2 The Honest Whore (2 The Converted Courtesan) · chunk 34 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 0.78 · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, pass unknown, Sforza shall only go along with thee, To see that Warrant served upon thy Son. To attach him upon felony, for 2. pedlars: is't not so? Right, my Noble Knight: those Pedlars were two Knaves of mine; he fleeced the men before, and now he purposes to flay the Master. He will rob me, his teeth water to be nibbling at my gold, but this shall hang him byth' gills, till I pull him on shore. Away: ply you the business. Thanks to your Grace: but my good Lord, for my Daughter. You know what I have said. And remember what I have sworn: She's more honest, on my soul, than one of the Turks Wenches, watched by a hundred Eunuchs. So she had need, for the Turks make them whores. He's a Turk that makes any woman a Whore, he's no true Christian I'm sure. I commit your Grace. Infaelice. Here, sir. Signior Friscabaldo. Frisking again, Pacheco? Uds so, Pacheco? we'll have some sport with this Warrant: 'tis to apprehend all suspected persons in the house: Besides, there's one Bots a Pander, and one Madam horseleech a Bawd, that have abused my friend, those two coneys will we ferret into the pursenet. Let me alone for dabbing them o'th' neck: come, come. Do ye hear, Gallants? meet me anon at Matheo's. Enough. Th' old Fellow sings that note thou didst before, Only his tunes are, that she is no Whore, But that she sent his Letters and his gifts, Out of a Noble Triumph o'er his Lust, To show she trampled his Assaults in dust. 'Tis a good honest servant, that old man. I doubt no less. And it may be my husband, Because when once this woman was unmasked, He leveled all her thoughts, and made them fit: Now he'd mar all again, to try his wit. It may be so too, for to turn a Harlot Honest, it must be by strong Antidotes, 'Tis rare, as to see Panthers change their spots. And when she's once a Star (fixed) and shines bright, Though 'twere impiety then to dim her light, Because we see such Tapers seldom burn. Yet 'tis the pride and glory of some men, To change her to a blazing Star again, And it may be, Hipollito does no more. It cannot be, but y'are acquainted all With that same madness of our son-in-law, That dotes so on a Courtesan. Yes, my Lord. All the City thinks he's a Whoremonger. Yet I warrant, he'll swear, no man marks him. 'Tis like so, for when a man goes a wenching, is as if he had a strong stinking breath, every one smells him out, yet he feels it not, though it be ranker than the sweat of sixteen bearwarders. I doubt then you have all those stinking breaths, You might be all smelled out.
nodes 1379–1426 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 34 of 47 in this edition
Length
485 words · 700 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T47 — Knaves, thieves and bawdscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.780 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T41 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, passe vnknowne, Sforsa shall onely goe along with thee, To see that Warrant serued vpon thy Sonne. To attach him vpon fellony, for 2. Pedlers: is't not so? Right, my Noble Knight: those Pedlers were two Knaues of mine; he fleec'd the men before, and now he purposes to flea the Master. He will rob me, his teeth water to be nibbling at my gold, but this shal hang him by'th gills, till I pull him on shore. Away: ply you the businesse. Thankes to your Grace: but my good Lord, for my Daughter. You know what I haue said. And remember what I haue sworne: She's more honest, on my soule, then one of the Turkes Wenches, watcht by a hundred Eunuches. So she had need, for the Turkes make them whores. He's a Turke that makes any woman a Whore, hee's no true Christian I'm sure. I commit your Grace. Infaelice. Here, sir. Signior Friscabaldo. Frisking agen, Pacheco? Vds so, Pacheco? wee'll haue some sport with this Warrant: 'tis to apprehend all suspected persons in the house: Besides, there's one Bots a Pander, and one Madam Horsleach a Bawde, that haue abus'd my friend, those two Coneyes will we ferret into the pursenet. Let me alone for dabbing them o'th necke: come, come. Doe ye heare, Gallants? meet me anon at Matheos. Enough. Th' old Fellow sings that note thou didst before, Onely his tunes are, that she is no Whore, But that she sent his Letters and his gifts, Out of a Noble Triumph o're his Lust, To shew she trampled his Assaults in dust. 'Tis a good honest seruant, that old man. I doubt no lesse. And it may be my husband, Because when once this woman was vnmaskt, He leueld all her thoughts, and made them fit: Now he'd marre all agen, to try his wit. It may be so too, for to turne a Harlot Honest, it must be by strong Antidots, 'Tis rare, as to see Panthers change their spots. And when she's once a Starre (fixed) and shines bright, Tho 'twere impiety then to dim her light, Because we see such Tapers seldome burne. Yet 'tis the pride and glory of some men, To change her to a blazing Starre agen, And it may be, Hipollito does no more. It cannot be, but y'are acquainted all With that same madnesse of our Sonne-in-law, That dotes so on a Curtizan. Yes, my Lord. All the City thinkes he's a Whoremonger. Yet I warrant, he'll sweare, no man markes him. 'Tis like so, for when a man goes a wenching, is as if he had a strong stincking breath, euery one smells him out, yet he feeles it not, tho it be rancker then the sweat of sixteene Bearewarders. I doubt then you haue all those stinking breaths, You might be all smelt out.