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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    Not Peer Reviewed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 Honest Whore.
    One line of loue in them. Sure all's not well.
    Infae . All is not well indeed, my deare st Lord,
    Locke vp thy gates of hearing, that no sound
    1190Of what I speake may enter.
    Hip. What meanes this?
    Infae . Or if my owne tongue mu st my selfe betray,
    Count it a dreame, or turne thine eyes away,
    And thinke me not thy wife. She kneeles.
    1195 Hip. Why doe you kneele?
    Infae . Earth is sinnes cu shion: when the sicke soule feeles
    her selfe growing poore, then she turnes begger, cryes and
    kneeles for helpe; Hipollito (for husband I dare not call
    thee) I haue slolne that Iewell of my cha ste honour (which
    1200was onely thine) and giuen it to a slaue.
    Hip. Hah?
    Infae . On thy pillow adultery & lu st haue slept, thy Groome
    Hath climbed the vnlawfull tree, and pluckt the sweets,
    A villaine hath vsurped a husbands sheetes.
    1205 Hip. S'death, who, (a Cuckold) who?
    Infae . This Iri sh Footman.
    Hip. Worse then damnation, a wild Kerne, a Frogge, a
    Dog: whom Ile scarce spurne. Longed you for Shamocke?
    were it my fathers father (heart) Ile kill him, although I
    1210take him on his death-bed gasping 'twixt heauen and hell;
    a shag-haired Cur? Bold Strumpet, why hange st thou on me? think st Ile be a Bawde to a Whore, because she's Noble?
    Infae . I beg but this,
    Set not my shame out to the worlds broad eye,
    1215Yet let thy vengeance (like my fault) soare hye,
    So it be in darkned clowdes.
    Hip. Darkned! my hornes
    Cannot be darkned, nor shall my reuenge.
    A Harlot to my slaue? the act is base,
    1220Common, but foule, so shall thy disgrace:
    Could not I feed your appetite? oh women
    You were created Angels, pure and faire;
    But since the fir st fell, tempting Deuils you are,