2 The Honest Whore (2 The Converted Courtesan) · chunk 37 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 · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Presently, my man is gone for them: we ha' rigged a Fleet, you see here, to sail about the world. A dangerous Voyage, sailing in such Ships. There's no casting over board yet. Because you are an old Lady, I will have you be acquainted with this grave Citizen, pray bestow your lips upon him, and bid him welcome. Any Citizen shall be most welcome to me:— I have used to buy ware at your shop. It may be so, good Madam. Your Prentices know my dealings well; I trust your good wife be in good case: if it please you, bear her a token from my lips, by word of mouth. I pray no more forsooth, 'tis very well, indeed I love no sweet meats:— Sh'as a breath stinks worse than fifty Polecats. Sir, a word, is she a Lady? A woman of a good house, and an ancient, she's a Bawd. A Bawd? Sir, I'll steal hence, and see your Lawns some other time. Steal out of such company? Pacheco? my man is but gone for 'em: Lieutenant Bots, drink to this worthy old fellow, and teach him to fly high. Swagger: and make him do't on his knees. How, Bots? now bless me, what do I with Bots? no wine in sooth, no wine, good Master Bots. Graybeard, goat's pizzle: 'tis a health, have this in your guts, or this, there: I will sing a bawdy song, sir, because your verge's face is melancholy, to make liquour go down glib: will you fall on your maribones, and pledge this health, 'tis to my Mistress, a whore? Here's Ratsbane upon Ratsbane: Master Bots, I pray, sir, pardon me: you are a Soldier, press me not to this service, I am old, and shoot not in such potguns. Cap, I'll teach you. To drink healths, is to drink sickness: Gentlemen, pray rescue me. Zounds, who dare? We shall ha' stabbing then? I ha' reckonings to cast up, good Master Bots. This will make you cast 'em up better. Why does your hand shake so? The palsy, Signiors, danceth in my blood. Pipe with a pox, sir, then, or I'll make your blood dance— Hold, hold, good Master Bots, I drink. To whom? To the old Countess there. To me, old Boy? this is he that never drunk wine: once again to't. With much ado the poison is got down, Though I can scarce get up; never before Drank I a whore's health, nor will never more. Hast been at Gallows? Yes, sir, for I make account to suffer today. Look, Signior: here's the Commodity. Your price? Thus. No: too dear: thus. No: O fie, you must sly higher: yet take 'em home, trifles shall not make us quarrel, we'll agree, you shall have them, and a pennyworth, I'll fetch money at your shop. Be it so, good Signior, send me going. Going? a deep bowl of wine for Signior Candido. He would be going. I'll rather stay, then go so: stop your Bowl.
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)
Presently, my man is gone for them: we ha rigged a Fleet, you see here, to saile about the world. A dangerous Voyage, sailing in such Ships. There's no casting ouer boord yet. Because you are an old Lady, I will haue you be acquainted with this graue Cittizen, pray bestow your lips vpon him, and bid him welcome. Any Cittizen shall be most welcome to me:—I haue vsed to buy ware at your shop. It may be so, good Madam. Your Prentices know my dealings well; I trust your good wife be in good case: if it please you, beare her a token from my lips, by word of mouth. I pray no more forsooth, 'tis very well, indeed I loue no sweet meats:—Sh'as a breath stinkes worse then fifty Polecats. Sir, a word, is she a Lady? A woman of a good house, and an ancient, shee's a Bawde. A Bawde? Sir, Ile steale hence, and see your Lawnes some other time. Steale out of such company? Pacheco? my man is but gone for em: Lieutenant Bots, drinke to this worthy old fellow, and teach him to flie hie. Swagger: and make him doo't on his knees. How, Bots? now blesse me, what doe I with Bots? no wine in sooth, no wine, good Master Bots. Gray-beard, Goats pizzle: 'tis a health, haue this in your guts, or this, there: I will sing a bawdy song, sir, because your vergis face is melancholly, to make liquor goe downe glib: will you fall on your maribones, and pledge this health, 'tis to my Mistris, a whore? Here's Ratsbane vpon Ratsbane: Master Bots, I pray, sir, pardon me: you are a Soldier, presse me not to this seruice, I am old, and shoot not in such pot-gunnes. Cap, Ile teach you. To drinke healths, is to drinke sicknesse: Gentlemen, pray rescue me. Zounds, who dare? We shall ha stabbing then? I ha reckonings to cast vp, good Master Bots. This will make you cast em vp better. Why does your hand shake so? The palsie, Signiors, danceth in my blood. Pipe with a pox, sir, then, or Ile make your blood dance— Hold, hold, good Master Bots, I drinke. To whom? To the old Countesse there. To me, old Boy? this is he that neuer drunke wine: once agen too't. With much adoe the poison is got downe, Tho I can scarce get vp; neuer before Dranke I a whores health, nor will neuer more. Hast bin at Gallowes? Yes, sir, for I make account to suffer to day. Looke, Signior: here's the Commodity. Your price? Thus. No: too deare: thus. No: O fie, you must slie higher: yet take em home, trifles shall not make vs quarrell, we'll agree, you shall haue them, and a penniworth, Ile fetch money at your shop. Be it so, good Signior, send me going. Going? a deepe bowle of wine for Signior Candido. He wud be going. Ile rather stay, then goe so: stop your Bowle.