Marston, John / Machin, Lewis / Barkstead, William · published 1613 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1607-1608; revised 1609-1613] (Annals) tragedy · Children of the Queen's Revels (?); Children of the King's Revels (?) · Whitefriars unassigned nearest T59 Spanish courts: war, honour and courtshi · 491 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
Perform your promise, and enjoy your pleasure, Spend my loves Dowry, that is women's treasure: But if thy resolution dread the trial, I'll tell the world, a Spaniard was disloyal. Relate your grief, I long to hear their names, Whose bastard spirits, thy true worth defames: I'll wash thy scandal off, when their hearts bleeds, Valour makes difference betwixt words and deeds. Tell thy fame's poison, blood shall wash thee white, My spotless honour, is a slave to spite: These are the monsters Venice doth bring forth, Whose empty souls are bankrupt of true worth. False Count Guido, treacherous Guiaca, Countess of Gazia, and of rich Massino. Then if thou be'st a Knight, help the oppressed, Through danger safety comes, through trouble rest. And so my love. Ignoble villains, their best blood shall prove, Revenge falls heavy, that is raised by love. Think what reproach is to a woman's name, Honoured by birth, by marriage, and by beauty: Be God on earth, and revenge innocence, O worthy Spaniard, on my knees I beg, Forget the persons, think on their offence. By the white soul of honour, by heavens Ioue: They die if their death can attain your love. Thus will I clip thy waste, embrace thee thus: Thus dally with thy hair, and kiss thee thus: Our pleasure's protean-like in sundry shapes, Shall with variety stir dalliance. I am immortal, O divinest creature: Thou dost excel the Gods, in wit and feature. False Counts you die, revenge now shakes his rods: Beauty condemns you, stronger than the Gods. Come Mars of lovers, Vulcan is not here, Make vengeance like my bed, quite void of fear. My senses are entranced, and in this slumber, I taste heavens joys, but cannot count the number. Well madam: you see the destiny that follows marriage, Our husbands are quiet now, and must suffer the law. If my husband had been worth the begging some Courtier would have had him: he might be begged well enough, for he knows not his own wife from another. O you're a couple of trusty wenches, to deceive your husbands thus. If we had not deceived them thus, we had been Trust wenches. Our husbands will be hanged, because they think themselves Cuckolds. If all true Cuckolds were of that mind, the hangman would be the richest occupation, and more wealthy widows, than there be younger brothers to marry them. The Merchant venturers would be a very small company. 'Tis twelve to one of that, however the rest scape, I shall fear a massacre. If my husband hereafter for his wealth chance to be dubbed: I'll have him called the Knight of the supposed home. Faith, and it sounds well. Come madcaps leave jesting, and let's deliver them out of their earthly purgation; you are the spirits that torment them: but my love and Lord, kind Mendosa, will lose his life, to preserve mine honour, not for hate to others.
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)
Performe your promise, and enioy your pleasure, Spend my loues Dowry, that is womens treasure: But if thy resolution dread the triall, Ile tell the world, a Spaniard was disloyall. Relate your griefe, I long to heare their names, Whose bastard spirits, thy true worth defames: I'le wash thy scandall off, when their hearts bleeds, Valour makes difference betwixt words and deeds. Tell thy fames poison, blood shall wash thee white, My spotlesse honor, is a slaue to spite: These are the monsters Venice doth bring forth, Whose emptie soules are bankcrupt of true worth. False Count Guido, treacherous Guiaca, Countesse of Gazia, and of rich Massino. Then if thou beest a Knight, help the opprest, Through danger safetie comes, through trouble rest. And so my loue. Ignoble villens, their best bloud shall proue, Reuenge fals heauy, that is rais'd by loue. Thinke what reproch is to a womans name, Honor'd by birth, by marriage, and by beautie: Be God on earth, and reuenge innocence, O worthy Spaniard, on my knees I begge, Forget the persons, thinke on their offence. By the white soule of honour, by heau'ns Ioue: They die if their death can attaine your loue. Thus will I clip thy waste, embrace thee thus: Thus dally with thy haire, and kisse thee thus: Our Pleasures Pothean-like in sundry shapes, Shall with varietie stirre daliance. I am immortall, O diuinest creature: Thou do'st excell the Gods, in wit and feature. False Counts you die, reuenge now shakes his rods: Beautie condemnes you, stronger then the Gods. Come Mars of louers, Vulcan is not here, Make vengeance like my bed, quite voide of feare. My sences are intranst, and in this slumber, I taste heau'ns ioyes, but cannot count the number. Well Madame: you see the destinie that followes marriage, Our husbands are quiet now, and must suffer the law. If my husband had beene worth the begging some Courtier would haue had him: he might be beg'd well inough, for he knowes not his owne wife from another. O you'r a couple of trusty wenches, to deceiue your husbands thus. If wee had not deceiu'd them thus, we had been Trust wenches. Our husbands will be hang'd, because they thinke themselu's Cuckolds. If all true Cuckolds were of that minde, the hangman would be the richest occupation, and more wealthie widdowes, then there be yonger brothers to marry them. The Marchant venturers would be a very small companie. 'Tis twelue to one of that, how euer the rest scape, I shall feare a massacre. If my husband hereafter for his wealth chance to be dub'd: I'le haue him cal'd the Knight of the supposed home. Faith, and it sounds well. Come madcaps leaue iesting, and let's deliuer them out of their earthly purgation; you are the spirits that torment them: but my loue and Lord, kinde Mendosa, will loose his life, to preserue mine honor, not for hate to others.