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  • Title: The Honest Whore, Part 1 (Quarto 2, 1604)
  • Editor: Joost Daalder
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-490-5

    Copyright Digital Renaissance Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Authors: Thomas Dekker, Thomas Middleton
    Editor: Joost Daalder
    Peer Reviewed

    The Honest Whore, Part 1 (Quarto 2, 1604)

    The conuerted Courtizan.
    And hate all men, their gifts and company.
    1590 Enter Matheo, Ca struchio, Fluello, and Pioratto.
    Mat. You, goody Punck, subandi Cockatrice, O yare a
    sweet whore of your promise, are you not think you? how
    wel you came to supper to vs la st night: mew, a whore &
    breake her word! nay you may blu sh, & hold downe your
    1595head at it wel ynough: Sfoot, aske these gallants if we staid
    not till we were as hungry as Seriants.
    Flu. I, and their Yeoman too.
    Ca st . Nay fayth Acquaintance, let me tell you, you forgat
    your selfe too much: we had excellēt cheere, rare vintage,
    1600and were drunke after supper.
    Pior. And when wee were in our Woodcocks (sweete
    Rogue) a brace of Gulles, dwelling here in the City, came
    in & payd all the shot. Mat. Pox on her, let her alone.
    Bel. O, I pray doe, if you be Gentlemen:
    1605I pray depart the house; be shrew the dore
    For being so ea sily entreated: fayth,
    I lent but little eare vnto your talke,
    My mind was bu sied otherwise in troth,
    And so your words did vnregarded pa s s e:
    1610Let this suffice, I am not as I was.
    Flu. I am not what I was! no Ile be sworne thou art not:
    for thou wert hone st at fiue, & now th'art a Puncke at fif-
    teene: thou wert ye sterday a simple whore, and now thart
    a cunning Conny catching Baggage to day.
    1615 Bel. Ile say Ime worse, I pray forsake me then,
    I doe de sire you leaue me, Gentlemen,
    And leaue your selues: O be not what you are,
    (Spendthrifts of soule and body)
    Let me perswade you to forsake all Harlots,
    1620Worse then the deadlie st poisons, they are worse:
    For o're their soules hangs an eternall curse,
    In being slaue to slaues, their labours peri sh,
    Th'are seldome ble st with fruit; for e're it blo s s om,
    Many a worme confounds it.
    1625They haue no i s s ue but foule vgly ones,
    That run along with them, e'ene to their graues:
    For stead of children, they breed ranke diseases,

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