2 The Honest Whore (2 The Converted Courtesan) · chunk 11 of 47
Dekker, Thomas · published 1630 · first performed or written 1605 [1604-c.1605] (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Thou dost not hear me? Yes faith do I. Thou hast been in the hands of misery, and ta'en strong Physic, prithee now be sound. Yes. 'Sfoot, I wonder how the inside of a Tavern looks now. Oh when shall I bezzle, bizle? Nay see, thouart thirsty still for poison, come, I will not have thee swagger. Honest ape's face. 'Tis that sharpened an axe to cut thy throat. Good Love, I would not have thee sell thy substance And time (worth all) in those damned shops of Hell; Those dicing houses, that stand never well, But when they stand most ill, that four-squared sin Has almost lodged us in the beggar's Inn. Besides (to speak which even my soul does grieve) A sort of Ravens have hung upon thy sleeve, And fed upon thee: good Mat. (if you please) so base as Scorn to spread wing amongst these; By them thy fame is speckled, yet it shows Clear amongst them; so Crows are fair with Crows. Custom in sin, gives sin a lovely die. Blackness in moor is no deformity. Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I swear, as I hope my soul, I will turn over a new leaf, the prison I confess has bit me, the best man that sails in such a Ship, may be lousy. One knocks at door. I'll be the Porter: they shall see, a jail cannot hold a brave spirit, I'll fly high. How wild is his behaviour! oh, I fear He's spoilt by prison, he's half damned comes there, But I must sit all storms: when a full sail his Fortunes spread, he loved me: being now poor, I'll beg for him, and no wife can do more. Come in pray, would you speak with me, sir? Is your name Signior Matheo? My name is Signior Matheo. Is this Gentlewoman your wife, sir? This Gentlewoman is my wife, sir. The Destinies spin a strong and even thread of both your loves: the Mother's own face, I ha' not forgot that, I'm an old man, sir, & am troubled with a whoreson salt rheum, that I cannot hold my water. Gentlewoman, the last man I served was your Father. My Father? any tongue that sounds his name, Speaks Music to me: welcome good old man. How does my father? lives he? has he health? How does my father? I so much do shame him, So much do wound him, that I scarce dare name him. I can speak no more. How now old Lad, what dost cry? The rheum still, sir, nothing else; I should be well seasoned, for mine eyes lie in brine: look you, sir, I have a suit to you. What is't my little white pate? Troth, sir, I have a mind to serve your Worship. To serve me? Troth, my friend, my fortunes are, as a man may say—
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)
Thou doest not heare me? Yes faith doe I. Thou hast beene in the hands of misery, and tane strong Physicke, prethee now be sound. Yes. S'foot, I wonder how the inside of a Tauerne lookes now. Oh when shall I bizle, bizle? Nay see, th'art thirsty still for poyson, come, I will not haue thee swagger. Honest Apes face. 'Tis that sharpned an axe to cut thy throate. Good Loue, I would not haue thee sell thy substance And time (worth all) in those damned shops of Hell; Those Dycing houses, that stand neuer well, But when they stand most ill, that foure-squared sinne Has almost lodg'd vs in the beggers Inne. Besides (to speake which euen my soule does grieue) A sort of Rauens haue hung vpon thy sleeue, And fed vpon thee: good Mat. (if you please) so base as Scorne to spread wing amongst these; By them thy fame is speckled, yet it showes Cleare amongst them; so Crowes are faire with Crowes. Custome in sinne, giues sinne a louely dye. Blacknesse in Mores is no deformity. Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I sweare, as I hope my soule, I will turne ouer a new leafe, the prison I confesse has bit me, the best man that sayles in such a Ship, may be lowsy. One knockes at doore. Ile be the Porter: they shall see, a Iayle cannot hold a braue spirit, Ile flye hye. How wilde is his behauiour! oh, I feare He's spoyld by prison, he's halfe damned comes there, But I must sit all stormes: when a full sayle his Fortunes spred, he loued me: being now poore, Ile beg for him, and no wife can doe more. Come in pray, would you speake with me, sir? Is your name Signior Matheo? My name is Signior Matheo. Is this Gentlewoman your wife, sir? This Gentlewoman is my wife, sir. The Destinies spin a strong and euen thread of both your loues: the Mothers owne face, I ha not forgot that, I'm an old man, sir, & am troubled with awhoreson salt rhew me, that I cannot hold my water. Gentlewoman, the last man I serued was your Father. My Father? any tongue that sounds his name, Speakes Musicke to me: welcome good old man. How does my father? liues he? has he health? How does my father? I so much doe shame him, So much doe wound him, that I scarce dare name him. I can speake no more. How now old Lad, what doest cry? The rhewme still, sir, nothing else; I should be well seasond, for mine eyes lye in brine: looke you, sir, I haue a suite to you. What is't my little white pate? Troth, sir, I haue a mind to serue your Worship. To serue me? Troth, my friend, my fortunes are, as a man may say—