The White Devil (Vittoria Corombona) · chunk 17 of 49
Webster, John · published 1612 · first performed or written 1612 [Winter 1612-1613] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men unassigned nearest T39 Profit, conscience and dishonest dealing · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T39: conscience, lucre, usury, lucar, fraud, dissimulation, simony, london, lady, nemo.
Sir, Put up your papers in your fustian bag, Cry mercy Sir, 'tis buckram, and accept My notion of your learned verbosity. I most graduatically thank your Lordship. I shall have use for them elsewhere. I shall be plainer with you, and paint out Your follies in more natural red and white. Then that upon your cheek. O you mistake. You raise a blood as noble in this cheek As ever was your mothers. I must spare you till proof cry whore to that, Observe this creature here my honoured Lords, A woman of a most prodigious spirit In her effected. Honourable my Lord, It doth not suit a reverend Cardinal To play the Lawyer thus Oh your trade instructs your language! You see my Lords what goodly fruit she seems, Yet like those apples travelers report To grow where Sodom and Gomora stood. I will but touch her and you straight shall see she'll fall to soot and ashes. Your envenomed Pothecary should do't I am resolved. Were there a second Paradise to lose This Devil would betray it. O poor charity! Thou art seldom found in scarlet. Who knows not how, when several night by night Her gates were choked with coaches, and her rooms. Outbraved the stars with several kind of lights, When she did counterfeit a PRINCE's Court. In music banquets and most riotous surfeits This whore, forsooth, was holy. Ha? whore what's that? Shall I expound whore to you? sure I shall; I'll give their perfect character. They are first, Sweet meats which rot the eater: In man's nostril Poisoned perfumes. They are cozening alchemy, shipwrecks in Calmest weather? What are whores? Cold Russian winters, that appear so barren, As if that nature had forgot the spring. They are the true material fire of hell, Worse than those tributes i'th' low countries paid, Exactions upon meat, drink, garments sleep. I even on man's perdition, his sin. They are those brittle evidences of law Which forfeit all a wretched man's estate For leaving out one syllable. What are whores? They are those flattering bells have all one tune: At weddings, and at funerals, your rich whores Are only treasuries by extortion filled, And empted by cursed riot. They are worse, Worse than dead bodies, which are begged at gallows And wrought upon by surgeons, to teach man Wherein he is imperfect. What's a whore? she's like the guilty counterfeited coin Which who so ear first stamps it bring in trouble All that receive it This character scapes me. You gentlewoman; Take from all beasts, and from all minerals Their deadly poison. Well what then? I'll tell thee I'll find in thee a Pothecary's shop To sample them all. She hath lived ill. True, but the Cardinals too bitter. You know what Whore is next the devil; Adultery. Enters the devil, murder. Your unhappy husband Is dead. O he's a happy husband Now he owes Nature nothing. And by a vaulting engine.
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)
Sir, Put vp your papers in your fustian bag, Cry mercy Sir, tis buckeram, and accept My notion of your learn'd verbosity. I most graduatically thanke your Lordship. I shall haue vse for them elswhere. I shall bee playner with you, and paint out Your folies in more naturall red and white. Then that vpon your cheeke. O you mistake. You raise a blood as noble in this cheeke As euer was your mothers. I must spare you till proofe cry whore to that, Obserue this creature here my honoured Lords, A woman of a most prodigious spirit In her effected. Honorable my Lord, It doth not sute a reuerend Cardinall To play the Lawier thus Oh your trade instructs your language! You see my Lords what goodly fruict she seemes, Yet like those apples trauellers report To grow where Sodom and Gomora stood. I will but touch her and you straight shall see Sheele fall to soote and ashes. Your inuenom'd Poticary should doo't I am resolued. Were there a second Paradice to loose This Deuell would betray it. O poore charity! Thou art seldome found in scarlet. Who knowes not how, when seuerall night by night Her gates were choak'd with coaches, and her roomes. Out-brau'd the stars with seuerall kind of lights, When shee did counterfet a Princes Court. In musicke banquets and most ryotous surfets This whore, forsooth, was holy. Ha? whore what's that? Shall I expound whore to you? sure I shal; Ile giue their perfect character. They are first, Sweete meates which rot the eater: In mans nostrill Poison'd perfumes. They are coosning Alcumy, Shipwrackes in Calmest weather? What are whores? Cold Russian winters, that appeare so barren, As if that nature had forgot the spring. They are the trew matteriall fier of hell, Worse then those tributes ith low countries payed, Exactions vpon meat, drinke, garments sleepe. I euen on mans perdition, his sin. They are those brittle euidences of law Which forfait all a wretched mans estate For leauing out one sillable. What are whores? They are those flattering bels haue all one tune: At weddings, and at funerals, your ritch whores Are only treasuries by extortion fild, And empted by curs'd riot. They are worse, Worse then dead bodies, which are beg'd at gallowes And wrought vpon by surgeons, to teach man Wherin hee is imperfect. Whats a whore? Shees like the guilty conterfetted coine Which who so eare first stampes it bring in trouble All that receaue it This carracter scapes me. You gentlewoman; Take from all beasts, and from all mineralls Their deadly poison. Well what then? Ile tell thee Ile find in thee a Poticaries shop To sample them all. Shee hath liued ill. Trew, but the Cardinals too bitter. You know what Whore is next the deuell; Adultry. Enters the deuell, murder. Your vnhappy husband Is dead. O hee's a happy husband Now hee owes Nature nothing. And by a vaulting engine.