The Woman Hater (The Hungry Courtier) · chunk 17 of 46
Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint typicality 0.82 · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
That I hate truly, thou hadst better been a devil. women. Why my unpatient Lord? devils were once good, there they excelled you Can ye be so uneasy, can ye freeze, and Such a summer's heat so ready To dissolve, nay gentle Lord, turn not away in scorn, Nor hold me less fair than I am: look on these checks, They have yet enough of nature, true complexion, If to be red and white, a forehead high, An easy melting lip, a speaking eye, And such a tongue, whose language takes the ear Of strict religion, and men most austere: If these may hope to please, look here. This woman with entreaty would show all, Lady there lies your way, I pray ye farewell. You're yet too harsh, to dissonant. there's no true music in your words, my Lord. What shall I give thee to be gone? hear's ta, and than wants lodging, take my house, 'tis big enough, 'tis shine own, 'twill hold five lecherous Lords, & their lackeys without discovery: there's stoves and bathing tubs. Dear Lord: you're too wild. shalt have a Doctor too, thou shalt, 'bout six and twenty, 'tis a pleasing age; or I can help thee to a handsome usher: or if thou lack'st a page, i'll give thee one, prithee keep house, and leave me. I do confess I am to easy, too much woman, Not coy enough to take affection, Yet I can frown and nip a passion Even in the bud: I can say Men please their present heats; Then please to leave us. I can hold off, and by my chemic power Draw Sonnets, from the melting lovers brain. ay-mees, and Elegies: yet to you my Lord My Love, my better self, I put these off, Doing that office, not befits our sex, Entreat a man to love; Are ye not yet relenting, ha'ye blood and Spirit In those veins, ye are no Image, though ye be as hard. As marble, sure ye have no liver, if ye had, 'T would send a lively and desiring heat To every member; is not this miserable, A thing so truly formed, shaped out by Symmetry, Has all the organs that belong to man, And working to, yet to show all these Like dead motions moving, upon wires, Then good my Lord, leave off what you have been, And freely be what you were first intended for: a man. Thou art a precious piece of sly damnation, I will be deaf, I will lock up my ears, Tempt me not, I will not love; if I do, Then i'll hate you. Let me be anointed with honey, and turned into the Sun, To be stung to death with horseflies, Heart thou, thou breeder, here i'll sit, And in despite of thee I will say nothing. Let me with your fair patience, sit beside you? Madam, Lady, tempter, tongue, woman, air, Look to me, I shall kick; I say again, Look to me I shall kick.
seed 43: T2 · seed 44: T3 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
That I hate truely, thou hadst better bin a deuill. women. Why my vnpatient Lord? Deuils were once good, there they excel'd you Can ye be so vneasie, can ye freeze, and Such a summers heat so ready To dissolue, nay gentle Lord, turne not away in scorne, Nor hold me lesse faire then I am: looke on these checks, They haue yet enough of nature, true complexion, If to be red and white, a forehead hie, An easie melting lip, a speaking eie, And such a tongue, whose language takes the eare Of strict religion, and men most austere: If these may hope to please, looke here. This woman with entreaty wo'd show all, Lady there lies your way, I pray ye farewell. Y'are yet to harsh, to dissonant. Ther's no true musicke in your words, my Lord. What shall I giue thee to be gone? Heares ta, and tha wants lodging, take my house, tis big enough, tis shine owne, t'will hold fiue lecherous Lords, & their lackies without discouery: ther's stoues and bathing tubbes. Deare Lord: y'are too wild. Shat haue a Doctor too, thou shat, 'bout sixe and twentie, tis a pleasing age; or I can helpe thee to a handsome vsher: or if thou lack'ft a page, ile giue thee one, preethe keepe house, and leaue mee. I doe confesse I am to easie, too much woman, Not coy enough to take affection, Yet I can frowne and nip a passion Euen in the bud: I can say Men please their present heates; Then please to leaue vs. I can hold off, and by my Chimmick power Draw Sonnets, from the melting louers braine. Aymees, and Elegies: yet to you my Lord My Loue, my better selfe, I put these off, Doing that office, not befits our sex, Entreat a man to loue; Are ye not yet relenting, ha'ye bloud and Spirit In those veines, ye are no Image, though yee bee as hard. As marble, sure ye haue no lyuer, if ye had, 'T would send a liuely and desiring heate To euery member; is not this miserable, A thing so truely formd, shapt out by Symetry, Has all the organs that belong to man, And working to, yet to shew all these Like dead motions mouing, vpon wyers, Then good my Lord, leaue off what you haue beene, And freely be what you were first entended for: a man. Thou art a precious peece of slie damnation, I will be deasfe, I will locke vp my eares, Tempt me not, I will not loue; if I doe, Then ile hate you. Let me be nointed with hony, and turn'd into the Sunne, To be stung to death with horse-flies, Heart thou, thou breeder, here ile sit, And in despight of thee I will say nothing. Let me with your faire patience, sit beside you? Maddam, Ladie, tempter, tongue, woman, ayre, Looke to me, I shall kicke; I say againe, Looke to me I shal kicke.