The Woman Hater (The Hungry Courtier) · chunk 20 of 46
Beaumont, Francis / Fletcher, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) comedy · Children of Paul's (second) unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
Now my cold frosty Lord, my woman Hater, you that have sworn an everlasting hate to all our sex: by my troth good Lord, and as I am yet a maid, my thought 'twas excellent sport to hear your honour swear out an Alphabet, chafe nobly like a General, kick like a resty jade and make ill faces: Did your good Honour think I was in love? where did I first begin to take that heat? from those two radiant eyes, that piercing sight? oh they were lovely, if the balls stood right; and there's a leg made out of a dainty staff, Where the Gods be thanked, there is calf enough. Pardon him Lady that is now a convertite, Your beauty like a Saint hath wrought this wonder. A lass, has it been pricked at the heart, is the stomach come down, will it rail no more at women, and call 'em Devils, she Cats, and Goblins. He that shall marry thee, had better spend the poor remainder of his days in a Dung-barge, for two pence a week, and find himself: Down again Spleen, I prithee down again, shall I find favour Lady? shall at length my true unfeigned penitence get pardon for my harsh unseasoned follies? I am no more an Atheist, no, I do acknowledge, that dread powerful Deity, and his all quickening heats, burn in my breast: oh be not as I was, hard, unrelenting; but as I am, be partner of my Fires. Sure we shall have store of Larks, the Skies will not hold up long, I should have looked as soon for frost in the dog days, or another Inundation, as hoped this strange conversion above miracle: let me look upon your Lordship; is your name Gondarino, are you Milan's General, that great Bugbear bloodybones, at whose very name all women, from the Lady to the Laundress, shake like a cold fit. Good patience help me, this Fever will enrage my blood again: Madam I am that man; I am even he, that once did owe unreconciled hate to you, and all that bear the name of woman: I am the man, that wronged your honour to the Duke, I am he that said you were unchaste, and prostitute; yet I am he, that dare deny all this. Your big Nobility is very merry. Lady 'tis true that I have wronged you thus, And my Contrition is as true as that, Yet have I found a means to make all good again, I do beseech your beauty, not for myself, My merits are yet in conception, But for your honours safety, and my zeal Retire a while, whilst I unsay myself unto the Duke, And cast out that evil Spirit, I have possessed him with, I have a house conveniently private. Lord, thou hast wronged my innocence, but thy confession hath gained thee faith. By the true honest service, that I owe those eyes, strangely, My meaning is as spotless as my faith.
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)
Now my cold frostie Lord, my woman Hater, you that haue sworne an euerlasting hate to all our sex: by my troth good Lord, and as I am yet a maid, my thoght 'twas excellent sport to heare your honour sweare out an Alphabet, chafe nobly like a Generall, kicke like a resty jade and make ill faces: Did your good Honor thinke I was in loue? where did I first begin to take that heat? from those two radiant eyes, that piercing sight? oh they were louely, if the balls stood right; and there's a legge made out of a dainty staffe, Where the Gods be thanked, there is calfe ynough. Pardon him Ladie that is now a conuertite, Your beautie like a Saint hath wrought this wonder. A lasse, ha's it beene prick't at the heart, is the stomacke come downe, will it rayle no more at women, and call 'em Diuels, shee Cattes, and Gobblins. Hee that shall marry thee, had better spend the poore remainder of his dayes in a Dung-barge, for two pence a weeke, and find himselfe: Downe againe Spleene, I preethee downe againe, shall I find fauour Ladie? shall at length my true vnfained penetence get pardon for my harsh vnseasoned follies? I am no more an Athiest, no, I doe acknowledge, that dread powrefull Deitie, and his all quickning heats, burne in my brest: oh be not as I was, hard, vnrelenting; but as I am, be partner of my Fires. Sure we shall haue store of Larkes, the Skies will not hold vp long, I should haue looked as soone for frost in the dogge dayes, or an other Inundation, as hop'd this strange conuersion aboue myracle: let mee looke vpon your Lordship; is your name Gondarino, are you Millaines Generall, that great Bug-beare bloodie-bones, at whose very name all women, from the Ladie to the Landresse, shake like a cold fit. Good patience helpe me, this Feuer will inrage my bloud againe: Maddam I am that man; I am euen hee, that once did owe vnreconciled hate to you, and all that beare the name of woman: I am the man, that wrong'd your honour to the Duke, I am hee that said you were vnchast, and prostetute; yet I am he, that dare deny all this. Your big Nobilitie is very merrie. Lady tis true that I haue wrongd you thus, And my Contrition is as true as that, Yet haue I found a meanes to make all good againe, I doe beseech your beautie, not for my selfe, My merrits are yet in conception, But for your honors safetie, and my zeale Retyre a while, whilst I vnsay my selfe vnto the Duke, And cast out that euill Spirit, I haue possest him with, I haue a house conueniently priuate. Lord, thou hast wrong'd my innocence, but thy confession hath gain'd thee faith. By the true honest seruice, that I owe those eyes, strangely, My meaning is as spotles as my faith.