Field, Nathan / Massinger, Philip · published 1632 · first performed or written 1619 [1617-1619] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy typicality 0.84 · 513 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
There was no hurt in that. Why? do you know a likelihood or possibility Unto the contrary? I know it not, but doubt it, these the grounds The servant of your wife now young Novall, The son unto your father's Enemy (Which aggravates my presumption the more) I have been warned of, touching her, nay, seen them Tie heart to heart, one in another's arms, Multiplying kisses, as if they meant To pose Arithmetic, or whose eyes would be first burned out, with gazing on the others. I saw their mouths engender, and their palms Glued, as if Love had locked them, their words flow And melt each others, like two circling flames, Where chastity, like a Phoenix (methought) burned, But left the world nor ashes, nor an heir. Why stand you silent thus? what cold dull phlegm, As if you had no drop of choler mixed In your whole constitution, thus prevails, To fix you now, thus stupid hearing this? You did not see 'em on my Couch within, Like George a horseback, on her, nor a-bed? Noah. Ha, ha. Laugh ye? e'en so did your wife, And her indulgent father. They were wise. Wouldst ha' me be a fool? No, but a man. There is no dram of manhood to suspect, On such thin airy circumstance as this Mere compliment and courtship. Was this tale The hideous monster which you so concealed? Away, thou curious impertinent And idle searcher of such lean nice toys. Go, thou seditious sower of debate: Fly to such matches, where the bridegroom doubts: He holds not worth enough to countervail The virtue and the beauty of his wife. Thou buzzing drone that 'bout my ears dost hum, To strike thy rankling sting into my heart, Whose venom, time, nor medicine could assuage. Thus do I put thee off, and confident In mine own innocency, and desert, Dare not conceive her so unreasonable, To put Novall in balance against me, An upstart craned up to the height he has. Hence busybody, thou'rt no friend to me, That must be kept to a wife's injury, Is't possible? farewell, fine, honest man, Sweet tempered Lord adieu what Apoplexy Hath knit sense up? Is this Romont's reward? Bear witness the great spirit of my father, With what a healthful hope I administer This potion that hath wrought so virulently. I not accuse thy wife of act, but would Prevent her Praecipuce, to thy dishonour, Which now thy tardy sluggishness will admit. Would I had seen thee graved with thy great Sire, Ere live to have men's marginal fingers point At Charaloys, as a lamented story. An Emperor put away his wife for touching Another man, but thou wouldst have thine tasted And keep her (I think.) Puff. I am afire To warm a dead man, that waste out myself. Bleed— what a plague, a vengeance is't to me, If you will be a Cuckold? here I show A sword's point to thee, this side you may shun, Or that: the peril, if you will run on, I cannot help it.
nodes 1609–1679 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 25 of 42 in this edition
Length
513 words · 699 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T23 — Husbands, wives and jealousycross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.843 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
There was no hurt in that. Why? do you know a likelyhood or possibility Vnto the contrarie? I know it not, but doubt it, these the ground The seruant of your wife now young Nouall, The sonne vnto yor fathers Enemy (Which aggrauates my presumption the more) I haue bin ward of, touching her, nay, seene them Tye heart to heart, one in anothers arme, Multiplying kisses, as if they meant To pose Arithmeticke, or whose eyes would Be first burnt out, with gazing on the others I saw their mouthes engender, and their palmes Glew'd, a if Loue had lockt them, their words flow And melt each others, like two circling flames, Where chastity, like a Phoenix (me thought) burn'd, But left the world nor ashes, nor an heire. Why stand you silent thus? what cold dull flegme, As if you had no drop of choller mixt In your whole constitution, thus preuailes, To fix you now, thus tupid hearing thi? You did ot see 'em on my Couch within, Like George a horse-backe, on her, nor a bed? Noe. Ha, ha. Laugh yee? ene so did your wife, Ahd r indulgent father. They were wise. Wouldst ha me be a foole? No, but a man. There is no dramme of manhood to suspect, On such thi ayrie circumstance as this Meere complement and courtship. Was this tale The hydeous monster which you so conceal'd? Away, thou curious impertinent And idle searcher of such leane nice toyes. Goe, thou sedicious sower of debate: Fly to such matches, where the bridegroome doubts: He holdes not worth enough to counteruaile The vertue and the beauty of his wie. Thou buzzing drone that 'bout my eares dost hum, To strike thy rankling sting into my heart, Whose venom, time, nor medicine could asswage. Thus doe I put thee off, and confident In mine owne innocency, and desert, Dare not conceiue her so vnreasonable, To put Nouall in ballance against me, An vpstart cran'd vp to the height he has. Hence busiebody, thou 'rt no friend to me That must be kept to a wiues iniury, Ist possible? farewell, fine, honest man, Sweet temper'd Lord adie what Apoplxy Hath knit sence vp? Is this Romonts reward? Beare witnes the great spirit of my father, With what a healthfull hope I administer This potion that hath wrought so virulently. I not accuse thy wife of act, but would Preuent her Praecipuce, to thy dishonour, Which now thy tardy sluggishnesse will admit. Would I had seene thee grau'd with thy great Sire, Ere liue to haue mens marginall fingers point At Charaloys, as a lamented story. An Emperour put away his wife for touching Another man, but thou wouldst haue thine tasted And keepe her (I thinke.) Puffe. I am a fire To warme a dead man, that waste out my selfe. Bleed—what a plague, a vengeance 'st to mee, If you will be a Cuckold? heere I shew A swords point to thee, this side you may shun, Or that the perrill, if you will runne on, I cannot helpe it.