Shirley, James · published 1633 · first performed or written 1628 [licensed for stage, Oct 3] (Annals) comedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.69 · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
For whom my furious Poet, ha, not know me, do I walk invisible, or am I my own Ghost, and you woe not see me, you shall feel me, you have a nimble pate, I may chance strike out some flash of wit— no— Here comes another, save you Master Worthy. Sir I heard ill news, Master Fowlers dead. He is indeed Sir. Indeed you lie Sir. I saw his eyes sealed up by death, and him Rapt in his last sheet. Where's his body? At my sad house Sir. Is my body at your house? I did hope Gentlemen, we should ha' found My house his Bridal Chamber, not his Coffin. But Heaven must be obeyed, my daughter loved him, And much laments his loss. Very good, than I am dead, am I not? You both were in the number of his friends, I hope you'll add your presence to the rest, a'the Funeral. Whose Funeral, you man of Bedlam. Cry mercy Sir, pray keep your way. It is a duty which without invitement We are both prompt to discharge. Master Worthy, Gentlemen d''ee hear. Is't possible, not know me, not see me, I am so thin, and airy, I ha' slipped out a'the world it seems, and did not know on't— if I be dead, what place am I in, where am I? This is not Hell, sure I feel no torment, and there is too little company, no 'tis not Hell— and I ha' not lived after the rate of going to Heaven; yet beside, I met just now a Usurer, that only deals upon ounces, and carries his Scales at his Girdle, with which he uses to weigh, not men's necessities, but the Plate he is to lend money upon, can this fellow come to Heaven? Here a poor fellow is put i'th' stocks for being drunk, and the Constable himself reeling home, charges others i'th' king's name to aid him. There's a spruce Captain, newly crept out of a Gentleman Usher, and shuffled into a Buff jerkin with gold Lace, that never saw service beyond Finsbury or the Artillery Garden, marches waving a desperate Feather in his Lady's beaver, while a poor Soldier, bred up in the School of War all his life, yet never commenced any degree of Commander, wants a piece of Brass, to discharge a wheaten Bullet to his? belly no— this is not Heaven I know by the people that traffic in't, where am I then? umh I'll to Worthies before they bury me, and inform myself better what's become a me, if I find not myself there in a Coffin, there's hope I may revive again, if I be dead, I am in a world very like the other, I will get me a female spirit to converse withal and kiss, and be merry, and imagine myself alive again. Come follow me, and be valiant my Masters. Remember yourself Sir, this is your worship's Footman, and for mine own part, though I be not cut according to
nodes 1346–1369 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 29 of 33 in this edition
Length
507 words · 671 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.694 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
For whom my furious Poet, ha, not know me, doe I walke invisible, or am I my owne Ghost, and you wo not see me, you shall feele me, you have a nimble pate, I may chance strike out some flash of wit — no — Here comes another, save you Master Worthy. Sir I heard ill newes, Master Fowlers dead. He is indeed Sir. Indeed you lye Sir. I saw his eyes seal'd up by death, and him Rapt in his last sheet. Where's his body? At my sad house Sir. Is my body at your house? I did hope Gentlemen, we should ha found My house his Bridall Chamber, not his Coffin. But Heaven must be obey'd, my daughter lov'd him, And▪ much laments his losse. Very good, then I am dead, am I not? You both were in the number of his friends, I hope you'll adde your presence to the rest, a'the Funerall. Whose Funerall, you man of Bedlam. Cry mercy Sir, pray keepe your way. It is a duty which without invitement We are both prompt to discharge. Master Worthy, Gentlemen d'ee heare. Is't possible, not know me, not see me, I am so thinne, and aery, I ha slipt out a'the world it seemes, and did not know on't — if I be dead, what place am I in, where am I? This is not Hell, sure I feele no torment, and there is too little company, no 'tis not Hell — and I ha not liv'd after the rate of going to Heaven; yet beside, I met iust now a Vsurer, that onely deales upon ounces, and carries his Scales at his Girdle, with which he uses to weigh, not mens necessities, but the Plate he is to lend mony upon, can this fellow come to Heaven? Here a poore fellow is put i'th stockes for being drunke, and the Constable himselfe reeling home, charges others i'th Kings name to ayde him. There's a spruce Captain, newly crept out of a Gentleman Vsher, and shufled into a Buffe Iurkin with gold Lace, that never saw service beyond Finsbury or the Artillery Garden, marches waving a desperate Feather in his Ladies beaver, while a poore Souldier, bred up in the Schoole of Warre all his life, yet never commenc'd any degree of Cō mander, wants a peece of Brasse, to discharge a wheaten Bullet to his? belly no — this is not Heaven I know by the people that traffique in't, where am I then? Vmh Ile to Worthies before they bury me, and informe my selfe better what's become a me, if I finde not my selfe there in a Coffin, there's hope I may revive agen, if I be dead, I am in a world very like the other, I will get me a female spirit to converse withall and kisse, and be merry, and imagine my selfe alive againe. Come follow me, and be valiant my Masters. Remember your selfe Sir, this is your Worships Footeman, and for mine owne part, though I be not cut