If It Be Not Good, the Devil Is in It (If This Be Not a Good Play, the Devil Is in It) · chunk 19 of 44
Dekker, Thomas · published 1612 · first performed or written 1611 [1611-1612] (Annals) comedy · Queen Anne's Men · Red Bull unassigned nearest T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
So I may get by it. In my bosom sleep (My dove, my love,) prosper but thou and I, And let all else sink. Let'em: so I kiss gold, The youngman's whore, the saint of him that sold. Whither (madmen) run you? To Vines. Your Vines? (The tree of sin and shame?) this Serpent here, H with that lqorish poison, so set on fire The brains of Nicodeme and Silvester, That they in drunken rage have stabbed each other. Stabbed! Yes, they bleed a little, but have no harm, Their young blood with the grape's juice being made (warm, They brawled and struck, but I kept off the blows, Yet the Subprior says from me their quarrel rose. It did. In very deed (for I not swear) It did not sir: to me you malice bear, As if that all such mischief done, were mine, But cause yourself shall see how I repine To see vice prosper, pardon me good Lord Prior▪ If I a tell-tale be of what mine eyes Beheld with water in them: sin will rise In holy circles I see sometimes. What sin? What haste thou seen? Would present I had not been, But till I utter it, my clogged conscience bears▪ A man upon a woman. Ha. I speak't in tears: Scumbroth our cook, and a female I beheld Kissing in our orchard: on her lips he dwelled I think some half hour. Shame to our reverend order! A woman in our covent! Sin black as murder. Our cook shallbe severely punished: a woman, A tempter here. Abominable! Rush, thou'lt rebuke sin. Though my Lord I'm bad, I'm not given that way. Let us some plagues invent to lay on this lecherous knave. Some light punishment (Good my Lord Prior) suppose 'twere your own fault, Whip as you would be whipped, the best's nought. He shallbe punished, and then lose his place. That sir shall be as we will: to our Vines: away. For shame give o'er, dare you profane this day That is to holy uses consecrate? Why? what day is this? Lambert the martyr. No matter, To vex thee deeper, this whole day we'll spend, Only about our Vines. You vex not me, But heaven: what warrants you to this? Our will. Thou hast thy will, thy wish thou ne'er shalt have, In sight of heaven who sees and punishes Men's black impieties; And in sight of these (Sharers in thy full sin:) And in his sight, T' express whose vileness, there's no epithet. No matter what he says Rush. I'm known what I am. To thee I prophecy, (vicious old man to thee, Who erst with lift-up-hands, and down-bowed knee, Seemest to have had work in heaven: now (full of spite, Only to eat a liquorish appetite; Digst our religious wales up, planting there Luxurious fruits to pamper belly-cheer▪ (For all thy pains to dress it,) of this Vine Thy lustful lips shall never taste the wine.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T5 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
So I may get by it. In my bosome sleepe (My doue, my lue,) prosper but thou and I, And let all els sinck. Let'em: so I kisse gold, The yongmans whore, the saint of him that sold. Whither (mad-men) run you? To Vines. Your Vines? (The tree of and shame?) this Serpent here, H with that lqorish poison, so set on fire The braines of Nicodeme and Siluester, That they in drunken rage haue stabd each other. Stabd! Yes, they bleede a little, but haue no harme, Their yong blood with the grapes Iuice being made (warme, They brawld and struck, but I kept off the blowes, Yet the Subprior saies from me their quarrell rose. It did. In very deede (for I not sweare) It did no sir: to me you malice beare, As if that all such mischife don, were mine, But cause your selfe shall see how I repine To see vice prosper, pardon me good Lord Prior▪ If I a tell-tale be of what mine eyes Beheld with water in them: sin will rise In holy sircles I see sometimes. What sin? What hast tho seene? Wud present I had not beene, But till I vtter it, my clogd conscience beares▪ A man vpon a woman. Ha▪ I speak't in teares: Scumbr our cooke, and a female I beheld Kissing in our orchard: on her lippes he dwelld I thike some halfe howre. Shame to our reuerend order! A woman in our couent! Sin black as murder. Our cooke shalbe seuerely punished: a woman, A tempter here. Abhominable! Rush, thoul't rebuke sin. Tho my Lord I'me bad, I'me not giuen that way. Let vs some plagues inuent to lay on this echerous knaue▪ Some light punishment (Good my Lord Prior) suppose twere your owne fault, Whip as you woud be whipd, the best's naught. He shalbe punisht, and then loose his place. That sir shall be as we will: to our Vines: away. For shame giue or'e, dare you prophane this day That is to holy vses consecrate? Why? what day is this? Lambert the marter. No matter, To vex thee deeper, this whole day weele spend, Onely about our Vines. You vex not me, But heauen: what warrants you to this? Our will. Thou hast thy will, thy wish thou ne're shalt haue, In ight of heauen who sees and punishes Mens blacke impieties; And in sight of these (Sharers in thy full sin:) And in his sight, T' expresse whose vilenes, there's no epithite. No matter what he saies Rush. I'me knowne what I am. To thee I prophecie, (vitious old man to thee, Who r'st with lift-vp-hands, and downe-bowed knee, Seemest to'haue had worke in heauen: now (full of spite, Onely to eate a liquorish appetite; Dgst our religious wales vp, planting there Luxurious fruits to pamper belly-cheere▪ (For all thy paines to dresse it,) of this Vine Thy lustfull lips shall neuer tast the wine.