The Roaring Girl, or Moll Cutpurse · chunk 35 of 47
Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1611 · first performed or written 1611 (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men · Fortune unassigned nearest T3 Sickness, physic and doctors · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
By heaven that man I know not. Come, come, you lie. Will you not have all out? By heaven I know no man beneath the moon Should do you wrong, but if I had his name, I'd print it in text letters. Print thine own then, Didst not thou swear to me he kept his whore? And that in sinful Brainford they would commit That which our lips did water at sir,— ha? Thou spider, that hast woven thy cunning web In mine own house t'ensnare me: hast not thou Sucked nourishment even underneath this roof, And turned it all to poison? spitting it, On thy friend's face (my husband?) he as 'twere sleeping: Only to leave him ugly to mine eyes, That they might glance on thee. Speak, are these lies? Mine own shame me confounds: No more, he's stung; Who'd think that in one body there could dwell Deformity and beauty, (heaven and hell) Goodness I see is but outside, we all set, In rings of Gold, stones that be counterfeit: I thought you none. Pardon me. Truth I do. This blemish grows in nature not in you, For man's creation stick even moles in scorn On fairest cheeks, wife nothing is perfect borne. I thought you had been borne perfect. What's this whole world but a gilt rotten pill? For at the heart lies the old chore still. I'll tell you Master Goshawk, I in your eye I have seen wanton fire, and then to try The soundness of my judgement, I told you I kept a whore, made you believe 'twas true, Only to feel how your pulse beat, but find, The world can hardly yield a perfect friend. Come, come, a trick of youth, and 'tis forgiven, This rub put by, our love shall run more even. You'll deal upon men's wives no more? No:— you teach me a trick for that. Troth do not, they'll o'erreach thee. Make my house yours sir still. No. I say you shall: Seeing (thus besieged) it holds out, 'twill never fall. How now? With me sir? You sir? I have gone snaffling up and down by your door this hour to watch for you. What's the matter husband? I have caught a cold in my head sir, by sitting up late in the rose tavern, but I hope you understand my speech. So sir. I cite you by the name of Hippocrates Gallipot, and you by the name of Prudence Gallipot, to appear upon Crastino, do you see, Crastino sancti Dunstani (this Easter Term) in Bow Church. Where sir? what says he? Bow: Bow Church, to answer to a libel of precontract on the part and behalf of the said Prudence and another; you're best sir take a copy of the citation, 'tis but twelvepence. A Citation? You pocky-nosed rascal, what slave fees you to this? Slave? I ha' nothing to do with you, do you hear sir? Laxton is't not?— what fagary is this?
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)
By heauen that man I know not. Come, come, you lie. Will you not haue all out? By heauen I know no man beneath the moon Should do you wrong, but if I had his name, I'de print it in text letters. Print thine owne then, Did'st not thou sweare to me he kept his whoore? And that in sinfull Brainford they would commit That which our lips did water at sir,—ha? Thou spider, that hast wouen thy cunning web In mine owne house t'insnare me: hast not thou Suck't nourishment euen vnderneath this roofe, And turned it all to poyson? spittiug it, On thy friends face (my husband?) he as t'were sleeping: Onely to leaue him vgly to mine eies, That they might glance on thee. Speake, are these lies? Mine owne shame me confounds: No more, hee's stung; Who'd thinke that in one body there could dwell Deformitie and beauty, (heauen and hell) Goodnesse I see is but outside, wee all set, In rings of Gold, stones that be counterfet: I thought you none. Pardon mee. Truth I doe. This blemish growes in nature not in you, For mans creation sticke euen moles in scorne On fairest cheeks, wife nothing is perfect borne. I thought you had bene borne perfect. What's this whole world but a gilt rotten pill? For at the heart lies the old chore still. I'le tell you Maister Goshawke, I in your eie I haue seene wanton fire, and then to try The soundnesse of my iudgement, I told you I kept a whoore, made you beleeue 'twas true, Onely to feele how your pulse beate, but find, The world can hardly yeeld a perfect friend. Come, come, a tricke of youth, and 'tis forgiuen, This rub put by, our loue shall runne more euen. You'l deale vpon mens wiues no more? No:—you teach me a tricke for that. Troth do not, they'l o're-reach thee. Make my house yours sir still. No. I say you shall: Seeing (thus besieg'd) it holds out, 'twill neuer fall. How now? With mee sir? You sir? I haue gon snaffling vp and downe by your dore this houre to watch for you. What's the matter husband? —I haue caught a cold in my head sir, by sitting vp late in the rose tauerne, but I hope you vnderstand my speech. So sir. I cite you by the name of Hippocrates Gallipot, and you by the name of Prudence Gallipot, to appeare vpon Crastino, doe you see, Crastino sancti Dunstani (this Easter Tearme) in Bow Church. Where sir? what saies he? Bow: Bow Church, to answere to a libel of precontract on the part and behalfe of the said Prudence and another; y'are best sir take a coppy of the citation, 'tis but tweluepence. A Citation? You pocky-nosed rascall, what slaue fees you to this? Slaue? I ha nothing to do with you, doe you heare sir? Laxton ist not?—what fagary is this?