Digital Renaissance Editions

About this text

  • Title: The Whore of Babylon (Quarto, 1607)
  • Editors: Frances E. Dolan, Anna Pruitt

  • 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
    Editors: Frances E. Dolan, Anna Pruitt
    Not Peer Reviewed

    The Whore of Babylon (Quarto, 1607)

    The Whore of Babylon.
    Not to be search'd, or be suspected fowle:
    Make away those 2. turne coates. Suite me next
    990Like to a Sattin diuell (brauely) flie
    Your sayles shape: be here immediatly. Enter
    So: excellent: a subtile masque: alls fit,
    This very cap makes my head swell with wit.
    Mong st souldiers, I haue plaid the souldier,
    995Bin mutinous, raild at the State, cursd peace:
    They walke with cro s s e-armes, gaping for a day,
    Haue vnder- shorde their eie-lids (like trap windows.)
    To keep them open, and with yawning eares,
    Lie li stning on flocke bol sters, till rebellion
    1000Beat vp her drum: this lards me fat with laughter,
    Their swords are drawn halfe way, & all those throats
    That are to bleed are mark'd: and all those doores,
    Where ciuill Ma s s acres, murders (di'd in graine)
    Spoile, riflings, and sweet raui shments shall enter,
    1005Haue tokens stamp'd on them (to make 'em knowne)
    More dreadfull then the Bils that preach the plague:
    From them, with oyl'd hammes (lap'd in seruile blew)
    I stole, and fil'd out wine of Babylon,
    To liue things (made of clods) poore countrey sots,
    1010And drunke they are: whole shires with it do reele,
    Poysons run smooth, because men sweetnes feele.
    Now to my schoole-men, Learnings fort is strong,
    But poorely man'd, and cannot hold out long
    When golden bullets batter.--- Yonders one ---
    1015Y'are a poore scholler?
    Campeius. Yes.
    3. King. What read you?
    Camp. A booke.
    3. King. So learned, yet so young?
    1020 Camp. Yee may see Sir.
    3. King. You feede some discontent?
    Camp. Perhaps I ha cause.
    3. King. What troubles you?
    Camp. You trouble me: pray leaue me.
    1025 3. Kin. Put your selfe, and your griefe into my hands.
    Camp. Say yee?
    3. King.