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 0.61 · 545 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
In all this sermon I have heard little commendations of our dear brother departed, rich men do not go to th'pithole without Compliment of Christian burial, it seems if I had lived to ha' made a will, and bequeathed so much legacy as would purchase some Preacher a neat Cassock, I should ha' died in as good estate and assurance for my soul as the best Gentleman i'th' Parish, had my Monument in a conspicuous place of the Church, where I should ha' been cut in a form of prayer, as if I had been called away at my devotion, and so for haste to be in heaven, went thither with my book and spectacles— d'ye hear Lady and Gentlemen, is it your pleasure to see me, though not know me? and to inform a walking business when this so much lamented brother of yours departed out of this world, in his life I had some relation to him, what disease died he of pray? who is his heir yet at Common Law, for he was warm in the possession of Lands, thank his kind father, who having been in a consumption sixteen years, one day above all the rest having nothing else to do, died, that the young man might be a Landlord, according to the custom of his ancestors: I doubt the project. You should be his heir or executor at least by your dry eyes, Sir I commend thee, what a miserable folly 'tis to weep for one that's dead, and has no sense of our lamentation, Wherefore were Blacks invented? to save our eyes their tedious distillations, 'tis enough to be sad in our habits, they have cause to weep that have no mourning Cloth, 'tis a sign they get little by the dead, and that's the greatest sorrow now adays, you loved him Lady, to say truth you had little cause, a wild young man, yet and he were alive again, as that's in vain to wish you know, he may perchance be more sensible, & reward you with better service, so you would not proclaim his weakness,— faith speak well a'th' dead hereafter and bury all his faults with him, will ye, what are these all the guests? ha? what papers? some Elegy or Epitaph? who subscribes? oh this is your Poetry. How he died some do suppose How he sinned the Parish knows, Whether he's gone to heaven or hell, Ask not me I cannot tell. Very well, would the Gentleman your friend were alive to give you thanks for 'em. What have we more? Underneath, the fair not wise, Too self loved Narcissus lies, Yet his sad destruction came From no Fountain but a flame, Than youth Quench your hot desires, Purge your thoughts with chaster fires, lest with him it be too late, And death triumph in your fate Hither all you Virgins come, strew your tears upon this Tomb. Perhaps a timely weeping may So dispose his scorched clay, That a chaste and snowy flower May reward your gentle shower. Very well done upon so dead a subject, by the Virgin that's in't, you should owe this parcel of Poetry Lady. A woman's muse sir, Oh now you can answer me, am I dead still?
nodes 1410–1435 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 31 of 33 in this edition
Length
545 words · 691 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.607 (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)
In all this sermon I haue heard little commendations of our deare brother departed, rich men doe not goe to th'pithole without Complement of Christian burial, it seemes if I had liu'd to ha made a will, and bequeathed so much legacy as would purchase some Preacher a neate Cassocke, I should ha dyed in as good estate and assurance for my soule as the best Gentleman i'th Parish, had my Monument in a conspicuous place of the Church, where I should ha beene cut in a forme of prayer, as if I had beene cal'd away at my devotion, and so for hast to be in heauen, went thither with my booke and spectacles—do'e heare Lady and Gentlemen, is it your pleasure to see me, though not know me? and to enforme a walking busines when this so much lamented brother of yours departed out of this world, in his life I had some relation to him, what disease dyed he of pray? who is his heire yet at Cōmon Law, for he was warme in the possession of Lands, thanke his kind father, who hauing beene in a consumption sixteene yeares, one day aboue all the rest hauing nothing els to doe, dyed, that the young man might be a Landlord, according to the custome of his ancestors: I doubt the proiect. You should be his heyre or executor at least by your dry eyes, Sir I commend thee, what a miserable folly 'tis to weepe for one that's dead, and has no sence of our lamentation, Wherefore were Blackes inuented? to saue our eyes their tedious distillations, 'tis enough to be sad in our habits, they haue cause to weep that haue no mourning Cloth, 'tis a signe they get little by the dead, and that's the greatest sorrow now adayes, you lou'd him Lady, to say truth you had little cause, a wild young man▪ yet and hee were aliue againe, as that's in vaine to wish you know, he may perchance be more sensible, & reward you with better seruice, so you would not proclaime his weaknes,—faith speake well a'th dead hereafter and bury all his faults with him, will ye, what are these all the guests? ha? what papers? some Elegy or Epitaph? who subscribes? oh this is your Poetry. How he dyed some doe suppose How he ined the Parish knowes, Whether he's gone to heauen or hell, Aske not me I cannot tell. Very well, would the Gentleman your friend were aliue to giue you thanks for 'em. What haue we more? Vnderneath, the fayre not wise, Too selfe lou'd Narcissus lyes, Yet his sad destruction came From no Fountaine but a flame, Then youth Quench your hot desires, Purge your thoughts with chaster fyres, Least with him it be too late, And death triumph in your fate Hither all you Virgins come, Strow your teares vpon this Tombe. Perhaps a timely weeping may So dispose his scorched clay, That a chast and snowy flower May reward your gentle shower. Very well done vpon so dead a subiect, by the Virgin that's in't, you should owe this parcell of Poetry Lady. A womans muse sir, Oh now you can answere me, am I dead still?