Histriomastix, or The Player Whipped · chunk 18 of 25
Marston, John · published 1610 · first performed or written 1599 [1598-1599] (Annals) moral · Unknown T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.69 · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
Enough, ere long, the air shall ring with shrieks. And sad lament of those, whom Horror strikes. Horror adieu, These three, are Ushers to our Deity, Only vast Ruin here attends on us, And is a follower of our high designs: Ruin thou faithful servant to grim War, Now teach thy murdering shot to tear men's limbs, Thy brazen Cannos how to make a breach, In a fair cities bosom; teach thy fierce To climb the tops of houses; and thy mines, To blow up Churches in th'offended sky. Consume whole groves and standing fields of Corn In thy wild age, and make the proud earth groan, Under the weight of thy confusion. This and much more shall Ruin execute. meanwhile we'll steep our sinewy feet in blood And dance unto the Music of the field, Trumpets for trebles, bases, bellowing drums. Broils Envy bred, but War shall end those brawls, Deaf war that will not hear a word of Peace: Sharp pikes shall serve for subtle lawyers pens The merchants silks shall turn to shining steel, In steed of false-yard sticks, large horsemen's staves, Shall measure out true patterns of their graves. Sirrah what set you up there? Text bills for Plays. What Plays in time of Wars? hold sirrah there's a new plot. How many mean you shall come in for this? Player 'tis press money. Press money, press money, alas sir press me, I am no fit Actor for th' action. Text bills must now be turned to Iron bills. And please you let them be dagger pies. Sir Oliver's men; the last Players took the towns reward like honest men. Those were a couple of coney-catchers that Cousin Majors, and have no consort but themselves, But we are a full company, and our credit with our Master known. meanwhile there's press-money, for your reward, No (I thank your worship) we mean not to trouble your town at this time. Well Masters, you that are master-sharers, Must provide you upon your own purses, Alas sir, we Players are privileged, 'tis our Audience must fight in the field for us, And we upon the stage for them. Sir as concerning halfe a score angels Or such a matter for a man in my place. Those days are out of date. The more's the pity sir, Well, I have a Brewer to my Ingle, he'll furnish me with a horse great enough. Faith I'll e'en past all my ballads together, And make a coat to hold out pistol-proof; I marvel what use I should make of my Ingle, The hobby-horse-seller. Faith make him sell a whole troop of horse To buy thee one. Sirs, if these soldiers light upon our playing 'parel, they'll strut it in the field, and flaunt it out. Well sirs, I have no stomach to these wars, Faith, I have a better stomach to my breakfast. A shrewd morning's work for Players,
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Ynough, ere long, the ayre shall ring with shrikes. And sad lament of those, whom Horror strikes. Horror adiew, These three, are Vshers to our Deity, Onely vast Ruine heere attends on vs, And is a follower of our high designes: Ruine thou faythfull seruant to grimme Warre, Now teach thy murdring shot to teare mens limm's, Thy brazen Cannos how to make a breache, In a fayre Citties bozome; teach thy fiers To climbe the toppes of houses; and thy mines, To blow vp Churches in th'offended skye. Consume whole groues and standing fields of Corne In thy wild age, and make the proud earth groane, Vnder the weight of thy confusion. This and much more shall Ruine execute. Meane while weele steepe our sinowie feet in blood And daunce vnto the Musicke of the field, Trumpets for trebbles, bases, bellowing drnmmes. Broyles Enuy bred, but Warre shall end those brawles, Deafe warre that will not heare a word of Peace: Sharpe pikes shall serue for subtle lawiers pens The Marchants silkes shall turne to shining steele, In steed of false-yard stickes, large horsemens staues, Shall measure out true pattern's of their graues. Sirra what set you vp there? Text billes for Playes. What Playes in time of Warres? hold sirta Ther's a new plott. How many meane you shall come in for this? Player tis presse money. Presse money, presse money, alasse sir presse me, I am no fit Actor for th action. Text billes must now be turn'd to Iron billes. And please you let them be dagger pies. Sir Oliuers men; the last Players tooke the Townes reward like honest men. Those were a cupple of Cunnicatchers that Coosen Maiors, and haue no consort but themselues, But we are a full company, and our credit with our Maister knowne. Meane while ther's presse-mony, for your reward, No (I thanke your worship) we meane not to trouble your towne at this time. Well Masters, you that are maister-sharers, Must prouide you vpon your owne purses, Alasse sir, we Players are priuieldg'd, Tis our Audience must fight in the field for vs, And we vpon the stage for them. Sir as concerning halfe a score angells Or such a matter for a man in my place. Those daies are out of date. The more's the pitty sir, Well, I haue a Brewer to my Ingle, Heele furnish me with a horse great inough. Faith Ile eene past all my ballads together, And make a coate to hold out pistoll-proofe; I meruaile what vse I should make of my Ingle, The hobby-horse-seller. Fath make him sell a whole troupe of horse To buy thee one. Sirrs, if these soldiers light vpon our playing parrell, they'le strout it in the field, and flaunt it out. Well sirs, I haue no stomacke to these warres, Faith, I haue a better stomacke to my breakfast. A shrewd mornings worke for Players,