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 T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
Your Mistress. How! my Mistress! I begin to have a Christians heart, made of sweet butter, I melt, I cannot strike a woman. Not I, unless she scratch, bum my mistress! You're Coxcombs, silly Animals, What's that? Drones, Asses, blinded Moles, that dare not thrust Your arms out to catch Fortune, say you fall off, It must be done you are converted Rascals, And that once spread abroad, why every slave Will kick you, call you motley Christians, And half faced Christians. The guts of my conscience begin to be of whitleather, I doubt me I shall have no sweet butter in me. Deny this, and each Pagan whom you meet Shall forked fingers thrust into your eyes. If we be Cuckolds. Do this, and every god the Gentiles bow to, Shall add a fathom to your line of years. A hundred fathom, I desire no more. I desire but one inch longer, The Senators will as you pass along Clap you upon your shoulders with this hand, And with this hand glue you gold when you are dead, Happy that man shall be can get a nail, The paring—, they the dirt under the nail Of any of you both, to say this dirt Belonged to Spungius or Hercius. They shall not want dirt under my nails, I'll keep'em long of purpose, for now my singer's itch to be at her. The first thing I do I'll take her o'er the lips. And I the hips, we may strike anywhere. Yes, anywhere. Then I know where i'll hit her. Prosper and be mine own; stand by, I must not To see this done, great business calls me hence, he's made can make her curse his violence. Fear it not sir, her ribs shall be basted. He come upon her with rounce, robble-hobble, and thwick-thwack thirlety bouncing. According to our Roman customs, bind That Christian to a Pillar. Infernall Furies, Could they into my hand thrust all their whips To tear thy flesh thy soul, 'tis not a torture Fit to the Vengeance, I should heap on thee, For wrongs done me: me! for flagitious facts By thee done to our gods, yet (so it stand To great Caesarea's Governors high pleasure) Bow but thy Knee to Iupiter and offer Any slight sacrifice, or do but swear By Caesar's fortune, and be free. Thou shalt. Not for all Caesar fortune, were it chained To more worlds, then are kingdoms in the world, And all those worlds drawn after him: I defy Your hangmen; you now show me whither to fly. Are her tormentors ready? Shrink not dear mistress. My Lord, we are ready for the business. You two! whom I like fostered children fed, And lengthened out your starved life with bread: You be my hangman! whom when up the ladder Death hauled you to be strangled, I fetched down Clothed you, and warmed you, you two my tormentors.
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)
Your Mistresse. How! my Mistresse! I begin to haue a Christians heart, made of sweet butter, I melt, I cannot strike a womā. Not I, vnlesse she scratch, bum my mistresse! Y'are Coxecombes, silly Animals, Whats that? Drones, Asses, blinded Moles, that dare not thrust Your armes out to catch Fortune, say you fall off, It must be done you are conuetted Rascalls, And that once spred abroad, why euery slaue Will kicke you, call you motley Christians, And halfe fac'd Christians. The guts of my conscience beginne to be of whit-leather, I doubt me I shall haue no sweet buttet in me. Deny this, and each Pagan whom you meete Shall forked fingers thrust into your eyes. If we be Cuckolds. Doe this, and euery god the Gentiles bow to, Shall adde a fadome to your line of yeeres. A hundred fadome, I desire no more. I desire but one inch longer, The Senators will as you passe along Clap you vpon your shoulders with this hand, And with this hand glue you gold when you are dead, Happy that man shall be can get a nayle, The paring —, they the dort vnder the nayle Of any of you both, to say this durt Belong'd to Spungius or Hercius. They shall not want durt vnder my nayles, ile keepe'em long of purpose, for now my singers itch to bee at her. The first thing I doe Ile take her Ore the lips. And I the hips, we may strike any where. Yes, any where. Then I know where ile hit her. Prosper and be mine owne; stand by, I must not To see this done, great businesse calls me hence, Hee's made can make her eurse his violence. Feare it not sir, her ribs shall be basted. He come vpon her with rounce, robble-hobble, and thwicke thwacke thirlety bouncing. According to our Romane customes, binde That Christian to a Pillar. Insernall Furies, Could they into my hand thrust all their whips To teare thy flesh thy soule, tis not a torture Fit to the Vengeance, I should heape on thee, For wrongs done me: me! for flagitious facts By thee done to our gods, yet (so it stand To great Cesaraes Gouernors high pleasure) Bow but thy Knee to Iupiter and offer Any slight sacrifice, or doe but sweare By Caesars fortune, and be free. Thou shalt. Not for all Casar fortune, were it chaind To more worlds, then are kingdomes in the world, And all those worlds drawne after him: I defie Your hangmen; you now shew me whither to flie. Are hentormentors ready? Shrinke not deere mistresse. My Lord, we are ready for the businesse. You two! whom I like fosterd children fed, And lengthen'd out your starued life with bread: You be my hangman! whom when vp the ladder Death hald you to be strangled, I fetcht downe Clothd you, and warmd you, you two my tormentors.