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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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    Orl. Fleaing call you it?
    Mat. Ile pawne you by'th Lord, to your very eye-browes.
    Bel. With all my heart, since heauen will haue me poore,
    1335As good he drown'd at sea, as drown'd at shore.
    Orl. Why heare you, sir? yfaith doe not make away her
    Gowne.
    Mat. Oh it's Summer, it's Summer; your onely fa shion
    for a woman now, is to be light, to be light.
    1340 Orl. Why, pray sir, employ some of that money you haue
    of mine.
    Mat. Thine? Ile starue fir st, Ile beg fir st; when I touch a
    penny of that, let these fingers ends rot.
    Orl. So they may, for that's pa st touching. I saw my
    1345twenty pounds flye hie.
    Mat. Knowe st thou neuer a damn'd Broker about the
    Citty?
    Orl. Damn'd Broker? yes, fiue hundred.
    Mat. The Gowne stood me in aboue twenty Duckets,
    1350borrow ten of it, cannot liue without siluer.
    Orl. Ile make what I can of it, sir, Ile be your Broker,
    But not your damb'd broker: Oh thou scuruy knaue,
    What makes a wife turne whore, but such a slaue? Exit.
    Mat. How now little chicke, what ayle st, weeping
    1355For a handfull of Taylors shreds? pox on them, are there
    not silkes enow at Mercers?
    Bel I care not for gay feathers, I.
    Mat. What doe st care for then? why doe st grieue?
    Bel. Why doe I grieue? A thousand sorrowes strike
    1360At one poore heart, and yet it liues. Matheo,
    Thou art a Game ster, prethee throw at all,
    Set all vpon one ca st, we kneele and pray,
    And struggle for life, yet mu st be ca st away.
    Meet misery quickly then, split all, sell all,
    1365And when thou ha st sold all, spend it, but I beseech thee
    Build not thy mind on me to coyne thee more,
    To get it would st thou haue me play the whore?
    Mat. 'Twas your profe s sion before I married you.
    Bel.