Dekker, Thomas / Massinger, Philip · published 1622 · first performed or written 1620 [licensed for stage, Oct 6; revised and re-licensed for stage, Jul 7, 1624] (Annals) tragedy · Red Bull (Revels) Company (first) unassigned nearest T26 Devils, hell and fiends · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T26: devil, hell, devils, sure, soul, fiend, sr, wife, lord, men.
For blood of grapes you sold the widow's food. And starving them, 'tis murder, what's this but hell. Hircius your name, and Goatish is your nature: You snatch the meat out of the prisoner's mouth, To fatten harlots, is not this hell to, No Angel, but the devil waits on you. Shall I cut his throat. No, better burn him, for I think he is a witch, but soothe, soothe him. Fellow Angelo, true it is, that falling into the company of wicked he-Christians for my part. And she-ones for mine, we have 'em swim in shoals hard by. We must confess, I took too much of the pot, and he of tother hollow commodity. Yes indeed, we laid lil on both of us, we cozened the poor, but 'tis a common thing, many a one that counts himself a better Christian then we two, has done it, by this light. But pray sweet Angelo, play not the tell-tale to my Lady, and if you take us creeping into any of these mouseholes of sin any more, let Cats flay off our skins. And put nothing but the poisoned tails of Rats into those skins. Will you dishonour her sweet charity. Who saved you from the tree of death and shame. Would I were hanged rather than thus be told of my faults. She took us, 'tis true, from the gallows, yet I hope she will not bar yeomen sprats to have their swinge. She comes, beware and mend. Let's break his neck, and bid him mend. Have you my messages (sent to the poor) Delivered with good hands, not robbing them Of any jot was theirs. Rob 'em Lady, I hope, neither my fellow nor I am thieves Delivered with good hands madam, else let me never lick my fingers more when I eat buttered fish. Who cheat the poor, and from them pluck their alms. Pilfer from Heaven, and there are thunderbolts From thence to beat them ever, do not lie, Were you both faithful true distributers? Lie madam, what grief is it to see you turn Swaggerer, and give your poor minded rascally servants the lie. I'm glad you do not, if those wretched people Tell you they pine for want of any thing. Whisper but to mine ear, and you shall furnish them. Whisper, nay Lady, for my part I'll cry whoop. Play no more Villains with so good a Lady, For if you do———. Are we Christians? The foul Fiend snap all Pagans for me. Away, and once more mend. Takes us for Butchers. A patch, a patch. My book and Taper. Here most holy Mistress. Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never Was ravished with a more celestial sound, Were every servant in the world like thee, So full of goodness, Angels would come down To dwell with us, thy name is Angelo, And like that name thou art, get thee to rest, Thy youth with too much watching is oppressed.
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)
For blood of grapes you sold the widowes food. And staruing them, tis murder, whats this but hell. Hircius your name, and Goatish is your nature: You snatch the meate out of the prisoners mouth, To fatten harlots, is not this hell to, No Angell, but the diuell waites on you. Shall I cut his throate. No, better burne him, for I thinke he is a witch, but sooth, soth him. Fellow Angelo, true it is, that falling into the company of wicked he-Christians for my part. And she-ones for mine, we haue 'em swim in sholes hard by. We must confesse, I tooke too much of the pot, and he of tother hollow commodity. Yes indeed, we layd lill on both of vs, we cousen'd the poore, but 'tis a comon thing, many a one that counts himselfe a better Christian then we two, has done it, by this light. But pray sweet Angelo, play not the tell-tale to my Lady, and if you take vs creeping into any of these mouseholes of sin any more, let Cats flea off our skins. And put nothing but the poy sond tailes of Rats into those skins. Will you dishonor her sweet charity. Who sau'd you from the tree of death and shame. Wud I were haugd rather then thus betold of my faults. She tooke vs, tis true, from the gallowes, yet I hope she will not barre yeomen sprats to haue their swinge. She comes, beware and mend. Lets breake his necke, and bid him mend. Haue you my messages (sent to the poore) Deliuer'd with good hands, not robbing them Of any iot was theirs. Rob 'em Lady, I hope, neither my fellow nor I am theeues Deliuerd with good hands madam, else let me neuer licke my fingers more when I eate butterd fish. Who cheate the poore, and from them plucke their almes. Pilfer from Heauen, and there are thunderbolts From thence to beate them euer, do not lye, Were you both faithfull true distributers? Lye Madame, what griefe is it to see you turne Swaggerer, and giue your poore minded rascally seruants the lye. I'm glad you doe not, if those wretched people Tell you they pine for want of any thing. Whisper but to mine eare, and you shall furnish them. Whisper, nay Lady, for my part Ile cry whoope. Play no more Villaines with so good a Lady, For if you doe — — —. Are we Christians? The fowle Feind snap all Pagans for me. Away, and once more mend. Takes vs for Botchers. A patch, a patch. My booke and Taper. Heere most holy Mistresse. Thy voyce sends forth such musicke, that I neuer Was raisht with a more celestiall sound, Were euery seruant in the world like thee, So full of goodnesse, Angels would come downe To dwell with vs, thy name is Angelo, And like that name thou art, get thee to rest, Thy youth with too much watching is opprest.