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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    Euen in our parkes: to them, him; and the re st,
    Let death be sent, but sent in such a shape,
    As may not be too frightfull. Alacke! what glorie
    2035Is it to buffet wretches bound in giues?
    The debt is derely paid that's payd with liues
    Oh! leaue vs all.
    Enter Elfiron and Paridell.
    Fid: More Doctors! if this doe
    2040As well as tother, be st to hang him too. Exeunt
    Tytania, Paridell.
    Tyta: Florimell! Stay,
    But giue vs liberty.
    Pari: This is the ble s s ed day for which (through want
    2045Of those bright rayes that sparkle from your eyes)
    My frozen soule hath langui sh'd Godde s s e compleate,
    If you, a wretch so meane, will bid to speake,
    I shall vnclaspe a booke whose very fir st line,
    (Being not well pointed) is my doome to death:
    2050But if your sacred iudgement (on the Margine,)
    Controwle all wre sting comments, All your subiects
    Will fold me in their bosomes. Tyta: Giue your minde.
    Par: A Pilgrim haue I been on forren shores,
    (Your gracious hand allow'd it) in my wandring,
    2055With Mon sters I encountred of straunge shape,
    Some that suckt poyson vp, and spet it foorth,
    Vpon your land: some, that shot forked stinges,
    At your mo st God-like person: all were Gyants,
    Fighting again st the heauen of your ble st raigne:
    2060With these (oh pardon me!) with these I held
    A polliticke league, the lines of all their treasons,
    (Drawne from one damned circle) met in mee,
    My heart became the Center, and the point
    Was this-----I dare not tell it.
    2065 Tyta: Speake? Peri: To kill you.
    Tyta: How dur st you (being our subiect) wade so far?
    Par: Your eare of mercy. I became a spunge
    To drincke vp all their mischiefe, and lay drown'd