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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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    1770 Orl. A faire new Cloake, stew that; an excellent gilt Ra-
    pier.
    Mat. Will you eat that, sir?
    Orl. I could fea st ten good fellowes with those Hangers.
    Mat. The pox you shall.
    1775 Orl. I shall not (till thou begge st,) thinke thou art poore;
    And when thou begge st, Ile feed thee at my doore,
    As I feed Dogs, (with bones) till then beg,
    Borrow, pawne, steale, and hang, turne Bawde.
    When th'art no Whore, my heart- strings sure
    1780Would crack, were they strained more. Exit.
    Mat. This is your Father, your damn'd -- confu sion
    light vpon all the generation of you; he can come bragging
    hither with foure white Herrings (at's taile) in blue
    Coates without roes in their bellies, but I may starue ere he
    1785giue me so much as a cob.
    Bel. What tell you me of this? alas.
    Mat. Goe trot after your Dad, doe you capitulate, Ile
    pawne not for you, Ile not steale to be hanged for such an
    hypocriticall close common Harlot: away, you Dog----
    1790Braue yfaith! Vds foot, Giue me some meate.
    Bel. Yes, Sir. Exit.
    Mat. Goodman slaue, my man too, is gallop'd to the De-
    uill athe t'other side: Pacheco, Ile checo you. Is this your
    Dads day? England (they say) is the onely hell for Horses, and
    1795onely Paradise for Women: pray get you to that Paradise,
    because y'are called an Hone st Whore; there they liue none
    but hone st whores with a pox: Mary here in our Citty, all
    our sex are but foot-cloth Nags: the Ma ster no sooner lights,
    but the man leapes into the saddle.

    1800 Enter Bellafront.
    Bel. Will you sit downe I pray, sir?
    Mat. I could teare (by'th Lord) his fle sh, and eate his
    midriffe in salt, as I eate this: --- mu st I choake --- my
    Father Friscabaldo, I shall make a pittifull Hog-louse of you
    1805 Orlando, if you fall once into my fingers --- Here's the sauo-

    re st