2 The Honest Whore (2 The Converted Courtesan) · chunk 7 of 47
Dekker, Thomas · published 1630 · first performed or written 1605 [1604-c.1605] (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
Then she's a right Strumpet; I ne'er knew any of their trade rich two years together; Sieves can hold no water, nor Harlots hoard up money; they have many vents, too many sluices to let it out; Taverns, Tailors, Bawds, Panders, Fiddlers, Swaggerers, Fools and Knaves, do all wait upon a common harlot's trencher: she is the Galley-pot to which these Drones fly: not for love to the pot, but for the sweet sucket within it, her money, her money. I almost dare pawn my word, her bosom gives warmth to no such Snakes; when did you see her? Not seventeen Summers. Is your hate so old? Older; it has a white head, and shall never die till she be buried, Her wrongs shall be my bedfellow. Work yet his life, since in it lives her fame. No, let him hang, and half her infamy departs out of the world: I hate him for her; he taught her first to taste poison; I hate her for herself, because she refused my Physic. Nay but Friscabaldo. I detest her, I defy both, she's not mine, she's. Hear her but speak. I love no Mermaids, I'll not be caught with a quail pipe. Y'are now beyond all reason. I am then a Beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not dishonour my creation, then be a doting father, & like Time, be the destruction of mine own brood. Is't dotage to relieve your child being poor? Is't fit for an old man to keep a whore? 'Tis charity too. 'Tis foolery; relieve her! Were her cold limbs stretched out upon a Beer, I would not sell this dirt under my nails To buy her an hour's breath, nor give this hair, Unless it were to choke her. Fare you well, for I'll trouble you no more. And fare you well sir, go thy ways, we have few Lords of thy making, that love wenches for their honesty; 'las my Girl! art thou poor? poverty dwells next door to despair, there's but a wall between them; despair is one of hell's Catchpoles; and lest that Devil arrest her, I'll to her, yet she shall not know me; she shall drink of my wealth, as beggars do of running water, freely, yet never know from what Fountains head it flows. Shall a silly bird pick her own breast to nourish her young ones, and can a father see his child starve? That were hard; The Pelican does it, and shall not I. Yes, I will victual the Camp for her, but it shall be by some stratagem; that knave there her husband will be hanged I fear, I'll keep his neck out of the noose if I can, he shall not know how. How now knaves, whither wander you? To seek your Worship. Stay, which of you has my purse, what money have you about you? Some fifteen or sixteen pounds, sir.
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)
Then she's a right Strumper; I ne'r knew any of their trade rich two yeeres together; Siues can hold no water, nor Harlots hoord vp money; they haue many vents, too many sluces to let it out; Tauernes, Taylors, Bawds, Panders, Fidlers, Swaggerers, Fooles and Knaues, doe all waite vpon a common Harlots trencher: she is the Gallypot to which these Drones flye: not for loue to the pot, but for the sweet sucket within it, her money, her money. I almost dare pawne my word, her bosome giues warmth to no such Snakes; when did you see her? Not seuenteene Summers. Is your hate so old? Older; it has a white head, and shall neuer dye till she be buried, Her wrongs shall be my bedfellow. Worke yet his life, since in it liues her fame. No, let him hang, and halfe her infamy departs out of the world: I hate him for her; he taught her first to taste poyson; I hate her for her selfe, because she refused my Physicke. Nay but Friscabaldo. I detest her, I defie both, she's not mine, she's. Heare her but speake. I loue no Marcmaides, Ile not be caught with a quaill pipe. Y'are now beyond all reason. I am then a Beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not dishonor my creation, then be a doting father, & like Time, be the destruction of mine owne broode. Is't dotage to relieue your child being poore? Is't fit for an old man to keepe a whore? 'Tis charity too. 'Tis foolery; releeue her! Were her cold limbes stretcht out vpon a Beere, I would not sell this durt vnder my nailes To buy her an houres breath, nor giue this haire, Vnlesse it were to choke her. Fare you well, for Ile trouble you no more. And fare you well sir, goe thy waies, we haue few Lords of thy making, that loue wenches for their honesty; Las my Girle! art thou poore? pouerty dwells next doore to despaire, there's but a wall betweene them; despaire is one of hells Catch-poles; and lest that Deuill arrest her, Ile to her, yet she shall not know me; she shall drinke of my wealth, as beggers doe of running water, freely, yet neuer know from what Fountaines head it flowes. Shall a silly bird picke her owne brest to nourish her yong ones, and can a father see his child starue? That were hard; The Pelican does it, and shall not I. Yes, I will victuall the Campe for her, but it shall be by some stratagem; that knaue there her husband will be hanged I feare, Ile keepe his necke out of the nooze if I can, he shall not know how. How now knaues, whither wander you? To seeke your Worship. Stay, which of you has my purse, what money haue you about you? Some fifteene or sixteene pounds, sir.