S., S. · published 1616 · first performed or written 1615 [c.1614-1615] (Annals) comedy · Queen Anne's Men T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy typicality 0.73 · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
A Cuckold? why now it is a common name, As the she-gossips are that give it us. Why doth it not derive, and spread itself. To all the generations we produce? Why should not every child of mine be called Cuckold, as well as Vaster, Woman, woman Thou sad undoer of the fairest building, That ever earth bragged to be pavement to. Man, Man; the pride of heavens creation, Abstract of Nature, that in his small volume Contains the whole world's Text, and heavens impression: His maker's Image, angel's mate, Earth's great wonder, Made to guide all, by woman is brought under. That harmony, fair Nature made to stand, Is forced out of tune by woman's hand. A woman hath deformed me. See, I look Like any beast has horns: an Ass may boast Himself a hornless Gentleman before me. Yet let not clouds of passion choke my reason. Why? what's a Cuckold? let's see: define him: It is a man, whose wife plays the whore. 'zlid, what's that to him? It is all one, as if a proper Gentleman should ride on a halting jade; or a good Musician play on a broken fiddle. Oh but 'twill be said: Woman could not be so light a ship, if her husband could well ballast her. It is his insufficiency. A pox it is. Had she Hercules to her husband, she would enter the lists with some crinkle-hammed tilting Courtier. Well then, I see no reason, that a woman's evil, Should thus transform man to a horned devil, No: 'twas Actaeon's lusts, and not his wife, That so bestagged him. Hence sprouts all my shame. Fuller of truth than age, this rule hath been: " Nothing deforms a man, but his own sin. Sir, my mother prays— No more of her. Her prayers. Are putrid sacrifices: like foul airs, Too thick to mount up to yond glorious feeling. " When black hands are reared up, heaven has no feeling. She is your wife, my mother, Sir. What then Sir? Nothing, but that you wrong her, o my conscience. Oh 'tis a brave Puritan-world, when boys talk of conscience! Conscience must lie at the stake, when they play but at blowpoint. Sirrah, as you love your Conscience, hate a wife. Zlid, if I thought thou wouldst marry, I would unbless thee, as I have disinherited thee already: Get bastards, as I would ha' got thee. A woman may serve to lie withal: none good enough to marry. Oh were you not my father, I would let This passion out of your impostumed heart— Why should not I forget, that your blood moves In any veins of mine; when you forego The reason of a father, husband, man? And stick degeneration on your name? If I sail ill, know your example steered My voyage and my vessel. Fathers are more Than private men: their lives are the set copies. Their children write by; and should there give Their imitation patterns how to live. Hell's a sad place, they say:— Oh, I'll dare never To follow my own father leading thither.
nodes 0–48 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 1 of 42 in this edition
Length
517 words · 708 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T23 — Husbands, wives and jealousycross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.734 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T26 · seed 44: T28 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A Cuckold? why now it is a common name, As the ſhee-Goſsip are that giue it vs. Why doth it not deriue, and ſpread it ſelfe. To all the generations we produce? Why ſhould not euery child of mine be call'd Cuckold, as well as Ʋaster, Woman, woman Thou ſad vndoer of the faireſt building, That euer earth bragg'd to be pauement to. Man, Man; the pride of heauens creation, Abſtract of Nature, that in his ſmall volume Containes the whole worlds Text, and heauens impreſsion: His Makers Image, Angels mate, Earths great wonder, Made to guide all, by woman is brought vnder. That harmonie, faire Nature made to ſtand, Is forced out of tune by womans hand. A woman hath deform'd me. See, I looke Like any beaſt has hornes: an Aſſe may boaſt Himſelfe a horne-leſſe Gentleman before me. Yet let not clouds of paſsion choke my reaſon. Why? what's a Cuckold? let's ſee: define him: It is a man, whoſe wife playes the whore. Zilid, what's that to him? It is all one, as if a proper Gentleman ſhould ride on a halting Iade; or a good Muſician play on a broken fiddle. Oh but t'will be ſayd: Woman could not be ſo light a ſhippe, if her huſband could well ballaſt her. It is his inſufficiencie. A poxe it is. Had ſhe Hercules to her husband, ſhee would enter the liſtes with ſome crinkle-hamm'd tilting Courtier. Well then, I ſee no reaſon, that a womans euill, Should thus transforme man to a horned deuill, No: 'twas Acteons luſts, and not his wife, That ſo beſtagg'd him. Hence ſprouts al my ſhame. Fuller of truth then age, thi rule hath beene: " Nothing deformes a man, but his owne ſinne. Sir, my mother prayes— No more of her. Her prayers. Are putrid ſacrifices: like foule ayres, Too thicke to mount vp to yon glorious feeling. " When blacke hands are rear'd vp, heauen has no feeling. She is your wife, my mother, Sir. What then Sir? Nothing, but that you wrong her, ô my conſcience. Oh tis a braue Puritan-world, when boyes talke of conſcience! Conſcience muſt lye at the ſtake, when they play but at blow-point. Sirrah, as you loue your Conſcience, hate a wife. Zlid, if I thought thou wouldſt marry, I would vnbleſſe thee, as I haue diſinherited thee already: Get baſtards, as I would ha' got thee. A woman may ſerue to lye withal: none good enough to marry. Oh were you not my father, I would let This paſsion out of your impoſtum'd heart— Why ſhould not I forget, that your bloud moues In any veines of mine; when you forgoe The reaſon of a father, husband, man? And ſticke degeneration on your name? If I ſayle ill, know your example ſteer'd My voyage and my veſſell. Fathers are more Then priuate men: their liues are the ſet copies. Their children write by; and ſhould there giue Their imitation patternes how to liue. Hell's a ſad place, they ſay:—Oh, Ile dare neuer To follow my owne father leading thither.