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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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    re st meat: I ha got a stomacke with cha sing. What Rogue
    should tell him of those two Pedlers? A plague choake him,
    and gnaw him to the bare bones: come fill.
    Bel. Thou sweate st with very anger, good sweet, vex not,
    1810'las, 'tis no fault of mine.
    Mat. Where did st buy this Mutton? I neuer felt better
    Bel. A neighbour sent it me.
    Enter Orlando.
    1815 Mat. Hah, neighbour? foh, my mouth stinkes, you whore,
    doe you beg victuals for me? Is this Sattin doublet to bee
    bumba sted with broken meat? Takes vp the stoole.
    Orl. What will you doe, sir?
    Mat. Beat out the braines of a beggerly-- Exit Beliafront.
    1820 Orl. Beat out an A s s es head of your owne; away, Mi stris.
    Zownds, doe but touch one haire of her, and Ile so quilt
    your cap with old Iron, that your coxcombe shall ake the
    worse these seuen yeeres for't: Does she looke like a roa sted
    Rabbet, that you mu st haue the head for the braines?
    1825 Mat. Ha, ha: Goe out of my doores, you Rogue, away,
    foure markes trudge.
    Orl. Foure markes? no, sir, my twenty pound that you ha
    made flie hie, and I am gone.
    Mat. Mu st I be fed with chippings? y'are be st get a clap-
    1830di sh, and say y'are Proctor to some Spittle-house. Where
    ha st thou beene, Pacheco? come hither my little Turky-
    Orl. I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wrong'd, not I.
    Mat. Sirra, here was my Father-in-law to day.
    1835 Orl. Pi sh, then y'are full of Crownes.
    Mat. Hang him, he would ha thru st crownes vpon me, to
    haue falne in againe, but I scorne ca st-cloathes, or any mans
    Orl. But mine: how did he brooke that ( sir?)
    1840 Mat. Oh: swore like a dozen of drunken Tinkers; at la st
    growing foule in words, he and foure of his men drew vp-
    on me, sir.
    G 3