Ford, John · published 1633 · first performed or written 1632 [1632-1633] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Henrietta Maria's Men · Phoenix/Cockpit T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.80 · 532 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
None stir: Who steps a foot, steps to his utter ruin. And art thou gone? Fernando, art thou gone? Thou wert a friend unmatched, rest in thy fame. Sister, when I have finished my last days, Lodge me, my wife, and this unequalled friend, All in one monument. Now to my vows: Never henceforth let any passionate tongue Mention Biancha's and Caraffa's name, But let each letter in that tragic sound Beget a sigh, and every sigh a tear: Children unborn, and widows whose lean cheeks Are furrowed up by age, shall weep whole nights, Repeating but the story of our fates; Whiles in the period, closing up their tale, They must conclude, how for Biancha's love, Caraffa in revenge of wrongs to her, Thus on her Altar sacrificed his life.—— Oh hold the Duke's hand. Save my brother, save him. Do, do, I was too willing to strike home To be prevented: Fools, why could you dream I would outlive my outrage sprightful flood Run out in Rivers? oh that these thick streams Could gather head, and make a standing pool, That jealous husbands here might bathe in blood. So; I grow sweetly empty; all the pipes Of life unvessel life; now heavens wipe out The writing of my sinne: Biancha, us I creepe to thee—to thee—to thee Bi—an—cha. He's dead already, Madam. Above hope, here's labour saved, I could bless the Destinies Would I had never seen it. Since 'tis thus, My Lord Roseilli, in the true requital Of your continued love, I here possess You of the Dukedom; and with it, of me, In presence of this holy Abbot. Lady, then From my hand take your husband; long enjoy Each to each other's comfort and content. Long live Roseilli. First thank to heaven, next Lady to your love; Lastly, my Lords, to all: and that the entrance Into this principality may give Fair hopes of being worthy of our place, Our first work shall be justice.— D'avolos Stand forth. My gracious Lord: No, graceless villain, I am no Lord of thine: Guard take him hence, Convey him to the prison's top; in chains Hang him alive; whosoever lends a bit Of bread to feed him, dies: speak not against it, I will be deaf to mercy.— Bear him hence. Mercy, new Duke: here's my comfort, I make but one in the number of the Tragedy of Princes. Madam, a second charge is to perform Your brother's Testament; we'll rear a Tomb To those unhappy Lovers, which shall tell Their fatal Loves to all posterity. Thus then for you, henceforth I here dismiss The mutual comforts of our marriage-bed: Learn to new live, my vows unmoved shall stand: And since your life hath been so much uneven, Bethink, in time, to make your peace with heaven. Oh me! is this your love? 'Tis your desert: Which no persuasion shall remove. 'Tis fit: Purge frailty with repentance. I embrace it: Happy too late, since lust hath made me foul, Henceforth I'll dress my Bridebed in my soul. Please you to walk, Lord Abbot. Yes, set on: No age hath heard, nor Chronicle can say, That ever here befell a sadder day.—
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
None stirre: Who steps a foot, steps to his vtter ruine. And art thou gone? Fernando, art thou gone? Thou wert a friend vnmach'd, rest in thy fame. Sister, when I haue finisht my last dayes, Lodge me, my wife, and this vnequalid friend, All in one monument. Now to my vowes: Neuer henceforth let any passionate tongue Mention Biancha's and Caraffa's name, But let each letter in that tragicke sound Beget a sigh, and euery sigh a teare: Children vnborne, and widowes whose leane cheeks Are furrowed vp by age, shall weepe whole nights, peating but the story of our fates; Whiles in the period, closing vp their tale, They must conclude, how for Biancha's loue, Caraffa in reuenge of wrongs to her, Thus on hr Altar sacrific'd his life.—— Oh hold the Dukes hand. Saue my brother, saue him. Doe, doe, I was too willing to strike home To be preuented: Fooles, why could you dreame I would out-liue my out-rage sprightfull flood Run out in Riuers? oh that these thicke streames Could gather head, and make a standing poole, That jealous husbands here might bathe in blood. So; I grow sweetly empty; all the pipes Of fe vn-vesell life; now heauens wipe out The writing of my sinne: Biancha, us I creepe to thee—to thee—to thee Bi—an—cha. He's dead already, Madam. Aboue hope, here's labour sau'd, I could blesse the Destinies Would I had neuer seene it. Since 'tis thus, My Lord Roseilli, in the true requital Of your continued loue, I here possesse You of the Dukedome; and with it, of me, In presence of this holy Abbot. Lady, then From my hand take your husband; long enioy Each to each others comfort and content. Long liue Roseilli. First thanke to heauen, next Lady to your loue; Lastly, my Lords, to all: and that the entrance Into this principality may giue Faire hopes of being worthy of our place, Our first worke shall be justice.—D'auolo Stand forth. My gracious Lord: No, gracelesse villaine, I am no Lord of thine: Guard take him hence, Conuey him to the prisons top; in chaines Hang him aliue; whosoeuer lends a bit Of bread to feed him, dyes: speake not against it, I will be deafe to mercy.—Beare him hence. Mercy, new Duke: here's my comfort, I make but one in the number of the Tragedy of Princes. Madam, a second charge is to performe Your brother's Testament; wee'll reare a Tombe To those vnhappy Louers, which shall tell Their fatall Loues to all posterity. Thus then for you, henceforth I here dismisse The mutuall comforts of our marriage-bed: Learne to new liue, my vowes vmou'd shall stand: And since your life hath beene so much vn-euen, Bethinke, in time, to make your peace with heauen. Oh me! is this your loue? 'Tis your desert: Which no perswasion shall remoue. 'Tis fit: Purge frailty with repentance. I embrace it: Happy too late, since lust hath made me foule, Henceforth I'le dresse my Bride-bed in my soule. Please yo to walke, Lord Abbot. Yes, set on: No age hath heard, nor Chronicle can say, That euer here befell a sadder day.—