Jonson, Ben · published 1631 · first performed or written 1629 [licensed for stage, Jan 19] (Annals) comedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
What show is this, that you present us with? I do beseech your Ladyship, forgive me. She did but say the suit on. Who? Which she? My wife forsooth. How? Mistress Stuffe? Your wife! Is that the riddle? We all looked for a Lady, A Duchess, or a Countess at the least. She is my own lawfully begotten wife, In wedlock. We ha'been coupled now seven years. And why thus masked? You like a footman, ha! And she your Countess! To make a fool of himself And of me too. I pray thee, Pinnace, peace. Nay it shall out, since you have called me wife, And openly dis-Ladied me! though I am dis-Countessed I am not yet discountenanced. These shall see. silence! It is a foolish trick madam, he has; For though he be your Tailor, he is my beast. I may be bold with him, and tell his story. When he makes any fine garment will fit me, Or any rich thing that he thinks of price, Then must I put it on, and be his Countess, Before he carry it home unto the owners. A coach is hired, and four horse, he runs In his velvet Jacket thus, to Rumford, Croyden, Hounslow, or Barnet, the next bawdy road: And takes me out, carries me up, and throws me Upon a bed. Peace thou immodest woman: She glories in the bravery o'the vice. 'tis a quaint one! A fine species, Of fornicating with a man's own wife, Found out by (what's his name?) Mr Nic. Stuffe! The very figure of preoccupation In all his customers best clothes. He lies With his own Succuba, in all your names. And all your credits. ay, and at all their costs. This gown was then bespoken, for the Sovereign I marry was it. And a main offence, Committed 'gainst the sovereignty: being not brought Home i'the time. Beside, the profanation, Which may call on the censure of the Court. Let him be blanketed. Call up the Quartermaster. Deliver him over, to Fly. O good my Lord. Pillage the Pinnace. Let his wife be stripped. Blow off her upper deck. Tear all her tackle, Pluck the polluted robes over her ears; Or cut them all to pieces, make a fire o'them: To rags, and cinders, burn th'idolatrous vestures. Fly, & your fellows, see that the whole censure Be throughly executed. we'll toss him, bravely. Till the stuff stink again. And send her home, Divested to her flannel, in a cart. And let her Footman beat the basin afore her. The Court shall be obeyed. Fly, & his officers Will do it fiercely. Merciful queen Pru. I cannot help you. Go thy ways Nic. Stuffe, Thou hast nicked it for a fashioner of Venery! For his own hell! though he run ten mile for't. O here comes Lovel, for his second hour. And after him, the type of Spanish valour.
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)
What shew is this, that you present vs with? I doe beseech your Ladiship, forgiue me. She did but say the suit on. Who? Which she? My wife forsooth. How? Mistresse Stuffe? Your wife! Is that the riddle? We all look'd for a Lady, A Dutchesse, or a Countesse at the least. She is my owne lawfully begotten wife, In wedlocke. We ha'beene coupled now seuen yeares. And why thus mas'qd? You like a footman, ha! And she your Countesse! To make a foole of himselfe And of me too. I pray thee, Pinnace, peace. Nay it shall out, since you haue cald me wife, And openly dis-Ladied me! though I am dis-Countess'd I am not yet dis-countenanc'd. These shall see. silence! It is a foolish tricke Madame, he has; For though he be your Taylour, he is my beast. I may be bold with him, and tell his story. When he makes any fine garment will fit me, Or any rich thing that he thinkes of price, Then must I put it on, and be his Countesse, Before he carry it home vnto the owners. A coach is hir'd, and foure horse, he runnes In his veluet I ackat thus, to Rumford, Croyden, Hounslow, or Barnet, the next bawdy road: And takes me out, carries me vp, and throw's me Vpon a bed. Peace thou immodest woman: She gloris in the brauery o'the vice. Tis a queint one! A fine species, Of sornicating with a mans owne wife, Found out by (what's his name?) Mr Nic. Stuffe! The very figure of preoccupation In all his customers best clothes. He lies With his owne Succuba, in all your names. And all your credits. I, and at all their costs. This gown was then bespoken, for the Souer aig I marry was it. And a maine offence, Committed 'gainst the soueraignty: being not brought Home i'the time. Beside, the prophanation, Which may call on the censure of the Court. Let him be blanketted. Call vp the Quarter-master. Deliuer him ore, to Flie. O good my Lord. Pillage the Pinnace. Let his wife be stript. Blow off her vpper deck. Teare all her tackle, Pluck the polluted robes ouer her eares; Or cut them all to pieces, make a fire o'them: To rags, and cinders, burn th'idolatrous vestures. Flie, & your fellowes, see that the whole censure Be throughly executed. Weel tosse him, brauely. Till the stuffe stinke againe. And send her home, Diuested to her flanell, in a cart. And let her Footman beat the bason afore her. The Court shall be obei'd. Fly, & his offices Will doe it fiercely. Mercifull queene Pru. I cannot help you. Go thy wayes Nic. Stuffe, Thou hast nickt it for a fashioner of Venery! For his owne hell! though he run ten mile for't. O here comes Lovel, for his second houre. And after him, the tipe of Spanish valour.