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 T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
What is your horrid purpose sir, your eye Bears danger in it? I must. What. Speak it out. Climb that sweet Virgin tree. Plague a your trees. And pluck that fruit which none I think ever tasted: A soldier, and stand fumbling so. O Kill me, And heaven will take it as a sacrifice, But it you play the Ravisher, there is A Hell to swallow you. Let her swallow thee. Rise for the Roman Empire (Dorothea) I would not wound thine honour, pleasure forced Are unripe Apples, sour, not worth the plucking, Yet let me tell you, 'tis my father's will, That I should seize upon you as my prey. Which I abhor as much as the blackest sin The villainy of man did ever act. Die happy for this language. Die a slave, A blockish Idiot. Dear sir, vex him not. Yes, and vex thee too, both I think are geldings, Cold, Phlegmatic Bastard, thouart no brat of mine, One spark of me, when I had heat like thine By this had made a Bonfire: a tempting whore (For whom thouart mad) thrust even into thine arms, And standst thou puling? had a tailor seen her Her at this advantage, he with his cross-capers Had ruffled her by this, but thou shalt curse Thy dalliance, and here before her eyes Tear thy flesh in pieces, when a slave In hot lust baths himself, and gluts those pleasures Thy niceness durst not touch, call out a slave, You Captain of our guard, fetch a slave hither. What will you do dear Sir. Teach her a trade, which many would learn In less than half an hour, to play the Whore. A Slave is to me, what now. Thou hast bones and flesh Enough to ply thy labour, from what country Wert thou ta'en Prisoner, here to be our slave. From Britain. In the west Ocean. Yes. An Island. Yes. I am fitted, of all Nations Our Roman swords ever conquered, none comes near The Britain for true whoring: sirrah fellow, What wouldst thou do to gain thy liberty? Do! liberty! fight naked with a Lion, Venture to pluck a Standard from the heart Of an armed Legion: liberty! I'd thus Bestride a Rampire, and defiance spit I'th' face of death; then, when the battering Ram Were fetching his career backward to pash Me with his horns in pieces: to shake my chains off, And that I could not do't but by thy death, Stoodst thou on this dry shore, I on a rock Ten Pyramids high, down would I leap to kill thee, Or die myself: what is for man to do I'll venture on, to be no more a slave. Thou shalt then be no slave, for I will set thee Upon a piece of work is fit for man, Brave for a Britain, drag that Thing aside And ravish her.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T30 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What is your horrid purpose sir, your eye Beares danger in it? I must. What. Speake it out. Climbe that sweete Virgin tree. Plague a your trees. And pluck that fruit which none I think euer tasted: A souldier, and stand sumbling so. O Kill me, And heauen will take it as a sacrifice, But it you play the Rauisher, there is A Hell to swallow you. Let her swallow thee. Rise for the Romane Empire (Dorothea) I would not wound thine honour, pleasure forc'd Are vnripe Apples, sowre, not worth the plucking, Yet let me tell you, tis my fathers will, That I should seize vpon you as my prey. Which I abhorre as much as the blackest sinne The villany of man did euer act. Dye happy for this language. Dye a slaue, A blockish Ideot. Deare sir, vexe him not. Yes, and vexe thee too, both I thinke are geldings, Cold, Phlegmatike Bastard, th'art no brat of mine, One sparke of me, when I had heate like thine By this had made a Bonefire: a tempting whore (For whom th'art mad) thrust euen into thine armes, And standst thou puling? had a Taylor seene her Her at this aduantage, he with his crosse-capers Had rufled her by this, but thou shalt curse Thy dalliance, and heere before her eyes Teare thy flesh in peeces, when a slaue In hot lust bathes himselfe, and gluts those pleasures Thy nicenesse durst not touch, call out a slaue, You Captaine of our guard, fetch a slaue hither. What will you do deere Sir. Teach her a trade, which many would learne In lesse then halfe an houre, to play the Whore. A Slaue is to me, what now. Thou hast bones and flesh Enough to ply thy labour, from what country Wert thou tane Prisoner, heere to be our slaue. From Brittaine. In the west Ocean. Yes. An Iland. Yes. I am fitted, of all Nations Our Romane swords euer conquer'd, none comes neere The Brittaine for true whooring: sirrah fellow, What wouldst thou doe to gaine thy liberty? Doe! liberty! fight naked with a Lyon, Venture to plucke a Standard from the heart Of an arm'd Legion: liberty! Ide thus Bestride a Rampire, and defiance spit I'th face of death; then, when the battring Ram Were fetching his careere backward to pash Me with his hornes in peeces: to shake my chaines off, And that I could not doo't but by thy death, Stoodst thou on this dry shore, I on a rock Ten Piramids high, downe would I leape to kill thee, Or dye my selfe: what is for man to doe Ile venture on, to be no more a slaue. Thou shalt then be no slaue, for I wil set thee Vpon a peece of worke is fit for man, Braue for a Brittaine, drag that Thing aside And rauish her.