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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    Not Peer Reviewed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)

    Enter Orlando, and Infaelice.
    Infae. From whom saiest thou?
    Orla.
    The Honest Whore.
    1040Orla. From a poore Gentlewoman, Madam, whom I serue.
    Infae. And whats your businesse?
    Orla. This, Madam: my poore Mistris has a waste piece
    of ground, which is her owne by inheritance, and left to
    her by her mother; There's a Lord now that goes about,
    1045not to take it cleane from her, but to inclose it to himselfe,
    and to ioyne it to a piece of his Lordships.
    Infae. What would she haue me doe in this?
    Orla. No more, Madam, but what one woman should
    doe for another in such a case. My Honourable Lord, your
    1050Husband would doe any thing in her behalfe, but shee had
    rather put her selfe into your hands, because you (a woman)
    may doe more with the Duke your Father.
    Infae. Where lyes this Land?
    Orl. Within a stones cast of this place; my Mistris, I think,
    1055would be content to let him enioy it after her decease, if
    that would serue his turne, so my Master would yeeld too:
    but she cannot abide to heare that the Lord should meddle
    with it in her life time.
    Infae. Is she then married? why stirres not her Husband
    1060in it?
    Orl. Her Husband stirres in it vnder hand: but because
    the other is a great rich man, my Master is loth to be seene
    in it too much.
    Infae. Let her in writing draw the cause at large:
    1065And I will moue the Duke.
    Orl. 'Tis set downe, Madam, here in blacke and white
    already: worke it so, Madam, that she may keepe her owne
    without disturbance, grieuance, molestation, or medling of
    any other; and she bestowes this purse of gold on your La-
    1070dyship.
    Infae. Old man, Ile pleade for her, but take no fees:
    Giue Lawyers them, I swim not in that flood,
    Ile touch no gold, till I haue done her good.
    Orl. I would all Proctors Clearkes were of your minde,
    1075I should law more amongst them then I doe then; here, Ma-
    dam, is the suruey, not onely of the Mannor it selfe, but of
    the
    The Honest Whore.
    the Grange house, with euery Medow pasture, Plough-
    land, Cony-borough, Fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and bush
    that stands in it.
    1080Infae. My Husbands name, and hand and seale at armes
    to a Loue-letter? Where hadst thou this writing?
    Orla. From the foresaid party, Madam, that would keepe
    the foresaid Land out of the foresaid Lords fingers.
    Infae. My Lord turnd Ranger now?
    1085Orl. Y'are a good Huntresse, Lady, you ha found your
    Game already; your Lord would faine be a Ranger, but my
    Mistris requests you to let him runne a course in your owne
    Parke, if you'll not doo't for loue, then doo't for money; she
    has no white money, but there's gold, or else she praies you
    1090to ring him by this token, and so you shall be sure his nose
    will not be rooting other mens pastures.
    Infae. This very purse was wouen with mine owne hands,
    This Diamond on that very night, when he
    Vntyed my Virgin girdle, gaue I him:
    1095And must a common Harlot share in mine?
    Old man, to quit thy paines, take thou the gold.
    Orl. Not I, Madam, old Seruingmen want no money.
    Infae. Cupid himselfe was sure his Secretary,
    These lines are euen the Arrowes Loue let flies,
    1100The very Incke dropt out of Uenus eyes.
    Orla. I doe not thinke, Madam, but hee fetcht off some
    Poet or other for those lines, for they are parlous Hawkes
    to flie at wenches.
    Infae Here's honied poyson, to me he ne'r thus writ,
    1105But Lust can set a double edge on wit.
    Orla. Nay, that's true, Madam, a wench will whet any
    thing, if it be not too dull.
    Infae. Oathes, promises, preferments, Iewels, gold,
    What snares should breake, if all these cannot hold?
    1110What creature is thy Mistris?
    Orl. One of those creatures that are contrary to man;
    a woman.
    Infae. What manner of woman?
    E Orl.
    The Honest Whore.
    Orl. A little tiny woman, lower then your Ladiship by
    1115head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as euer vnlaced a
    petticote: these things should I indeed haue deliuered to my
    Lord your Husband.
    Infae. They are deliuered better: Why should she send
    backe these things?
    1120Orl. Ware, ware, there's knauery.
    Infae. Strumpets like cheating gamesters will not win
    At first: these are but baites to draw him in.
    How might I learne his hunting houres?
    Orl. The Irish Footman can tell you all his hunting
    1125houres, the Parke he hunts in, the Doe he would strike, that
    Irish Shackatory beates the bush for him, and knowes all;
    he brought that Letter, and that Ring; he is the Carrier.
    Infae. Knowest thou what other gifts haue past betweene
    them?
    1130Orl. Little S. Patricke knowes all.
    Infae. Him Ile examine presently.
    Orl. Not whilest I am here, sweet Madam.
    Infae. Be gon then, & what lyes in me command. Exit Orl.
    Enter Bryan.
    1135Infae. Come hither sirra, how much cost those Satins, and
    cloth of Siluer, which my husband sent by you to a low
    Gentlewoman yonder?
    Bry. Faat Sattins? faat Siluers, faat low Gentlefolkes?
    dow pratest dow knowest not what, yfaat la.
    1140Infae. She there, to whom you carried letters.
    Bry. By dis hand and bod dow saist true, if I did so, oh
    how? I know not a letter a de Booke yfaat la.
    Infae. Did your Lord neuer send you with a Ring, sir, set
    with a Diamond?
    1145Bry. Neuer, sa crees sa me, neuer; he may runne at a tow-
    sand rings yfaat, and I neuer hold his stirrop, till he leape in-
    to de saddle. By S. Patricke, Madam, I neuer touch my Lords
    Diamond, nor euer had to doe, yfaat la, with any of his pre-
    cious stones.
    Enter
    The Honest Whore.
    1150Enter Hipollito.
    Infae. Are you so close, you Bawd, you pandring slaue?
    Hip. How now? why Infaelice? what's your quarrell?
    Infae. Out of my sight, base varlet, get thee gone.
    Hip. Away you rogue.
    1155Bry. Slawne loot, fare de well, fare de well. Ah marragh
    frofat boddah breen. Exit.
    Hip. What, growne a fighter? prethee what's the matter?
    Infae. If you'll needs know, it was about the clocke: how
    workes the day, my Lord, (pray) by your watch?
    1160Hip. Lest you cuffe me, Ile tell you presently: I am
    neere two.
    Infae. How, two? I am scarce at one.
    Hip. One of vs then goes false.
    Infae. Then sure 'tis you,
    1165Mine goes by heauens Diall, (the Sunne) and it goes true.
    Hip. I thinke (indeed) mine runnes somewhat too fast.
    Infae. Set it to mine (at one) then.
    Hip. One? 'tis past:
    'Tis past one by the Sunne.
    1170Infae. Faith then belike,
    Neither your clocke nor mine does truely strike,
    And since it is vncertaine which goes true,
    Better be false at one, then false at two.
    Hip. Y'are very pleasant, Madam.
    1175Infae. Yet not merry.
    Hip. Why Infaelice, what should make you sad?
    Infae. Nothing my Lord, but my false watch, pray tell me,
    You see, my clocke, or yours is out of frame,
    Must we vpon the Workeman lay the blame,
    1180Or on your selues that keepe them?
    Hip. Faith on both.
    He may by knauery spoile them, we by sloth,
    But why talke you all riddle thus? I read
    Strange Comments in those margines of your lookes:
    1185Your cheekes of late are (like bad printed Bookes)
    So dimly charactred, I scarce can spell,
    E 2 One
    The Honest Whore.
    One line of loue in them. Sure all's not well.
    Infae. All is not well indeed, my dearest Lord,
    Locke vp thy gates of hearing, that no sound
    1190Of what I speake may enter.
    Hip. What meanes this?
    Infae. Or if my owne tongue must my selfe betray,
    Count it a dreame, or turne thine eyes away,
    And thinke me not thy wife. She kneeles.
    1195Hip. Why doe you kneele?
    Infae. Earth is sinnes cushion: when the sicke soule feeles
    her selfe growing poore, then she turnes begger, cryes and
    kneeles for helpe; Hipollito (for husband I dare not call
    thee) I haue slolne that Iewell of my chaste honour (which
    1200was onely thine) and giuen it to a slaue.
    Hip. Hah?
    Infae. On thy pillow adultery & lust haue slept, thy Groome
    Hath climbed the vnlawfull tree, and pluckt the sweets,
    A villaine hath vsurped a husbands sheetes.
    1205Hip. S'death, who, (a Cuckold) who?
    Infae. This Irish Footman.
    Hip. Worse then damnation, a wild Kerne, a Frogge, a
    Dog: whom Ile scarce spurne. Longed you for Shamocke?
    were it my fathers father (heart) Ile kill him, although I
    1210take him on his death-bed gasping 'twixt heauen and hell;
    a shag-haired Cur? Bold Strumpet, why hangest thou on me? thinkst Ile be a Bawde to a Whore, because she's Noble?
    Infae. I beg but this,
    Set not my shame out to the worlds broad eye,
    1215Yet let thy vengeance (like my fault) soare hye,
    So it be in darkned clowdes.
    Hip. Darkned! my hornes
    Cannot be darkned, nor shall my reuenge.
    A Harlot to my slaue? the act is base,
    1220Common, but foule, so shall thy disgrace:
    Could not I feed your appetite? oh women
    You were created Angels, pure and faire;
    But since the first fell, tempting Deuils you are,
    You
    The Honest Whore.
    You should be mens blisse, but you proue their rods.
    1225Were there no women, men might liue like gods:
    You ha beene too much downe already, rise,
    Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed,
    Ile with no Strumpets breath be poysoned.
    As for your Irish Lubrican, that spirit
    1230Whom by prepostrous charmes thy lust hath raised
    In a wrong Circle, him Ile damne more blacke
    Then any Tyrants soule.
    Infae. Hipollito?
    Hip. Tell me, didst thou baite Hawkes to draw him to
    1235thee, or did he bewitch thee?
    Infae. The slaue did woo me.
    Hip. Two wooes in that Skreech-owles language? Oh
    who would trust your corcke-heeld sex? I thinke to sate
    your lust, you would loue a Horse, a Beare, a croaking Toade,
    1240so your hot itching veines might haue their bound, then the
    wild Irish Dart was throwne. Come, how? the manner of
    this fight.
    Infae. 'Twas thus, he gaue me this battery first. Oh I
    Mistake, beleeue me, all this in beaten gold:
    1245Yet I held out, but at length this was charm'd.
    What? change your Diamond wench, the act is base,
    Common, but foule, so shall not your disgrace:
    Could not I feed your appetite? Oh Men,
    You were created Augels, pure and faire,
    1250But since the first fell, worse then Deuils you are.
    You should our shields be, but you proue our rods.
    Were there no Men, Women might liue like gods.
    Guilty my Lord?
    Hip. Yes, guilty my good Lady.
    1255Infae. Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed,
    With no whores leauings Ile be poysoned. Exit.
    Hip. O're-reach'd so finely? 'Tis the very Diamond
    And Letter which I sent: this villany
    Some Spider closely weaues, whose poysond bulke
    1260I must let forth. Who's there without?
    E 3 Seruant.
    The Honest Whore.
    Seruant. My Lord calls.----within.----
    Hip. Send me the Footman.
    Ser. Call the Footman to my Lord. Bryan, Bryan.
    Enter Bryan.
    1265Hip. It can be no man else, that Irish Iudas,
    Bred in a Country where no venom prospers,
    But in the Nations blood hath thus betraid me.
    Slaue, get you from your seruice.
    Bry. Faat meanest thou by this now?
    1270Hip. Question me not, nor tempt my fury, villaine,
    Couldst thou turne all the Mountaines in the land,
    To hills of gold, and to giue me; here thou stayest not.
    Bry. I faat, I care not.
    Hip. Prate not, but get thee gone, I shall send else.
    1275Bry. I, doe predy, I had rather haue thee make a scabbard
    of my guts, and let out all de Irish puddings in my poore
    belly, den to be a false knaue to de I faat, I will neuer see
    dyne own sweet face more. A mawhid deer a gra, fare de well,
    fare de well, I wil goe steale Cowes agen in Ireland. Exit.
    1280Hip. He's damn'd that rais'd this whirlewind, which
    hath blowne
    Into her eyes this iealousie: yet Ile on,
    Ile on, stood armed Deuils staring in my face,
    To be pursued in flight, quickens the race,
    1285Shall my blood streames by a wiues lust be bard?
    Fond woman, no: Iron growes by strokes more hard,
    Lawlesse desires are seas scorning all bounds,
    Or sulphure which being ram'd vp, more confounds,
    Strugling with mad men, madnes nothing tames,
    1290Winds wrastling with great fires, incense the flames.Exit.
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