2 The Honest Whore (2 The Converted Courtesan) · chunk 29 of 47
Dekker, Thomas · published 1630 · first performed or written 1605 [1604-c.1605] (Annals) comedy · Prince Henry's Men T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds typicality 0.86 · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
Tell what thou canst; if I stay here longer, I shall be hanged too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found you, I leave you. Kneel, and get money of him. A Knave and a Quean, a Thief and a Strumpet, a couple of Beggars, a brace of Baggages. Hang upon him. ay, ay, sir, fare you well; we are so: follow close— we are Beggars— in Satin— to him. Is this your comfort, when so many years You ha' left me frozen to death? Freeze still, starve still. Yes, so I shall: I must: I must and will. If as you say I'm poor, relieve me then, Let me not sell my body to base men. You call me Strumpet, Heaven knows I am none: Your cruelty may drive me to be one: Let not that sin be yours, let not the shame Of common Whore live longer than my name. That cunning Bawd (Necessity) night and day Plots to undo me; drive that Hag away, Lest being at lowest ebb, as now I am, I sink for ever. Lowest ebb, what ebb? So poor, that (though to tell it be my shame) I am not worth a dish to hold my meat; I am yet poorer, I want bread to eat. It's not seen by your cheeks. I think she has read an Homely to tickle to the old rogue. Want bread? there's Satin: bake that. 'Sblood, make Pasties of my clothes? A fair new Cloak, stew that; an excellent gilt Rapier. Will you eat that, sir? I could feast ten good fellows with those Hangers. The pox you shall. I shall not (till thou beggest,) think thou art poor; And when thou beggest, I'll feed thee at my door, As I feed Dogs, (with bones) till then beg, Borrow, pawn, steal, and hang, turn Bawd. When thouart no Whore, my heartstrings sure Would crack, were they strained more. This is your Father, your damned— confusion light upon all the generation of you; he can come bragging hither with four white Herrings (at's tail) in blue Coats without roes in their bellies, but I may starve ere he give me so much as a cob. What tell you me of this? alas. Go trot after your Dad, do you capitulate, I'll pawn not for you, I'll not steal to be hanged for such an hypocritical close common Harlot: away, you Dog— Brave i'faith! Uds foot, Give me some meat. Yes, Sir. Goodman slave, my man too, is galloped to the Devil athe tother side: Pacheco, I'll checo you. Is this your Dad's day? England (they say) is the only hell for Horses, and only Paradise for Women: pray get you to that Paradise, because y'are called an Honest Whore; there they live none but honest whores with a pox: Marry here in our City, all our sex are but foot-cloth Nags: the Master no sooner lights, but the man leaps into the saddle. Will you sit down I pray, sir?
nodes 1120–1161 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 29 of 47 in this edition
Length
504 words · 715 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T47 — Knaves, thieves and bawdscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.859 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T46 · seed 44: T41 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Tell what thou canst; if I stay here longer, I shall bee hang'd too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found you, I leaue you. Kneele, and get money of him. A Knaue and a Queane, a Thiefe and a Strumpet, a couple of Beggers, a brace of Baggages. Hang vpon him. I, I, sir, fare you well; we are so: follow close—we are Beggers—in Sattin—to him. Is this your comfort, when so many yeeres You ha left me frozen to death? Freeze still, starue still. Yes, so I shall: I must: I must and will. If as you say I'm poore, relieue me then, Let me not sell my body to base men. You call me Strumpet, Heauen knowes I am none: Your cruelty may driue me to be one: Let not that sinne be yours, let not the shame Of common Whore liue longer then my name. That cunning Bawd (Necessity) night and day Plots to vndoe me; driue that Hag away, Lest being at lowest ebbe, as now I am, I sinke for euer. Lowest ebbe, what ebbe? So poore, that (tho to tell it be my shame) I am not worth a dish to hold my meate; I am yet poorer, I want bread to eate. It's not seene by your cheekes. I thinke she has read an Homely to tickle to the old rogue. Want bread? there's Sattin: bake that. S'blood, make Pasties of my cloathes? A faire new Cloake, stew that; an excellent gilt Rapier. Will you eat that, sir? I could feast ten good fellowes with those Hangers. The pox you shall. I shall not (till thou beggest,) thinke thou art poore; And when thou beggest, Ile feed thee at my doore, As I feed Dogs, (with bones) till then beg, Borrow, pawne, steale, and hang, turne Bawde. When th'art no Whore, my heart-strings sure Would crack, were they strained more. This is your Father, your damn'd—confusion light vpon all the generation of you; he can come bragging hither with foure white Herrings (at's taile) in blue Coates without roes in their bellies, but I may starue ere he giue me so much as a cob. What tell you me of this? alas. Goe trot after your Dad, doe you capitulate, Ile pawne not for you, Ile not steale to be hanged for such an hypocriticall close common Harlot: away, you Dog—Braue yfaith! Vds foot, Giue me some meate. Yes, Sir. Goodman slaue, my man too, is gallop'd to the Deuill athe t'other side: Pacheco, Ile checo you. Is this your Dads day? England (they say) is the onely hell for Horses, and onely Paradise for Women: pray get you to that Paradise, because y'are called an Honest Whore; there they liue none but honest whores with a pox: Mary here in our Citty, all our sex are but foot-cloth Nags: the Master no sooner lights, but the man leapes into the saddle. Will you sit downe I pray, sir?