A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS

A monologue from the play by Thomas Middleton


  • NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from A Mad World, My Masters. Thomas Middleton. London: Walter Burre, 1608.
  • COURTESAN: I cannot perform that deed that should please you, you know: wherefore thus I've conveyed it, I'll counterfeit a fit of violent sickness. Pooh, all the world knows women are soon down: we can be sick when we have a mind to't, catch an ague from the wind of our fans, surfeit upon the rump of a lark, and bestow ten pounds in physic upon't: we're likest ourselves when we're down; 'tis the easiest art and cunning for our sect to counterfeit sick, that are always full of fits when we are well; for since we were made for a weak, imperfect creature, we can fit that best that we are made for. Tut, man, any quacksalving terms will serve for this purpose; for I am pitifully haunted with a brace of elder brothers, now perfumed in the first of their fortunes, and I shall see how forward their purses will be to the pleasing of my palate and restoring of my health. Lay on load enough upon 'em, and spare 'em not, for they're good plump fleshy asses, and may well enough bear it; let gold, amber, and dissolved pearl, be common ingredients, and that you cannot compose a poultice without 'em.

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