudge that heele ſolicite knowes me well. Lets on then, and our greeuances firſt tell. Here they come. O where. Hart of ſhame, vpō my wedding morning ſo diſgracd▪ Haue you ſo little conſcience Officers, You will not take a bribe? Maſter Lethe we may lie together lawfully hereafter, for we are coupled together before people ynow yfaith. There goes the ſtrumpet. Pardon my wilfull blindneſſe and enioy me. For now the difference appeares too plaine, Betwixt a baſe ſlaue and a true Gentleman. I doe embrace thee in the beſt of loue, How ſoone affections fail, how ſoone they proue. His couſnages are odious, he the plaintife, Not onely framde deceitfull in his life, But ſo to mocke his funerall. Moſt iuſt. The Liuerie all aſſembled, mourning weedes, Throughout his houſe een down to his laſt ſeruāt The Herauld richly hirde to lend him Armes, Faind from his Aunceſtors, which I dare ſweare knewe no other Armes but thoſe they labour'd with, All preparations furniſht, nothing wanted Saue that which was the cauſe of all, his death, If he be liuing. Twas an impious part. We are not certaine yet it is himſelfe, But ſome falſe ſpirit that aſſumes his ſhape, And ſeekes ſtill to deceiue mee. Oh are you come? my Lord? their here, good morrow Tomazin. Now what are you? I am Quomodo my Lord, & this my wife, Thoſe my two men, that are bound wrongfully. How are we ſure y'are he? Oh you cannot miſſe my Lord. Ile trie you. Are you the man that liu'd the famous couſner? O no my Lord. Did you deceiue this Gentleman of his right, And laid Nets ore his land? Not I my Lord. Then y'are not Quomodo but a counterfet, Lay hands on him, and beare him to the whip. Stay, ſtay a little I pray, now I remember me my Lord, I couſned him indeed, tis wondrous true. Then I dare ſweare this is no counterfet. Let all doubts ceaſe this man is Quomodo. Why la you now, you would not beleeue this, I am found what I am. But ſetting theſe thy odious ſhifts apart, Why did that thought prophane, enter thy breſt, To mocke the world with thy ſuppoſed death? Conceiue you not that my Lord? a policy. So. For hauing gotten the lands I thirſted ſtill, To know what fate would follow 'em. Being ill got. Your Lorpſhip apprehends me. I thinke I ſhall anon.