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  • Title: The Honest Whore, Part 2 (Quarto 1, 1630)
  • 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.
    Author: Thomas Dekker
    Editor: Joost Daalder
    Not Peer Reviewed

    The Honest Whore, Part 2 (Quarto 1, 1630)

    The Hone st Whore.
    Cand. A bargaine. Strike.
    1005 Bride. Then guard you from this blow,
    For I play all at legges, but 'tis thus low. She kneeles.
    Behold, I am such a cunning Fencer growne,
    I keepe my ground, yet downe I will be throwne
    With the lea st blow you giue me, I disdaine
    1010The wife that is her husbands Soueraigne.
    She that vpon your pillow fir st did re st,
    They say, the breeches wore, which I dete st.
    The taxe which she imposed vpon you, I abate you,
    If me you make your Ma ster, I shall hate you.
    1015The world shall iudge who offers faire st play;
    You win the breeches, but I win the day.
    Cand. Thou win st the day indeed, giue me thy hand,
    Ile challenge thee no more: my patient bre st
    Plaid thus the Rebell, onely for a ie st:
    1020Here's the rancke rider that breakes Colts, 'tis he
    Can tame the mad folkes, and cur st wiues.
    Bride. Who, your man?
    Cand. My man? my Ma ster, tho his head be bare,
    But he's so courteous, he'll put off his haire.
    1025 Lod. Nay, if your seruice be so hot, a man cannot keepe
    his haire on, Ile serue you no longer.
    Bride. Is this your Schoolema ster?
    Lod. Yes faith, wench, I taught him to take thee downe:
    I hope thou can st take him downe without teaching; you
    1030ha got the conque st, and you both are friends.
    Cand. Beare witnes else.
    Lod. My Prenti ship then ends.
    Cand. For the good seruice you to me haue done,
    I giue you all your yeeres.
    1035 Lod. I thanke you Ma ster.
    Ile ki s s e my Mi stris now, that she may say,
    My man was bound, and free all in one day. Exeunt.

    Enter Orlando, and Infaelice.
    Infae . From whom saie st thou?