Digital Renaissance Editions

About this text

  • Title: The Honest Whore, Part 1 (Quarto 2, 1604)
  • 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.
    Authors: Thomas Dekker, Thomas Middleton
    Editor: Joost Daalder
    Peer Reviewed

    The Honest Whore, Part 1 (Quarto 2, 1604)

    But leaue no good deeds to preserue them sound,
    For good deedes keepe men sweet, long aboue ground,
    And must all come to this: fooles; wise, all hether,
    1780Must all heads thus at last be laid together:
    Draw me my picture then, thou graue neate workman,
    After this fashion, not like this: these coulours
    In time kissing but ayre, will be kist off,
    But heres a fellow; that which he layes on,
    1785Till doomes day alters not complexion.
    Death's the best Painter then: They that draw shapes,
    And liue by wicked faces, are but Gods Apes,
    They come but neere the life, and there they stay,
    This fellow drawes life to: his Art is fuller,
    1790The pictures which he makes are without coulour.

    Enter his seruant.

    Ser. Heres a person would speake with you sir.
    Hip. Hah!
    Ser. A parson sir would speake with you.
    1795Hip. Vicar?
    Ser. Vicar? no sir, has too good a face to be a Vicar yet, a
    youth, a very youth.
    Hip. What youth? of man or woman? lock the dores.
    Ser. If it be a woman, mary-bones and Potato pies keepe
    1800me for medling with her, for the thing has got the breeches,
    tis a male-varlet sure my Lord, for a womans tayler neare
    measurd him.
    Hip. Let him giue thee his message and be gone:
    Ser, He sayes hees signior Mathaeos man, but I know he
    Hip. How doest thou know it?
    Ser. Cause has nere a beard: tis his boy I thinke sir, who-
    soere paide for his nursing.
    Hip. Send him and keepe the doore. Reades.
    1810Fata si liceat mihi,
    Fingere arbitrio meo,
    Temperem Zephyro leuivela.
    Ide saile were I to choose, not in the Ocean,