Sharpham, Edward · published 1607 · first performed or written 1607 (Annals) comedy · Children of the King's Revels T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy typicality 0.80 · 531 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
It's no matter no matter. No, 'tis not now I sent, by this hand 'tis he, 'tis he, what should I do, now if I should strike him, he would be to hard for me, for he is better armed than I. Well sir, I'll take my leave of you, till your occasion shall need my presence. Fare ye well sir, I hope that shall be never: but have not I spun a fair thread think you, to be a very Bawd, an arrant wittal, to give them opportunity, put them together, Nay hold the door the whilst this is my wives plot, by which I have sailed to Cuckold's haven yet my sail was but a smock, which she herself hoist up alas alas, Gentlemen do you not know the Philosopher saith this world is but a stage: hody mihi, cras tibi my part today, it may be some of yours to morrow why 'tis but matrimonial chance, we that are Cuckolds should be wisest men, for no men else do know their ends, but we know ours, for we are forked at both O thou powerful and celestial Ioue! strike down from heaven some congealed bolts of thunder, that it may pierce the womb of earth, and through it send thy lightning flames to make hell hotter than it is, or with Egyptian damps and rotten jaws renovate thy eating plague of life, dissolve nature, consume earth, destroy hell, and damn woman I beseech thee into a deeper dungeon than the Devil. They fill men with diseases, and give the wan-eyed Sun of Heaven cause to smile to see our pains: shall the gaping of graves, the screeching of Ghosts, and cries of damned souls, yet longer be deferred? shall time incorporate with sin, and beget more mischief? shall hell be better furnished with women then with Devils? infernal Lucifer will muster up his female souls against thy deity, unless thou do abridge the course of sin by cutting off the increase of women, and then we shall have no more cuckolds. Come ye hither wife, come ye hither, pray tell me one thing true. True: why husband, i'll lie for no man's pleasure. Yes, for his pleasure that is gone. For his pleasure, why for his pleasure? Because you are a Punk wife, a punk. Now Ioue bless me. You are a Cockatrice wife, a cockatrice Now heavens defend me. You are a whore wife, a whore. Sir, the man is mad. ay, horn mad, ah thou vile perfidious, detestable, lascivious, unsatiable, Luxurious and abominable strumpet, was it not enough to be an Actaeon, a cornuto, a cuckold, but to make me a Bawd, a Pimp, a Pander? What Pimp? what Pander? What Pimp? what Pander? why was not this the Lord Nonsuch? did I not see his chain, nay prithee say 'twas not he, nay swear it too: over shoes over boots, since ye have waded to the belly in sin, nay now go deeper even to the breast and heart. Pray hear me husband. What vile excuses canst make, how canst thou hide thy lust? wouldst wrap thy sin in perjury to muffle up thy villainy?
nodes 320–337 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 17 of 46 in this edition
Length
531 words · 726 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T23 — Husbands, wives and jealousycross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.802 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T26 · seed 44: T28 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
It's no matter no matter. No, tis not now I set, by this hand tis he, tis he, what should I doe, now if I should strike him, hee would be to hard for me, for he is better arm'd then I. Well ile take my leaue of you, till your occasion shall neede my presence. Fare ye well sir, I hope that shall be neuer: but haue not I spun a faire thred thinke you, to be a verry Baude, an arrant wittall, to giue them oportunitie, put them together, Nay holde the dore the whil'st this is my wiues plot, by which I haue saild to Cuckolds hauen yet my saile was but asmocke, which shee her selfe hoist vp alas alas, Gentlemen doe you not knowe the Philosopher saith this world is but a stage: hodie mihi, cras tibi my part to day, it may be some of yours to morrowe hy tis but matrimoniall chance, wee that are Cuckolds should be wissest men, for no men else doe knowe their endes, but wee knowe ours, for we are forked at both O thou powerfull and celestiall Ioue! strike downe from heauen some congealed boltes of thunder, that it may pierce the wombe of earth, and through it send thy lightning flames to make hell hotter then it is, or with Egiptian dampes and rotten iawes renouate thy eating plague of life, dissolue nature, consume earth, destroy hell, and dambe woman I beseech thee into a deeper dungeon then the Deuill. They fill men with diseases, and giue the wane-eyde Sunne of Heauen cause to smile to see our paines: shall the gaping of graues, the scritching of Ghostes, and cries of damned soules, yet longer bee defer'd? shall time incorporate with sinne, and beget more mischiefe? shall hell bee better furnished with women then with Deuils? infernall Lucifer will muster vp his female soules against thy dietie, vnlesse thou doe abridge the course of sinne by cutting off the increase of women, and then wee shall haue no more cuckolds. Come ye hether wife, come ye hether, pra'y tell me one thing true. True: why husband, ile lye for no mans pleasure. Yes, for his pleasure that is gone. For his pleasure, why for his pleasure? Because you are a Puncke wife, a puncke. Now Ioue blesse me. You are a Cockatrice wife, a cockatrice Now heauens defend me. You are a whore wife, a whore. Sir, the man is mad. I, horne mad, ah thou vile perfidious, detestable, lasciuious, vnsatiable, Luxurious and abhominable strumpet, was it not enough to be an Acteon, a cornuto, a cuckolde, but to make mee a Baude, a Pimpe, a Pander? What Pimpe? what Pander? What Pimpe? what Pander? why was not this the Lord Nonsuch? did I not see his chaine, nay prethee say twa's not he, nay sweare it too: ouer shooes ouer bootes, since yee haue waded to the bellie in sinne, nay now goe deeper euen to the breast and heart. Pra'y heare me husband. What vile excuses canst make, how canst thou hide thy lust? wouldst wrap thy sinne in periurie to muffell vp thy villany?