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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)

    Enter Roger with a stoole, cu shin, looking-gla s s e and chafing-di sh .
    Those being set downe, he pulls out of his pocket, a violl with
    white cullor in it. And 2. boxes, one with white, another red
    740 painting, he places all things in order & a candle by thē, singing
    with the ends of old Ballads as he does it. At la st Bella-
    front (as he rubs his cheeke with the cullors, whi stles with-
    Ro. Anon forsooth.
    745 Bell. What are you playing the roague about?
    Ro. About you forsooth: I'me drawing vp a hole in your
    white silke stocking.
    Bell. Is my gla s s e there? and my boxes of complexion?
    Ro. Yes forsooth: your boxes of complexion are
    750here I thinke: yes tis here: her's your two complexi-
    ons, and if I had all the foure complexions, I should
    nere set a good face vpont, some men I see are borne vn-
    der hard-fauourd plānets as well as women: zounds I looke
    worse now then I did before, & it makes her face gli ster mo st
    755damnably, theres knauery in dawbing I hold my life, or else
    this is onely female Pomatum.
    Enter Bellafronte not full-ready, without a gowne, shee sits
    downe, with her bodkin curles her haire, cullers her lips.
    Bell. Wheres my ruffe and poker you block-head?
    760 Ro. Your ruffe, and your poker, are ingendring together
    vpon the cup-bord of the Court, or the Court-cup-bord.
    Bel. Fetch e'm: Is the poxe in your hammes, you can goe
    no fa ster?
    Ro. Wood the pox were in your fingers, vnle s s e you could
    765leaue flinging; catch. Exit.
    Bell. Ile catch you, you dog by and by: do you grumble?
    Cupid is a God, as naked as my naile She sings.
    Ile whip him with a rod, if he my true loue faile.
    Ro. Thers your ruffe, shall I poke it?
    770 Bel. Yes hone st Ro no stay: pry thee good boy, hold here,
    Downe, downe, downe, down, I fall downe and arise, I neuer
    Ro. Troth M. then leaue the trade if you shall neuer rise.
    Bell. What trade? good-man Abram.
    775 Ro. Why that, of down and arise, or the falling trade.
    Bell. Ile fall with you by and by.
    Ro. If you doe, I know who shall smart fort:
    Troth Mi stris, what do I looke like now?
    Bell. Like as you are: a panderly Sixpenny Rascall.
    780 Ro. I may thanke you for that: no faith, I looke like an old
    Hold the Candle before the diuell
    Bell. Vds life, Ile sticke my knife in your Guts and you
    prate to me so: Whaat? She sings.
    Well met, pug, the pearle of beautie: umh, umh.
    785 How now sir knaue you forget your dutie, umh, umh.
    Marry muffe Sir, are you growne so daintie; fa, la, la, &c.
    Is it you Sir? the wor st of twentie, fa la, la, leera la.
    Pox on you, how doe st thou hold my gla s s e?
    Ro. Why, as I hold your doore: with my fingers.
    790 Bell. Nay pray thee sweet hony Ro. hold vp handsomely
    Sing prety Wantons warble, &c. We shall ha gue sts today.
    I lay my little meadenhead, my nose itches so.
    Ro. I said so too la st night, when our Fleas twing'd me.
    Bell. So Poke my ruffe now, my gowne. my gown, haue (I my fall?
    795 Wher's my fall Roger? One knocks.
    Ro. Your fall forsooth is behind.
    Bell. Gods my pittikins, some foole or other knocks.
    Ro. Shall I open to the foole mi stre s s e?
    Bell. And all these bables lying thus? away with it quick-
    800ly, I, I, knock & be dambde, whosoeuer you be. So: giue the
    fre sh Salmon lyne now, let him come a shoare, hee shall
    serue for my breakefa st, tho he goe again st my stomack.
    Roger fetches in Fluello, Ca struchio, and Pioratto.
    Flu. Morrow coz.
    805 Ca st . How does my sweete acquaintance?
    Pio. Saue thee little Marmoset: how doe st thou good pret-
    ty roague?
    Bell. Well, Godamercy good pretty rascall.
    Flu. Roger some light I pry thee.
    810 Ro. You shall Signior, for we that liue here in this vale
    of misery, are as darke as hell. Exit. for a candle.
    Ca st . Good Tabacco, Fluello?
    Flu. Smell? Enter Roger.
    Pio. It may be tickling geere, for it playes with my nose (already.
    815 Ro. Her's another light Angell, Signior.
    Bel. What you pyed curtal, whats that you are neighing?
    Ro. I say God send vs the light of heauen, or some more
    Bell. Goe fetch some wyne, and drinke halfe of it.
    820 Ro. I mu st fetch some wyne gentlemen and drinke halfe (of it.
    Flu. Here Roger.
    Ca st . No let me send pry thee.
    Flu. Hold you canker worme.
    Ro. You shall send both, if you please Signiors.
    825 Pio. Stay, whats be st to drinke a mornings?
    Ro. Hypocras sir, for my mi stres, if I fetch it, is mo st deare (to her:
    Flu Hypocras! ther then, her's a te ston for you, you snake
    Ro. Right syr, her's jjj. s. vi. d. for a pottle & a manchet. Fx.
    Ca st . Her's mo st Herculian Tobacco, ha some acquaintāce?
    830 Bel. Fah, not I, makes your breath stinke, like the pi s s e of a
    Foxe. Acquaintance, where supt you la st night?
    Ca st . At a place sweete acquaintance where your health
    danc'de the Canaries y'faith: you should ha ben there.
    Bell. I there among your Punkes, marry fah, hang-em:
    835 scorn't: will you neuer leaue sucking of egs in other folkes
    hens nea sts.
    Ca st . Why in good troth, if youle tru st me acquaintance,
    there was not one hen at the board, aske Fluello.
    Flu. No faith Coz; none but Cocks, signior Malauella
    840drunke to thee. Bel. O, a pure beagle; that horse-leach there?
    Flu. And the knight, S. Oliuer Lollio, swore he wold be stow
    a taffata petticoate on thee, but to breake his fa st with thee.
    Bel. With me! Ile choake him then, hang him Mole-cat-
    cher, its the dreaming st snotty-nose.
    845 Pio. Well, many tooke that Lollio for a foole, but he's a
    subtile foole. Bel. I, and he has fellowes: of all filthy
    dry-fi sted knights, I cannot abide that he should touch me.
    Ca st . Why wench, is he scabbed?
    Bel. Hang him, heele not liue to bee so hone st, nor to the
    850credite to haue scabbes about him, his betters haue em: but
    I hate to weare out any of his course knight-hood, because
    hee's made like an Aldermans night-gowne, fac st all with
    conny before, and within nothing but Foxe: this sweete
    Oliuer, will eate Mutton till he be ready to bur st, but the
    855leane iawde- slaue wil not pay for the scraping of his trēcher.
    Pio. Plague him, set him beneath the salt, and let him not
    touch a bit, till euery one has had his full cut.
    Flu. Sordello, the Gentleman-V sher came into vs too,
    marry twas in our cheese, for he had beene to borrow mony
    860for his Lord, of a Citizen.
    Ca st . What an a s s e is that Lord, to borrow money of a
    Bell. Nay, Gods my pitty, what an a s s e is that Citizen to
    lend mony to a Lord.
    865 Enter Matheo and Hypolito, who saluting the Com-,
    pany, as a stranger walkes off . Roger comes in sadly behind them.
    with a potle-pot , and stands aloofe off .
    Matheo. Saue you Gallants, signior Fluello exceedingly
    well met, as I may say.
    870 Flu. Signior Matheo, exceedingly well met too, as I may
    Ma. And how fares my little prettie Mi stris?
    Bell. Eene as my little pretie seruant; sees three court di-
    shes before her, and not one good bit in them: how now?
    875why the diuell stand st thou so? Art in a trance?
    Ro. Yes forsooth. Bell Why do st not fil out their wine?
    Ro. Forsooth tis fild out already: all the wine that the sig-
    nior has be stowde vpon you is ca st away, a Porter ranne a
    litle at me, and so fac' st me downe that I had not a drop.
    880 Bel. Ime accurs'd to let such a withered Artichocke faced-
    Rascall grow vnder my nose: now you looke like an old he
    cat, going to the gallowes: Ile be hangde if he ha not put vp
    the mony to cony-catch vs all.
    Ro. No truely forsooth, tis not put vp yet.
    885 Bell. How many Gentlemen ha st thou serued thus?
    Ro. None but fiue hundred, be sides prentices and seruing- (men.
    Bel. Doe st thinke Ile pocket it vp at thy hands?
    Ro. Yes forsooth, I feare you will pocket it vp.
    Bel Fye, fye cut my lace good seruant, I shall ha the mo-
    890ther presently, Im'e so vext at this horse-plumme.
    Flu. Plague, not for a scald pottle of wine.
    Ma. Nay, sweete Bellafronte, for a little Pigs wa sh.
    Ca st . Here Roger, fetch more, a mischance. Yfaith Ac-
    895 Bell Out of my sight, thou vngodly puritanical creature.
    Ro. For the tother pottle? yes forsooth. Exit.
    Bell. Spill that too: what Gentleman is that seruant your
    Ma. Gods so a stoole, a stoole, if you loue me Mi stris en-
    900tertaine this Gentleman respectiuely, & bid him welcome.
    Bell. Hees very welcome, pray Sir sit.
    Hip. Thankes Lady.
    Flu. Count Hypolito, i st not? cry you mercie signior, you
    walke here all this while, and we not heed you? let me be-
    905 stowa stoole vpō you beseech you, you are a stranger here,
    we know the fa shions ath house.
    Ca st . Please you be heere my Lord. Tabacco.
    Hipo. No good Ca struchio.
    Flu. You haue abandoned the Court I see my lord since
    910the death of your mi stre s s e, well she was a delicate piece-be-
    seech you sweete, come let vs serue vnder the cullors of your
    acquaintance stil: for all that, please you to meete here at the
    lodging of my cuz, I shall be stow a banquet vpon you.
    Hipo. I neuer can deserue this kindne s s e syr.
    915What may this Lady be, whom you call cuz?
    Flu. Faith syr a poore gentlewoman, of pa s sing good ca-
    riage, one that has some sutes in law, and lyes here in an At-
    turnies house.
    Hipo. Is she married?
    920 Flu. Hah, as all your punks are, a captens wife, or so?
    neuer saw her before, my Lord.
    Hipo. Neuer tru st me a goodly creature.
    Flu. By gad when you know her as we do, youle swear she is
    the prettie st, kinde st, sweete st, mo st bewitching hone st ape
    925vnder the pole. A skin, your satten is not more soft, nor
    lawne whiter.
    Hipo. Belike then shees some sale curtizan.
    Flu. Troth as all your be st faces are, a good wench.
    Hipo. Great pitty that shees a good wench.
    930 Ma. Thou shalt haue it ifaith mi stre s s e: how now signiors?
    what? whispering? did not I lay a wager I should take you
    within seuen daies in a house of vanity.
    Hipo. You did, and I be shrew your heart, you haue won.
    Ma. How do you like my mi stre s s e?
    935 Hipo. Well, for such a mi stre s s e: better, if your mi stre s s e
    be not you ma ster.
    I mu st breake manners gentlemen, fare you well.
    Ma. Sfoote you shall not leaue vs.
    Bell. The gentleman likes not the ta st of our company,
    940 Omni. Beseech you stay.
    Hipo. Tru st me my affaires becken for me, pardon me.
    Ma. Will you call for me halfe an houre hence here?
    Hip. Perhaps I shall.
    Ma. Perhaps? fah! I know you can, sweare to me you wil.
    945 Hip. Since you will pre s s e me on my word, I will. Exit.
    Bell. What sullen picture is this seruant?
    Ma. Its Count Hipolito, the braue Count.
    Pio. As gallant a spirit, as any in Millan you sweete (Iewe,
    Flu. Oh hees a mo st e s s entiall gentleman, coz.
    950 Ca st . Did you neuer heare of Count Hipolitos ac-
    Bell. Marymuffe a your counts, & be no more life in 'em.
    Ma. Hees so malcontent! sirra Bellafronte, & you be ho-
    ne st gallants, lets sup together, and haue the count with vs:
    955thou shalt sit at the vpper end puncke.
    Bell. Puncke you sowcde gurnet?
    Ma. Kings truce: come, ile be stow the supper to haue
    him but laugh.
    Ca st . He betraies his youth too gro sly to that tyrant me- (lancholy.
    960 Ma. All this is for a woman.
    Bell. A woman! some whore! what sweet Iewell i st?
    Pio. Wod she heard you. Flu. Troth so wud I.
    Ca st . And I by heauen.
    Bell. Nay good seruant, what woman? Ma. Pah.
    965 Bell. Pry thee tell me, abu s s e and tell me: I warrant hees
    an hone st fellowe, if hee take on thus for a wench: good
    roague who:
    Ma. Byth Lord I will not, mu st not, faith mi stre s s e: i st a
    match sirs? this night, at Th'antilop:, for thers be st wine, and (good boyes.
    970 Omni. Its done at Th'antilop.
    Bell. I cannot be there tonight.
    Ma. Cannot? bith lord you shall.
    Bell. By the Lady I will not: shaall!
    Flu. Why then put it off till fryday: wut come then cuz?
    975 Bell. Well. Enter Roger.
    Ma. Y'are the waspi she st Ape. Roger, put your mi stris in
    minde, your scurny mi stris heere, to sup with vs on friday
    next: y'are be st come like a mad woman, without a band in
    your wa stcoate, & the lynings of your kirtle outward, like
    980euery common hackny that steals out at the back gate of her
    sweet knights lodging
    Bell. Goe, goe, hang your selfe. Ca st . Its dinner time Matheo, ( shalls hence?
    Omni. Yes, yes, farewell wench. Exeunt.
    Bell. Farewell boyes: Roger what wine sent they for?
    985 Ro. Ba stard wine, for if it had bin truly begotten, it wud
    not ha bin a shamde to come in, her's vi.s. to pay for nur sing
    the ba stard.
    Bell. A company of rookes! O good sweete Roger, run to
    the Poulters and buy me some fine Larkes.
    990 Ro. No woodcocks?
    Bell. Yes faith a couple, if they be not deare.
    Ro. Ile buy but one, theres one already here. Exit.
    Enter Hipolito.
    Hipo. Is the gentleman (my friend) departed mi stre s s e?
    995 Bell. His backe is but new-turnd syr.
    Hipo. Fare you well. Bell. I can direct you to him.
    Hipo. Can you? pray.
    Bell. If you pleasey heele not be absent long.
    Hipo. I care not much.
    1000 Bell. Pray sit forsooth. Hipo. I'me hot.
    If I may vse your roome, ile rather walke.
    Bell. At your be st pleasure-whew-some rubbers there.
    Hipo. Indeed ile none: -Indeed I will not: thanks.
    Pretty-fine-lodging. I perceiue my friend
    1005 Is old in your acquaintance. Bell. Troth syr, he comes
    As other gentlemen, to spend spare howers;
    If your selfe like our roofe (such as it is)
    Your owne acquaintance may be as old as his.
    Hipo. Say I did like; what welcome should I find?
    1010 Bell. Such as my present fortunes can afford.
    Hipo. But would you let me play Mathaeos part?
    Bell. What part?
    Hipo. Why imbrace you: dally with you, ki s s e:
    Faith tell me, will you leaue him, and loue me?
    1015 Bell. I am in bondes to no man syr. Hipo. Why then,
    Y'are free for any man: if any, me.
    But I mu st tell you Lady, were you mine,
    You should be all mine: I could brooke no sharers,
    I should be couetous, and sweepe vp all.
    1020I should be pleasures vsurer: faith I should.
    Bell. O fate!
    Hipo. Why sigh you Lady? may I knowe?
    Bell. T'has neuer bin my fortune yet to single
    Out that one man, whose loue could fellow mine.
    1025As I haue euer wi sht it: ô my Stars!
    Had I but met with one kind gentleman,
    That would haue purchacde sin alone, to himselfe,
    For his owne priuate vse, although scarce proper:
    Indifferent hansome: meetly legd and thyed:
    1030And my allowance reasonable-yfaith,
    According to my body-by my troth,
    I would haue bin as true vnto his pleasures,
    Yea, and as loyall to his afternoones,
    As euer a poore gentlewoman could be.
    1035 Hipo. This were well now, to one but newly fledg'd,
    And scarce a day old in this suttle world:
    Twere prettie Art, good bird-lime, cunning net:
    But come, come, faith-confe s s e: how many men
    Haue drunke this selfe-same prote station,
    1040From that red tycing lip?
    Bell. Indeede not any.
    Hipo. Indeede? and blu sh not!
    Bell. No, in truth not any.
    Hipo. Indeed! in truth!-how warily you sweare?
    1045Tis well: if ill it be not: yet had I
    The ruffian in me, and were drawne before you
    But in light cullors, I doe know indeed,
    You would not sweare indeede, But thunder oathes
    That should shake heauen, drowne the harmonious spheres,
    1050And pierce a soule (that lou'd her makers honour)
    With horror and amazement.
    Bell. Shall I sweare?
    Wil you belieue me then?
    Hipn. Wor st then of all,
    1055Our sins by cu stome, seeme (at la st) but small.
    Were I but o're your thre shold, a nex man,
    And after him a next, and then a fourth,
    Should haue this golden hooke, and lasciuious baite,
    Throwne out to the full length, why let me tell you:
    1060 I ha seene letters sent from that white hand,
    Tuning such mu sicke to Matheos eare.
    Bell. Mathaeo! thats true, but if youle beleeue
    My hone st tongue, my eyes no sooner met you,
    But they conueid and lead you to my heart.
    1065 Hipo. Oh, you cannot faine with me, why, I know Lady,
    This is the common fa shion of you all,
    To hooke in a kind gentleman, and then
    Abuse his coyne, conueying it to your louer,
    And in the end you shew him a french trick,
    1070And so you leaue him, that a coach may run
    Betweene his legs for bredth.
    Bell O by my soule!
    Not I: therein ile proue an hone st whore,
    In being true to one, and to no more.
    1075 Hipo. If any be disposde to tru st your oath,
    Let him: ile not be he, I know you feine
    All that you speake, I: for a mingled harlot,
    Is true in nothing but in being false.
    What! shall I teach you how to loath your selfe?
    1080And mildly too: not without sense or reason.
    Bell. I am content, I would faine loath my selfe,
    If you not loue me.
    Hipo. Then if your gratious blood be not all wa sted,
    I shall a s s ay to doo't.
    1085Lend me your silence, and attention,- you haue no soule,
    That makes you wey so light: heauens treasure bought it,
    And halfe a crowne hath sold it: for your body
    Its like the common shoare, that still receiues
    All the townes filth. The sin of many men
    1090Tis within you, and thus much I suppose,
    That if all your committers stood in ranke,
    Theide make a lane, (in which your shame might dwell)
    And with their spaces reach from hence to hell.
    Nay, shall I vrge it more, there has bene knowne,
    1095As many by one harlot, maym'd and dismembred,
    As would ha stuft an Hospitall: this I might
    Apply to you, and perhaps doe you right:
    O y'are as base as any bea st that beares,
    Your body is ee'ne hirde, and so are theirs.
    1100For gold and sparkling iewels, (if he can)
    Youle let a Iewe get you with chri stian:
    Be he a Moore, a Tartar, tho his face
    Looke vglier then a dead mans scull,
    Could the diuel put on a humane shape,
    1105 If his purse shake out crownes, vp then he gets,
    Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits:
    So that y'are crueller then Turkes, for they
    Sell Chri stians onely, you sell your selues away.
    Why those that loue you, hate you: and will terme you
    1110Lickeri sh damnation: wi sh themselues halfe sunke
    After the sin is laid out; and ee'ne curse
    Their fruitle s s e riot, (for what one begets
    Another poisons) lu st and murder hit,
    A tree being often shooke, what fruit can knit?
    1115 Bell. O me vnhappy!
    Hip. I can vexe you more;
    A harlot is like Dunkirke, true to none,
    Swallowes both Engli sh, Spani sh, fulsome Dutch,
    Blacke-doord Italian, la st of all the French,
    1120And he sticks to you faith: giues you your diet,
    Brings you acquainted, fir st with mon sier Doctor,
    And then you know what followes.
    Bell. Misery.
    Ranke, stinking, and mo st loathsome misery.
    1125 Hip. Me thinks a toad is happier then a whore,
    That with one poison swells, with thousands more
    The other stocks her veines: harlot? fie! fie,
    You are the miserable st Creatures breathing,
    The very slaues of nature: marke me else,
    1130You put on rich attires, others eyes weare them,
    You eat, but to supply your blood with sin,
    And this strange curse ee'ne haunts you to your graues.
    From fooles you get, and spend it vpon slaues:
    Like Beares and Apes, y'are bayted & shew tricks
    1135For money, but your Bawd the sweetne s s e licks.
    Indeed you are their Iourney-women, and do
    All base and damnd workes they li st set you to:
    So that you n'ere are rich; for doe but shew me,
    In present memory, or in ages pa st,
    1140The faire st and mo st famous Courtizan,
    Whose fle sh was dear' st; that raisd the price of sin,
    And held it vp, to whose intemperate bosome,
    Princes, Earles, Lords, the wor st has bin a knight,
    The mean' st a Gentleman, haue offred vp
    1145Whole Hecatombs of sighs, & raind in showres
    Handfuls of gold, yet for all this, at la st
    Diseases suckt her marrow, then grew so poore,
    That she has begd e'ene at a beggers doore.
    And (wherin heau'n has a finger) when this Idoll,
    1150From coa st to coa st, has leapt on forraine shores,
    And had more wor ship, thē th'outlandi sh whores,
    When seuerall nations haue gone ouer her,
    When for each seuerall City she has seene,
    Her maidenhead has bin new, & bin sold deare:
    1155Did liue wel there, & might haue dide vnknowne
    And vndefam'd, back comes she to her owne,
    And there both miserably liues and dyes,
    Scornd euen of those, that once ador'd her eyes,
    As if her fatall-circled life thus ranne,
    1160Her pride should end there, where it fir st began.
    What, do you weep, to heare your story read?
    Nay, if you spoyle your cheeks, Ile read no more.
    Bel. O yes, I pray proceed:
    Indeed 'twill do me good to weep indeed.
    1165 Hip. To giue those teares a reli sh, this I adde,
    Y'are like the Iewes, scatterd, in no place certain,
    Your daies are tedious, your houres burdensome:
    And wer't not for full suppers, midnight Reuels,
    Dauncing, wine, ryotous meetings, which do drowne,
    1170And bury quite in you all vertuous thoughts,
    And on your eye-lids hang so heauily,
    They haue no power to looke so high as heauen,
    Youde sit and muse on nothing but despayre,
    Curse that deuil Lu st , that so burnes vp your blood,
    1175And in ten thousand shiuers breake your gla s s e
    For his temptation. Say you ta ste delight,
    To haue a golden Gull from rize to Set,
    To meat you in his hote luxurious armes,
    Yet your nights pay for all: I know you dreame
    1180Of warrants, whips, & Beadles, and then start
    At a dores windy creake: thinke euery Weezle
    To be a Con stable: and euery Rat
    A long tayld Officer: Are you now not slaues?
    Oh you haue damnation without pleasure for it!
    1185Such is the state of Harlots. To conclude,
    When you are old, and can well paynt no more,
    You turne Bawd, and are then worse then before:
    Make vse of this: farewell.
    Bel. Oh, I pray stay.
    1190 Hip. I see Matheo comes not: time hath bard me,
    Would all the Harlots in the towne had heard me. Exit.
    Bel. Stay yet a little longer. no: quite gone!
    Cur st be that minute (for it was no more.
    So soone a mayd is chang'd into a Whore)
    1195Wherein I fir st fell, be it for euer blacke;
    Yet why should sweet Hipolito shun mine eyes;
    For whose true loue I would becom pure-hone st,
    Hate the worlds mixtures, & the smiles of gold:
    Am I not fayre? Why should he flye me then?
    1200Faire creatures are de sir'd, not scornd of men.
    How many Gallants haue drunk healthes to me,
    Out of their daggerd armes, & thought thē ble st,
    Enioying but mine eyes at prodigall fea sts!
    And does Hipolito dete st my loue?
    1205Oh, sure their heedle s s e lu sts but flattred me,
    I am not plea sing, beautifull nor young.
    Hipolito hath spyed some vgly blemi sh,
    Eclip sing all my beauties: I am foule:
    Harlot! I, that's the spot that taynts my soule:
    1210his weapon left heere? O fit in strument,
    To let forth all the poyson of my fle sh!
    Thy M. hates me, cause my bloud hath rang'd:
    But whē tis forth, then heele beleeue Ime chāg'd.
    Hip. Mad woman, what art doing? Enter Hipo.
    1215 Bel. Eyther loue me,
    Or cleaue my bosome on thy Rapiers poynt.
    Yet doe not neyther; for thou then de stroy st
    That which I loue thee for (thy vertues) here, here,
    Th'art crueller, and kil st me with disdayne:
    1220To die so, sheds no bloud, yet tis worse payne. Exit Hipol.
    Not speake to me! not looke! not bid farewell!
    Hated! this mu st not be, some meanes Ile try.
    Would all Whores were as hone st now, as I. Exeunt.