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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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    Omnes. Your wife, Matheo?
    Hip. Sure it cannot be.
    Mat. Oh, Sir, you loue no quarters of Mutton that hang
    vp, you loue none but whole Mutton; she set the robbery, I
    2570perform'd it; she spur'd me on, I gallop'd away.
    Orl. My Lords.
    Bel. My Lords, (fellow giue me speach) if my poore life
    may ransome thine, I yeeld it to the Law,
    Thou hurt' st thy soule (yet wipe st off no offence)
    2575By ca sting blots vpon my Innocence:
    Let not these spare me, but tell truth: no, see
    Who slips his necke out of the misery,
    Tho not out of the mischiefe: let thy Seruant
    That shared in this base Act, accuse me here,
    2580Why should my Husband peri sh, he goe cleare?
    Orl. A god Child, hang thine owne Father.
    Duke. Old fellow, was thy hand in too?
    Orl. My hand was in the Pye, my Lord, I confe s s e it: my
    Mi stris I see, will bring me to the Gallowes, and so leaue me;
    2585but Ile not leaue her so: I had rather hang in a womans com-
    pany, then in a mans; because if we should go to hell together,
    I should scarce be letten in, for all the Deuils are afraid to
    haue any women come among st them, as I am true Thiefe,
    she neither consented to this fellony, nor knew of it.
    2590 Duke. What fury prompts thee on to kill thy wife?
    Mat. It's my humor, Sir, 'tis a fooli sh Bag-pipe that I
    make my selfe merry with: why should I eate hempe-seed
    at the Hangmans thirteene-pence halfe-penny Ordinary,
    and haue this whore laugh at me as I swing, as I totter?
    2595 Duke. Is she a Whore?
    Mat. A sixe-penny Mutton Pa sty, for any to cut vp.
    Orl. Ah, Toad, Toad, Toad.
    Mat. A Barbers Citterne for euery Seruingman to play
    vpon, that Lord, your Sonne, knowes it.
    2600 Hip. I, sir, am I her Bawd then?
    Mat. No, sir, but she's your Whore then,
    Orl. Yea Spider, doe st catch at great Flies?
    Hip.